There is something about my experience with The Matches that feels encased in amber. I can never experience it again, and not only because they have been on hiatus since 2009. To me, “E. Von Dahl Killed the Locals” is one of those perfect teenage albums, expertly reflecting the pop-punk trend of the era with one of the most vibrant collections of songs that I’ve ever heard. Add in that it’s on Epitaph Records, and you get something so authentic that you know the magic couldn’t last. Frankly, by the time that I was seeing “Papercut Skin” from their next album “Decomposer” on Fuse TV, it was over. Their energy had shifted, and they were never the same.
It could be that I saw a sticker of theirs hanging from an overhead window every time I entered the 300 building at Millikan High School. Unlike the Blank Label sticker next to it, it would disappear sometime by 2005. By then, I also saw them as an opener for Less Than Jake at The Roxy.
As far as discoveries go, it was one of those energies, a few people from the stage, watching this wild band control the audience. Every song they sang had this amazing way of drawing you in, getting you to feel it in your soul. I remember them plugging the show for their buddies Orange, who were somewhere in the crowd. The guitarist had this towering Jewfro and I felt terrible that I didn’t know all of the words. I was there for LTJ, but the whole show was a profound discovery that made me go out to Second Spin and buy the record.
But before I left the venue, I went on a fateful trip to the bathroom. As I’m washing my hands, I see this poster for the show. It’s so alluring, finding the band members comically singing with word bubbles featuring quotes from their songs like “toothpaste makes my orange juice sour.” I walked out, thinking it was cool. An employee overheard me and said I could have it. Sure it had the smell you’d expect from The Roxy bathroom, but that is the only thing that’s faded that I don’t miss.
I’ll admit that the majority of my tastes have matured and change in the past 15 years since that concert. I, unfortunately, don’t have a knack for watching local pop-punk bands anymore. Still, every now and then I’ll get “Jack Slap Cheer” in my head and I’ll need to get it out by blasting the song at full volume. Every part of the songs is so expertly layered with ideas that they come across as a scrappier, more anarchic version of Sugarcult. They were young kids in 2005, likely playing songs they crafted about their high school experience. From there I’d find their songs on Punk-O-Rama compilations and feel like they were something special.
Something to consider about the albums that age well is that they’re often about more than energy. As much as I love pop-punk for how loud and fast it is, there’s something affecting about their need to craft a melody, making these harmonies sound like frustration personified. I imagine them being able to get the audience to sway their hands as they expand upon the chorus. In a different world, I can imagine them still going strong, playing midlevel venues and breaking up “Jack Slap Cheer” by having the audience sing “This town gets so boring, na na na na na na na na na na.” If you’ve heard the song, you’ll know how cool this could be.
One of the fun details about the band is my obsession with their album cover. As a title, “E. Von Dahl Killed the Locals” is a reference to how a person named Yvonne Dahl forced them to change their name from The Locals. Also, I was obsessed with the artwork, which has this exaggerated image of a kid being gagged by a polka dot handkerchief. What did it mean? It felt very western to me, or at least some seriocomic gag that I didn’t fully understand. It’s simple and yet I’d be able to tell you that it was The Matches. It’s one of those self-release triumphs, up there with Sublime’s “40 oz. to Freedom,” that becomes music iconography to a certain generation.
The second song, “Audio Blood” is an immersive accomplishment and perfectly reflects why this album resonates with me. While the opener “Dog-Eared Page” is a fast burner that gets you in the mood, “Audio Blood” has this overdramatic production that reflects an artist shooting for more than angst. It starts with a fade-in that’s reminiscent of metal and the ominous tones of a Universal Horror soundtrack. The high-pitched guitar clinks before the harmony back it up with this abrupt chords that feel reminiscent of lightning striking. It may be the only song that does this, but every noteworthy song does something like this at some point.
Even in the lyrics, it sounds like singer Shawn Harris is being reanimated. By the second line, his use of “factories” is distorted. He’s becoming full of life, and all in a song that’s essentially about the merits of club shows. They say that “we bleed audio blood” as they perform. I love the harmonies on this, which are squeaky and slowly build to clarity. It may read like a novelty, but how can you argue when you have authentically youthful lyrics like:
Every weekend we are massing
Seeking sonic escape
The shadows flood the floor
And start to take shape
I personally find it beautiful and the use of the breakdown is ethereal. I love how this song goes out on a hokey, metallic riff that feels like it goes on forever. It’s a band so full of personality that it’s only going to grow and become more interesting with each additional song. “Chain Me Free” has a jumpy melody that may be one of the busier choruses, but it all has this sense of being a nervous teen, eager to have some emotional breakthrough. Few bands could write bridges as effective and to the point like:
She's had some fast times
First times always last times
Out in the foxglove, I'm in...
