Friday 3pm
French fries taste better in the car. The spuds are still piping hot and crispy, having not yet been ruined by steaming inside the bag. I am already in vacation mode, so the first waffle fry on my tongue tastes of salty deliciousness, not fattening guilt.
We are grabbing a bite before getting on I-17. E, J, and I are heading to Vegas for When We Were Young music festival. L is joining us tomorrow. This is my second year attending. For the other three, it is their third. We converse for the first three hours of the trip, catching up after months of not seeing each other. The long drive eventually saps us of energy though. The second half of the ride is spent listening to music. The volume steadily grows. We are going to Las Vegas for pop punk and emo, and this is our first taste of the weekend.
The playlist repeats, but we do not notice until “Vindicated” by Dashboard Confessional plays for the second time. The darkness of the desert is broken by the distant haze of light. Las Vegas nears. Soon enough, E and J are dropping me off at Park MGM. I am too cheap to stay closer to the festival grounds. I grab a slice of Roman-style pizza and a Peroni from Eataly. The pizza crust is overdone.
I review the lineup for the fourth time on my phone. No perfect solution exists. WWWY is stacked with the biggest artists the genre ever had. Missing some of the bands I want to see is inevitable due to overlap. I go to bed a little salty about the plethora of riches in front of me.
Saturday 10am
L just got into our hotel. She double booked herself this weekend—Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour in Miami on Friday and When We Were Young in Vegas on Saturday. After an early cross-country flight, she is here but running on about two hours of sleep. Even if we miss the first couple of bands at WWWY, this is still going to be a twelve hour day at the festival grounds. L always rallies for concerts, but this might be too much, even for her. She puts on some makeup and gets changed. Meanwhile I run downstairs to grab coffee.
I am ready to go, but picking out my shirt for today had been a difficult decision. Wearing a band’s t-shirt to their own concert is a faux pas at least according to J. I do not think this rule applies at music festivals, but I am not cool enough to be sure. Choosing a different band’s shirt is probably safer, but you need to ensure that other band is of a similar genre or style. In addition, they should be popular enough to be recognized by some but not famous enough to be considered basic. Fashion choices at music shows are fraught with perils and pitfalls.
Instead of wearing a band shirt, I go a different route for 2000s nostalgia: Kingdom Hearts. My shirt features the cover of the first game. L thinks this is stupid, but she does not understand the appeal of Sora, Donald, and Goofy. I, on the other hand, have never been more sure of my decision. Tetsuya Nomura, the creator of Kingdom Hearts, is peak emo aesthetic.
Throughout our time at WWWY, no fewer than fifteen people will tell me they love my shirt. The Venn diagram between angsty emos and Disney weebs overlaps significantly. For now though, I am waiting for our coffees before we can grab an Uber and confirm my hypothesis.
Saturday 1pm
We the Kings is playing on the secondary Ghost stage. The color balance of the screens is way off. Everything is too red. Each pasty white guy on stage looks either sunburnt or like an alcoholic. Throughout the rest of the day, I make sure to look at the stage, not the screens, before judging a band’s appearance. Time has been graceful to some and cruel to others. We the Kings look fairly well.
The gimmick for this year’s When We Were Young is that the bands are supposedly playing full albums. Some acts are following this trend; others are disregarding it. Especially this early in the day, most bands do not even have enough time to play a full album.
For We The Kings, they are squeezing in most of their 2007 self-titled debut, albeit in a shuffled order. Their setlist ends with “Check Yes Juliet” which has had a recent resurgence in the popular culture. For myself and most, this is the only WTK song we know. The finale is a catchy song, but the rest of their setlist was also strong. High school Matt would have liked this album if he had give it a full listen back in the late 2000s.
However, listening to an entire album (whether on CD or iPod) felt archaic back then. iTunes and LimeWire devalued the very concept of an album. Because of this, the rock genre has struggled to produce important albums since Is This It and Kid A. Additionally, this was before the modern vinyl resurgence. The 2000s were the nadir for albums.
For most of the bands playing at WWWY, producing a great album would have been a waste of time. Three or four great singles were all you needed every few years. Nonetheless, albums have allowed many of these bands to retain a fervent, if small, fanbase. A single fan listening to an entire album is far more valuable than a hundred people buying a song for 99 cents on iTunes. The former is what gets you 70,000 people to show up to a giant concrete lot in the desert to watch bands ten years past their peak.
Saturday 4pm
Simple Plan is playing on the pink main stage. Middle school Matt would be so excited. “I’d Do Anything” was my first cell phone ringtone, back when phones were not left in silent mode 24/7/365.
J comments that he always felt too old for Simple Plan even at age 12. His eight-year-old sister liked them, so he could never do the same. Even I have to admit, Simple Plan always felt immature like the Wiggles for slightly older children. Many eighth grade homework sessions were spent with Simple Plan playing in the background, but doing so was my dirty, little secret.
Their debut single, “I’m Just a Kid”, released in 2002. Their frontman, Pierre Bouvier, was born in 1979. In theory, a 23-year-old singing, “I’m just a kid, and life is a nightmare…Nobody cares ‘cause I’m alone and the world is having more fun than me tonight,” should have always felt disingenuous. The band, however, has always committed to their material.
Near the end of their set, Simple Plan plays “What’s New Scooby-Doo?” and brings out someone wearing a Scooby-Doo costume. The experience is pure fun. The problem is not Simple Plan; it is me.
In fact, this is the way I feel about most pop punk and emo bands. I am a poser. My love of Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, and My Chemical Romance were guarded secrets. Back in high school, I never wanted to be considered part of the emo scene.
