I got older but act the same
Liquid Mike, Oso Oso and the dreaded, "am I too old for this?"
After Liquid Mike’s momentous American Caveman blasted into orbit with its fans at Ferndale, Michigan’s Pug Fest shouting along to its bridge refrain, a line stuck with me, the painfully obvious 43-year-old, as I shouted along among a sea of fans in their teens and early 20s.
I got older but act the same
Besides the obvious, on the nose assertion about growing old but not growing up, the lyric felt particularly meaningful to me at that moment, despite carrying an admittedly different meaning in the song. A day removed from my birthday and celebrating with my wife at a festival clearly intended for people (at least) half my age, it raised that awful, inevitable question I guess we all experience at some point: Am I too old for this?
The same question popped into my head earlier in the day at another venue hosting live music in the city during the final day of the three-day, multi-venue emo music festival, where we found ourselves among a quasi synchronized group of fans windmilling and slam dancing along to some hardcore music.
I couldn’t help but ponder whether to ask my wife if we should join in or just, you know, not … do … that. Regardless, I got a kick out of watching this incredibly fun and endearing act of fans just being themselves in a moment of catharsis that still felt safe and contained. Like an old man watching neighborhood kids play stickball out in the street, or something.
Later in the evening when Northern Michigan emo stalwarts Charmer took the reins of the festival, they got seemingly every individual in the venue to stage dive as part of their collective stage theatrics, bringing the chaos to a new heights.
It might have been an overreaction to the timing of turning what sounds like an undeniably old age, but the lyric did cause me to confront some realities about still going to shows like these. Was exchanging elbows in the pit, from time to time, still acceptable for a man my age? At one point in the evening, I found myself in said pit, getting my ankle stepped on, which has since left a nasty bruise. Who am I trying to impress here? To paraphrase Buster Bluth, maybe I’m just trying to get my faced socked in?
The truth is, I’m not seeking some sort of fountain of youth here, just more music that I love. The real reason I was there was Liquid Mike, Upper Peninsula pop punk sensations who caught significant buzz among critics last year with their breakthrough fifth album Paul Bunyan’s Slingshot, a wonderful distillation of seeking purpose and meaning in the extremely rural Midwest. Beyond its endlessly catchy, short jams, part of what I love so much about the record are singer/songwriter Mike Maple’s very brief references to individuals stuck in their circumstances that flesh out the narrative of the small town experience.
I don’t think it's a coincidence that the first side of the record closes out with the tossed off Guided By Voices-esque track AM, referencing the cult classic documentary film American Movie. The documentary examines the life of small town film producer Mark Borchardt and his quest to complete a low budget horror film in hopes of ultimately being able to raise funds for a more ambitious film he’s always wanted to make. AM the song somehow lives up to the documentary’s affecting vulnerability in its short minute-and-a-half runtime by capturing its small town/big dreams essence through the most quotable line from Borchardt’s film: It’s alright, it’s OK, there’s something to live for.
Paul Bunyan’s Slingshot is chock full of these moments where ambition and dreams collide with the constraints of living in the middle of nowhere. Tell me why do you seem so unafraid to throw it all away? Maple sings about an individual who has long lived in life’s “comfort zone” on Small Giants. On the following track Works Bomb, Maple bashes out a 1+ minute character sketch of a boy content with spending his days building and setting off the bombs commonly associated with childhood mischief. He does it “for a laugh” as the song’s narrator describes, before returning to the song's endlessly singable refrain, “you don’t care about anything/you don’t care about nothing.”
Cramming these complexities into super catchy songs less than two minutes in length is no small feat. It’s a big reason why the album topped so many year-end lists and got the band a spot at some prominent festivals and a tour with Joyce Manor. It’s also a message that might resonate with anyone who feels insecure about their place in life, wondering whether they’re squandering their potential. A 43-year-old dude seeking answers to his own long list of problems through a pop punk album, for example.
Seeing the band live confirmed it can recreate this sound and sentiment on stage. Liquid Mike’s set was packed with energy and methodical purpose, quickly checking off fan favorites like Drinking and Driving, K2, Mouse Trap and Pacer before firing into early singles including AT&T, Groucho Marx and Crop Circles from their upcoming follow-up album Hell is an Airport, due Sept. 12. Much like Paul Bunyan’s Slingshot, Maple said the new album has themes “surrounding feeling stuck and unable to crawl out.”
Those songs have confirmed Liquid Mike’s breakthrough album isn’t a flash in the pan, but rather a launching point for a band that has hit its stride as songwriters and in the studio. Tossing in a couple of songs from its fan-favorite self-titled album including set highlight RAV4, Liquid Mike were able to pound out a nice collection of “hits” during the brief 30-minute festival set.
Much like Liquid Mike, the festival’s headliner Oso Oso has become one of my favorite bands because they write smart, catchy songs that attempt to find meaning without pretending to know all the answers. Frontman Jade Lilitri is one of the best at capturing the impossible task of finding optimism in something, even when it seems impossible to find the courage to do so.
At one point in the band’s set, which gave an Eras Tour vibes for its wide ranging set of songs, the song The View caused a knee jerk reaction from me to rush toward the front of the stage and yell out some of its most crushing lines like, “So long, subtle alien vibes/Think I've been making progress in microscopic strides.” The song is one of several in the band’s catalogue that accept life’s harsh realities with the caveat of still hanging on to the belief that you can turn it around and be a more redeemable person.
It’s a message that feels universal — not specific to any particular age. If going to shows with people half my age keeps me striving to chase that feeling, I can accept the consequences of getting older and acting the same.