To be honest, it’s difficult to not just go down the line and prove to you that every song has a lyric that taps perfectly into the idea of frustration and aimlessness. It’s an album about wanting to get out of town and experience the world. Every song has that urgency, the eagerness to explore and discover everything. There’s so much optimism packed into this album that moments like “Borderline Creep” makes “staring out the window at a brick wall…” into something echoic. Again, it builds to a chorus so full of energy that you can’t help but want to sing along. It’s also a song whose bridge features a fun bass line that makes it so much cooler. It just runs, and an echoing cry of “yeah” makes it work all the better.
Songs like “The Restless” and “Eryn Smith” continue to reflect a side of teenagerdom that isn’t all that popular anymore. It’s one of record collecting, of meeting these oddball girls. “Eryn Smith” is a girl “who has A.D.D. but isn’t bored with me.” More than anything, this album paints a plausible picture of why any of us get into music. It’s the story of the bored, the eagerness to make a difference and do so with the D.I.Y. aesthetic that the best of us have used to our full advantage. There’s even a song about a hooker called “Say 18,” at least I think it is.
And now, onto “Jack Slap Cheer,” which I continue to mention as the high point on this album. It will outlive us all as this perfect embodiment of teenage losers. The way that Harris stumbles into “C-c-conversation with my bathroom mirror,” is too real, the guitar playing an abrupt and jaunty melody that makes you feel like you’re there, prepping yourself for something bigger. As he sings “I’m chickenshit out on the great frontier, so begins the slap jack cheer,” it feels like we’re pushed out of the bathroom and into the public, putting on an intense act.
The countdown kicks things in and it may be the most fun song about trying to get with a girl. It starts with talking about a mother who stripping for your education and a father who’s in the N.R.A. (I love the way that the back-up singer repeats it, too). I don’t know what jack slaps are, but it has the youthful mix of pop-punk with a twinge of cheerleader encouragement. There’s clapping, crowd chants, and countdowns galore, and it all builds to the point of “16 summers, let’s make one complete.” There’s even a fun audio twitch where Harris sounds like he’s recorded on a Victrola. It all works, trust me.
I wish that The Matches had another album with as many charming highs as this album. In what was probably the first song that I heard from them, “Sick Little Suicide” is as close to an epic for them that this gets. It takes the audience on a journey, reflecting on The Matches’ belief that the world is getting worse. The chorus as he sings “There’s a sick little suicide in all that we do” keeps changing tempos, the breakdowns becoming more drawn out or subdued depending on how things go. It’s a song that creates something grandiose. To me, it’s a bit tedious but reflects how flexible their sound can be. Also, their lyrical abilities have so much to applaud here.
Depending on what album you bought, the final song has a variety of names. On the actual cover, it’s scratched out in wild strands of black marker. For years I didn’t know what it was and would call it “Untitled.” People with more imagination than me would go on to call it “Scratched Out,” and it’s one of those fun ditties that sound like an intentional b-side, whose unpolished nature creates a sense that this is an idea that was never completed. And yet it also feels perfect because the song is essentially about aimlessness, and the way its beautiful harmonies feel druggy only makes it more effective:
Waste an hour (Or so)
Rush hour (Is slow)
The flowers (That grow)
Outside of my window
Are blooming, I'm assuming
That you're coming over soon
I love the push and pull of it. The whole thing feels like something that doesn’t belong and you’re caught off-guard by the whole thing. Whereas everything else has a pop-punk quality, this is almost acoustic, managing to have lyrics with dual singers pushing at each other in this antagonistic play, to make sense of their psyche. It’s quite amusing even when there’s no joke being sung.
What makes this album special? I like to think that this exploration of the album will convince you wholeheartedly why. Even if that eagerness of youth has faded for me, it’s the fact that its ideas were so perfectly captured, managing to be so carefree and antagonistic in everything while having a lyricist who sounded like he had something to say – even if a quarter of the songs are basically just him hooking up with girls. They make it all so powerful, and they have aged well.
I guess deep down it’s one of those hidden secrets for my generation. I don’t know anyone who would know them. They, ironically, were on the cusp of breaking up by the time I graduated high school, moving onto other projects. I continue to love this album for how it packages energy. As much as I wish I saw them more, I fear it wouldn’t be the same. Like I mentioned, “Decomposer” was an album that lost me almost immediately. For at least 40 minutes, they were perfect, playing fast and loose in ways that only kids can.
Every time I want to feel young, I put the record on and feel the years shed. Most importantly, I don’t feel embarrassed about it. Some of the bands I listened to haven’t aged as well, which is okay. Pop-punk is about living in the moment, and sometimes we don’t realize how much time has passed until we’ve played the same four-chords too many times. For those who have the foresight, they make them matter, outlasting us all. Even if they are different people now, I hope they all bleed audio blood. I probably should see how they’re doing, to see if they ever got where they wanted to go. Something tells me that they did.
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