Hey kid, The Ataris are Kris Roe, and Kris Roe is The Ataris; you should let it go like The Lion King’s hyena Elsa if you even think about providing a counterargument. Anyway, former Anderson, Indiana resident, home of the headquarters of the Church of God, the Gruenewald House, the Paramount Theatre, and a bunch of Reggie Miller murals, Mr. Roe, formed The Ataris in 1996, and moved to the ugly city of Santa Barbara, California, down on Haley, Haley Street, just one year later, signed to two-fourths of The Vandals’ Kung Fu Records, and released their debut studio album “Anywhere but Here” to underground acclaim. Even though the band is one of the more successful pop-punk bands, they are quite underappreciated in the genre’s lexicon, and the royals known as Man Overboard should publicly vouch for this band’s inclusion in their defensive military that is always guard from their cruddy hometowns.
5. Welcome the Night (2007)
Overall, we’re not capable of loving this one, in any kind of “love.” Still, “Welcome the Night” shouldn’t have been as panned by all parties as it first was when released. Basically, it’s not anything more than “good,” which sadly is the bitter enemy of “great,” and on that note, Kris Roe sounds VERY, very bitter here. Also, one album had to be listed last, and none of the other four studio albums, as compilation/laserdisc albums don’t count here, belonged in this dreaded ranking position. If you want to hear the sound of a formerly major label pop-punk band listening to a lot of The Smashing Pumpkins and general scowling, check out “Welcome the Night”. Surprisingly to all but the Omaha Symphony, the band became a seven-piece unit around the time of this record, and we’re still scratching our domes about that one.
Play it again: “Not Capable of Love”
Skip it: “Far from the Last, Last Call”
4. …Anywhere but Here (1997)
Let’s count right into the fourth position at an abnormally high BPM here by saying that the word “Tongue” is not spelled “Tounge,” which isn’t for anyone but Gene “I Say Dumb Things On The Interweb” Simmons, so whomever uploaded said incorrectly typed word to DSPs for The Ataris’ debut “…Anywhere but Here” studio album should be left alone in Santa Cruz forever, be blinded by unkind crust punks/nerds with bleach, left questioning whether they are here or there for a millennium, and ashamed of themselves for the duration of their sick lives. Still, ellipses are cool, and a revisit of this 1997 LP took us back to said year, which also was when the like-minded blink-182 released “Dude Ranch,” Pennywise came out with “Full Circle,” Green Day put “Nimrod” out there, and Janet Jackson launched the Fat Mike endorsed “The Velvet Rope” to the masses.
Play it again: “Make It Last”
Skip it: “Sleepy”
3. Blue Skies, Broken Hearts…Next 12 Exits (1999)
You’re better off without your boyfriend or the endearing, youthful, gangster, and racially tolerant character Calogero from “A Bronx Tale” but not its now disgraced actor Lillo “I Pissed Myself On ‘The Sopranos’” Brancato, as Mr. Brancato’s sordid tale, which can be read via a Google search, is forever breaking our hearts; life makes no sense sometimes. The Ataris’ sophomore LP, “Blue Skies, Broken Hearts…Next 12 Exits” contains the debut of one of the more revered songs in the band’s catalog, “I Won’t Spend Another Night Alone Or Any More Money On Rings, Broken Promises, Hotels Pricier Than A Super Eight, Or TurboGrafx-16 Games Not Named ‘Bonk’s Adventure.’” This is the first album from The Ataris to contain very little filler and the one-two-three-four-five punch from tracks one through five could’ve been an EP that would have been in a top five pop-punk extended plays of all time!
Play it again: “Your Boyfriend Sucks”
Skip it: “Answers”
2. End Is Forever (2001)
This #2 slot is not only the silver medalist for The Ataris’ catalog, but it is their best-recorded record at the time, regardless of your dumb take on its two predecessors. Honestly, our gold medal LP depends on the day of the week, but “So Long, Astoria” wins at least 87% of the time, and certainly does on this cold day in the fall of 2023. You’re not punk, so we’d like to give props to the band for a Jawbreaker reference, a Descendents and not the 2011 critically acclaimed movie with George “Not Amal” Clooney, Shailene “I Survived Both ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ and Aaron Rodgers” Woodley, Matthew “The Best Part of ‘Scream’” Lillard, and Beau “I Am Not Lloyd or Jeff Bridges but I Played the Dad in ‘Sidekicks.’” and a Contra reference.
