As The Format reunites, the band's songs take on new meaning in adulthood [Unscripted]
May 2-I don't envy generations younger than me for many reasons.
For starters, they will never experience pre-streaming era CD shopping in its truest form: grabbing random CDs and scanning them at one of F.Y.E.'s listening stations, where you could hear samples of each track.
I killed time by doing just that one day in the mid-2000s while my mom shopped for her own music. I picked up a copy of a CD, by a band I never heard of before, simply because I liked the cover.
I scanned it and heard upbeat indie pop with a soaring voice. I asked my mom if we could get it, and she generously said yes.
That CD, "Interventions and Lullabies" by The Format, introduced me to what would become one of my favorite bands. (Frontman Nate Ruess would later go on to be part of the band fun. - which had some high moments, and some low - and to be featured alongside superstars on questionable arena pop hits. I'm not here to talk about that, though. I'm here to talk about The Format.)
Sam Means' jangly guitar provided the perfect soundtrack to my teenage yearning, while Ruess' dramatic vocals were a theater kid's dream.
As with most things, I couldn't be normal about it. While I was a year or two late on their first album, I was perfectly positioned to be right on top of their magnum opus of a second record, "Dog Problems." I spread the word to my friends. I ordered their concert DVD. I made my own merch with iron-on decals. (My favorite customized sweatshirt disappeared shortly after my first boyfriend and I broke up. Gordon, I hope you're doing well, buddy, but I'd really love that back.)
My partner in Format fandom, though, was my friend Terese. We were an arranged friendship gone right - our dads played in the same old timers' softball league, and both are lovable hams who raised us to be Beatlemaniacs. Once I got to high school, my dad told me to look out for "Bob's daughter" in choir.
It wasn't a hard sell. Terese is sunshine personified, whip-smart and quippy, with a gregarious laugh that beckons you to join in. She graciously gave me rides just about everywhere while I was waiting to get my license, and her Volkswagen bug became our karaoke machine on wheels. The Format was often on heavy rotation.
A few weeks ago, we got to sing along together again - live this time. When The Format announced it'd reunite for a new album and tour - its first in 20 years - we jumped on the opportunity and scored tickets to their Philadelphia show at Franklin Music Hall, the venue formerly known as the Electric Factory.
Naturally, I revisited their discography in the lead-up to the concert. And I was taken aback - both in those pre-show listens, and at the concert itself - how differently I heard the songs' lyrics as a grown woman than as a teen tied in emotional knots.
In my younger years, I'd wait for the "Dog Problems" closer, "If Work Permits," as an outlet for angst as I screamed its climax.
"Sometimes, when sailors are sailing, they think twice about where they're anchoring," Ruess sings. "I think I could make better use of my time."
"Yeah!" my teenage self thought. "I don't care where I anchor! Forget this hometown! Who needs roots!"
As an adult, a completely different part of the song stopped me in my tracks. The song's main character is speaking to his partner, who had witnessed domestic abuse as a child, and was attempting to convince them love doesn't have to hurt.
"Love is speaking in code, it's an inside joke, love is coming home," Ruess sings.
I breezed past that line as a teen, but now, as an adult in a loving marriage, I wonder why I didn't consider them while writing my wedding vows.
A similar moment happened during the show itself. Prior to the band taking the stage, Terese and I joked about "opening up the pit" - starting a mosh pit - to the tender ballad "Snails." The song, about slowing down and appreciating the good things in life, is admittedly saccharine and sentimental. But it's also lovely.
Near the end of the show, we heard the song's first note and whipped our heads toward one another in perfect time, as if they were written stage directions. "Snails!" we gasped. Our husbands laughed behind us.
But once the music started, the song hit me in the chest. The speaker's mom is helping him catch his runaway dog in the song.
"I watch her as she runs
My mother jumps the gun
She puts her in her arms
That is just like my mom
Never lets go, never lets me grow old
I want to pay her back
But love is nothing you can tax"
My eyes welled with tears, thinking of my own aging parents, wanting to be there for them as they were for me - but knowing even with the best of intentions, it'll never be enough, because love is not transactional.
I took a deep breath, grateful for the darkness over the crowd, as I blinked the tears away. I glanced over at my old friend, who was singing along.
Songs, like the right people, can grow alongside you.
Jenelle Janci is LNP - LancasterOnline's Work & Play team leader. "Unscripted" is a weekly entertainment column produced by a rotating team of writers.
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