pockets empty, how can you tell me that everything will work out

I'm starting to get swept up in that pre-holidays euphoria. I'm excited to have a little break from working. I'm excited to go home to my house in CT, to visit my family and the dog. I'm excited to eat some home-cooked meals, to live for a few days in a house full of people and noise, to hear about the adventures and exploits of my sisters. And of course I'm excited about the giving and receiving of gifts, about the actual trappings of Christmas.

(And speaking of holiday excitement, tonight at midnight marks the start of my At Christmas You Tell The Truth pledge. I find myself doubting anyone else is particularly excited about it. After all, I've received no acknowledgment, no indication that anyone else even remembers its happening. Still, I remember, and I'm psyched, and a little nervous.)

I have been forced recently, through some largely tongue-in-cheek AIM conversations with human_typhoon, to defend my choice to be part of the subculture known as "emo," in all its non-glory. As I pointed out in reply to a recent post by adampb, in addition to being a card-carrying geek I'm also a standard-issue glasses-wearing emo kid. And that declaration catalyzed some of the thoughts that have been swirling around my brain, so that they begin to take shape, to resemble something coherent. A defense of emo, but also a statement of what it means to be emo. Or at least what it means to me. As in most things, I don't claim to be much of an authority on the subject.

Let's start with the word itself. Its self-evidently short for "emotional," and first came into popular use to describe a music scene largely unique to Washington DC in the 1980s. It was applied to a group of what were otherwise hardcore punk bands in the area, distinguished by the fact that their lead singers had a tendency to get just a bit too wrapped up in the performance. That sort of thing is common to punk singers, and good live bands in general. But rather than get violent, or "up," the first emo singers tended to get "down," and not in the sense of getting down and getting funky. They tended to get emotional. And so the movement was born.

Of course, like most things in rock & roll and punk rock specifically, the thing did not remain pure for very long. If you're bothered by that sort of thing, then I'm very sorry, but that's life. Pretty soon things which were not "emotional hardcore" in the traditional sense were nevertheless being referred to as "emo." It became a term of derision, and it spread to a broader indie rock scene. And at some point Rivers Cuomo and Chris Carraba got involved, and everything went to Hell in a handbasket. Which brings us back to the music, and more specifically to me. After all, I wouldn't be emo if I didn't like the music.

And in spite of everything, I do like the music. Yes, its whiny. And yes, the lyrics can be depressing. Its a musical "style" characterized by nothing so much as a bleak outlook, and a desire to be part of this particular scene. You're not really emo unless you self-identify as such. The moniker is so loose and open, so inclusive, that what the band and the fans think actually matters. For a little while there, as I was first getting into the whole emo-rock thing, it could be something of a hot-button issue. Contentious debates sprang up among the fan groups as to whether or not a particular band was emo, and until the band weighed in things could get fairly fanatical and harsh. Sometimes even after the band weighed in a contingent of the fans insisted on disagreeing (as is their right, from a postmodern point of view.)

So what does being emo mean to me? Its about despair, really. Life hurts. Which is more of a profound statement than maybe it seems at first glance. To say "life hurts" is to admit that sometimes the very act of being alive is painful. And sometimes that seems hopeless, crushing, overwhelming.

What's funny is that everything I just said is at least a little bit true of being goth, as well. All the little subcultures march along, hating each other, with more in common than they want to admit. That's why its so fun to go to a VNV Nation show, to see the rivetheads and the ravers and the goths all eyeing each other moodily, grudgingly forced to admit that they all love this music.

So maybe that's all that we do, is pick the group we get along with best. I identify with music and art that affirms that kind of despair. Aside from that, its just a question of picking my uniform. Of selecting which trappings appeal to me. I've never been much interested in decadence, so that's out. And I don't want to hurt anyone, I'm not all that angry, so there goes that. And I don't especially want to do drugs -- I don't object to them, they're just not for me. So what does that leave me? Well... I am a geek, and I'm something of a weakling. Picked on, overlooked, pushed aside... and I do wear glasses. Am I oversimplifying? Sure. Am I poking fun at something I, in truth, hold dear? You bet. But the fact of the matter is either you get it, or you're willing to accept it, or you don't and you're not. Such is life, and life hurts.