Play it again: Beginning to end (and forever keep doing such)
Skip it: We will find you, you angry nerds, you, if you skip a second of this LP
1. So Long, Astoria (2003)
Punk fans typically hate a revered and formerly indie act’s major label debut, but we can’t justify said outlook here, and back this record’s ranking with all of our being, as all you plebs can ever learn is what you already know. The three band members not named Roe on this release include Mike “Michael” Davenport on bass, John “ny” Collura on lead guitar, and Chris “Not Kris” Knapp on drums. Respect. We also want to give thanks to the current three members of The Ataris as of this date in 2023 not called Kris: Dustin “Phillip” Phillips on drums, Dale “Not Chip or Richard” Nixon on lead guitar, and Danny “Says” Duke on bass. Props. Like its former, we cannot justify omitting a single song on “So Long, Astoria” from a front to back listen. Bite us, Jerry Garcia.
Play it again: Astoria, Queens
Skip it: Any other Astoria
We begin with Volta’s 2022 comeback album, and the first to feature lyrics that wouldn’t trigger a wellness check if you posted them on Facebook. Gone are the novel-length tracks and disturbing, atonal melodies. The band settles gracefully into middle age here, embracing mellow psychedelia and song structures that a person not currently having a mental health crisis might enjoy. That makes it the perfect album to wash down with everyone’s favorite ecstasy analog, 2CB. Some light visuals and a tingly, yet slippery, sense of well-being should be all you need here.
This album is an oft-overlooked gem that mostly appeals to people who enjoy portmanteaus and the amplified screams of a rabbit caught in a snare. Omar’s guitar is strangely absent here, ceding the spotlight to an array of squelching, buzzing synthesizers that might pierce the ear if certain measures aren’t taken. And when we say “certain measures” we of course mean a handful of gel capsules containing the research chemical 2C-T-7, or “Blue Mystic,” according to the forty-seven-year-old Dutch cyber-goth man you’ll have to buy it from. Cedric’s caterwauling over waves of noise will keep you grounded when the walls begin to breathe and the weeping face of the kid you bullied in high school starts appearing every time you close your eyes.
Let’s just get this out of the way now; “Octahedron” isn’t anyone’s favorite. Long-simmering tensions within the ranks resulted in an album that felt noodly and directionless; a simulacra of the fierce creativity that had been on display up until this point. To slog through this one we’re going to have to turn to acid’s shady cousin who hasn’t shown up to Thanksgiving in years. Much like Octahedron, 251-NBOMe is a pale imitation of a transcendent experience that only exists because crucial ingredients were in short supply. On the off chance you experience brain swelling or seizures, you won’t be missing much anyway.
We now enter the run of albums that cemented the band’s legend status among people who enjoy audio-induced panic attacks. On Bedlam we find an unhinged Volta, grabbing you by the throat and refusing to let go until you admit that in all the days of your life, ever since you’ve been born, you’ve never heard a band play like this one before. Fortunately, someone had the foresight to synthesize 5-MeO-MiPT before this album came out, so there’s no need to let it raw dog your pineal gland. The come-up will have you power-walking through the mall during the record’s explosive first half, attracting the attention of numerous security guards who will be too freaked out to actually approach you. The mania will fade into an ego-dissolving glow just in time for Bedlam’s sinister, slow burn of a finish. We recommend riding the last few tracks out in the back of an Uber, letting the driver’s panicked questions slowly become one with Cedric’s voice.
Without the proper precautions, this album will chew your brain like gum and stick it to the bottom of God’s desk. You need something to put you in a state where you can hear lyrics like “The kiosk in my temporal lobe is shaped like Rosalyn Carter,” and just say hell yeah dude. Something to shield you from the psychic damage that songs like “Tetragrammaton” and “Viscera Eyes” can deal out. The free trial of psychosis that bath salts offer is the only companion that you can trust to guide you through these eight labyrinthine tracks, and to help you defeat the swat team that is currently breaching your apartment door.
Here we find what many consider to be The Mars Volta’s highest high, but also their most challenging ascent. Frances is supposedly a concept album, but every time someone tries to explain the story to me I get a really bad migraine and then suddenly wake up behind the wheel of a car approaching the US-Mexico border. The epic arrangements and experimental ambient passages are likely to overwhelm listeners who haven’t already taped black trash bags over all of the windows in their homes. K2 pairs with Francis for this exact reason; becoming a prisoner in your own body gives you no choice but to stay laser-focused on the music. You may be tempted to check Instagram during Omar’s four-minute solo in the iconic opening track, but this isn’t an option when blinking too fast makes your heart rate skyrocket. Spice from your local smoke or vape shop will suffice, but we recommend an early 2000s midwestern gas station vintage if at all possible. (
Deloused is arguably the best debut album in the prog, marred only by an unconscionable amount of Red Hot Chili Peppers cameos. If you can only make it through one Volta album it should probably be this one, and you should probably do it with a head full of dirty stimulants. Wait for the tremors and cold sweats to set in before pressing play. The sirens of the ambulance a loved one has likely already called for you will sync up with the opening guitar line of Son et Lumiere. Just show the paramedics your Spotify listening history and they will know exactly what to do.
