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Opinion: I Was a Fan of Emo Buttrock Until It Got All Political

We are in an era of unprecedented musical creativity. From trap-metal to sad boi country, genres have been mixed and mashed to the point where every single person has a niche subgenre made just for them! I was stoked on this until my personal favorite genre, Emo Buttrock, got all political and up its own ass with messages.

This is a real bummer. I was stoked when Epitaph started signing emo rappers like guccihighwaters. Plus, genre-bending YouTubers like Alex Melton were absolutely crushing it in the “I’m not sure if this cover is ironic but I like it” department. It was really cool seeing these unique genres garner attention from a wider audience. I hoped my fave would be next!

Well, I got my wish and, as we all know, emo buttrock got massive. After a brief honeymoon phase, the genre, like many others before it, plummeted into the dark depths of politics. I wish we could go back to simpler times like when the biggest argument fans of the genre got into was whether it was “but” rock or “butt” rock. Well, it started out “but” and became “butt” just like the genre started our amazing and ended up like all the others who let politics invade their art. Emo Buttrock is dead. I have half a mind to get this barbed wire tattoo I got on my wrist removed or at least changed to whatever surface-level interest will define my personality next.

Nowadays, I can’t even go to a show and sing along to songs about getting drunk and laid while also being sad about it, without the singer injecting his bullshit politics into it. Sorry, I don’t want to hear you talk about Palestine right now. I want to hear you croon/growl about self-harm over sick guitar riffage. Shut up and crowl!

What happened to this scene? The other day I was over at my boy Sad Kyle’s place swapping DIY hair gel recipes when out of nowhere he asks if I want to go to an environmental awareness rally with him. “You mean the environment of eternal darkness that manifests from within my soul, bro? Or, like, the perfect environment to smash Miller and chicks?” I asked him. But no! He means like trees and owls and shit. How lame is that?

It feels like there’s no escape from politics anymore. I guess I’ll just have to learn to live with lyrics about slitting your wrists while hooking up in a gas station dumpster being a metaphor for the state of this country’s mental health institutions. Looks like it’s back to listening to Rage Against the Machine for me.