Being at WWWY makes me feel hypocritical. But out of the 70,000 people here, a large portion surely felt the same way. Were we fake then or are we fake now? A David Foster Wallace quote about loneliness and sincerity comes to mind, but I quickly lose focus as the set ends with “Perfect”. Bouvier singing, “Hey, dad, look at me. Think back and talk to me. Did I grow up according to plan?” felt sad back in middle school. Now the words are heartbreaking.
Saturday 5pm
The Starting Line are playing on the secondary Ghost stage. Their set overlapped with the end of Simple Plan, so we already missed their biggest hit, “The Best of Me” from Say It Like You Mean It.
The sun is starting to go down on the day. I am not really focused on the Starting Line though; I am thinking about the Clash and the nature of the entire punk genre.
For me, the Clash are the greatest punk band ever. Regardless of which classic punk bands you love though, your decision probably has little to do with musical talent. Of course, the punk bands that have maintained relevance over the decades are talented. Yet as rock bands, they are nowhere near as skilled as other legends: Jimi Hendrix and every member of Led Zeppelin are far better musicians than any punk player that has ever existed. This is even more true for the punk bands that time has forgotten. And that is a huge part of why we love punk.
The punk genre is simultaneously over- and under-rated in its political importance. The Sex Pistols are a corporate facade rather than actual anarchists. For most punk bands, being explicitly “political” normally falls flat on its face. Despite my love for the Clash, “Rock the Casbah” makes me feel sick every time I hear it. The song feels like a teenager proposing simple solutions to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Do not listen to punk music for foreign policy recommendations.
On the other hand, “London Calling” feels textured and real because it is written by actual Londoners. Punks writing songs about their lived experiences does work. But the truly powerful idea of punk music is subtextual. The actual subversion from punk music occurred every time a mediocre talent picked up a guitar and tried to express their truth. To steal a line from Ratatouille: Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. You do not even have to be a technically great lyricist or musician.
This is even more true for the pop punk subgenre. Bands like the Starting Line have always been looked down upon. The subgenre was criticized for failing to appeal to anyone over the age of 25. Even pop punk’s most successful band, Blink-182, receives this criticism. But diminishing art because it is about first love, growing up, or making immature mistakes is ignorant. Every adult has experienced these situations. Outgrowing some of those themes does not cheapen the music. Anyone can make art.
Saturday 6pm
The Used are playing on the pink main stage. They are insufferable. All the other bands playing today have been grateful and shown love to each other. Cobra Starship went so far as to recommend another group that was playing at the same time.
On the other hand, the Used frontman Bert McCracken has twice described his band as the greatest in the world. You are not even the greatest band playing today. The top bands do not play while the last rays of the sun are still out. The Used have also taken shots at other bands that have gone on hiatus like My Chemical Romance. McCracken says, “We’ve been here the whole time.” I suppose he thinks the Rolling Stones are superior to the Beatles.
Their last song, “The Taste of Ink” drags out. At this point, Pierce the Veil are already supposed to have started their set on the alternate, purple main stage. The venue cuts the sound midway through the last chorus. The Used look around helplessly. Pierce the Veil comes out and puts on a great show. The good vibes pick up once again.
Saturday 7pm
Hawthorne Heights are playing the tertiary Verizon stage. We are packed in the tarped metal structure. This is the closest to the front of the stage L and I have gotten this weekend. The energy inside is palpable.
More than any other band, Hawthorne Heights epitomizes the emo genre. While bands like Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco may have been the genre’s biggest stars, their success forced them to evolve and change their sound. On the other hand, Hawthorne Heights will always be defined by their first album, The Silence in Black and White.
Frontman JT Woodruff is holding nothing back. In between songs, he talks about the growth of the emo genre and its importance to the fans. He says, “This is for everyone that was not sure if they’d make it through the night. Twenty years later, we’re still here.” The words are especially powerful given that the story of Hawthorne Heights will always include the death of guitarist Casey Calvert. Woodruff is earnest, genuine, and emotional. Perhaps he is too earnest, too genuine, and too emotional to the point of being cringe.
And I realize that I am the pretentious asshole. The David Foster Wallace1 quote from earlier pops back into my mind:
Hal, who’s empty but not dumb, theorizes privately that what passes for hip cynical transcendence of sentiment is really some kind of fear of being really human, since to be really human (at least as he conceptualizes it) is probably to be unavoidably sentimental and naive and goo-prone and generally pathetic, is to be in some basic interior way forever infantile…One of the really American things about Hal, probably, is the way he despises what it is he’s really lonely for: this hideous internal self, incontinent of sentiment and need, that pules and writhes just under the hip empty mask, anhedonia.
Woodruff is baring his soul to the crowd and extolling the virtues of the emo genre itself. Who cares if it makes him look uncool? Out of all the artistic mediums mankind has ever devised, music is closest tied to the concept of “cool”, but most of that is bullshit. Raw, human connection is what art is truly about. Emo is great, not in spite of its trappings of teenage angst, but because of them. Rock and roll has always been about giving a voice to the younger generation even if the problems of teenage loneliness sometimes appear trite two decades down the road.
The band is introducing their final song, “Ohio Is For Lovers”. The soft, emotional parts of the song contrast beautifully with high-energy screamo acoustics. When that chorus hits in a minute, I will be shouting the words alongside everyone else at this stage. No longer will I care about secretly enjoying pop punk and emo. This is pure, genuine appreciation.
But before Hawthorne Heights begins to play, Woodruff says, “There’s never been a music scene like this before.” For the first time tonight, he says something incorrect because—
Saturday 10pm
Fall Out Boy are playing on the pink main stage. They are putting on their version of the Eras Tour, playing a few songs from each of their albums (but unlike Taylor Swift) in chronological order.
The problem with this concept is the show peaks too early with their second and third albums, From Under the Cork Tree and Infinity on High. Historically, these are their two most beloved records and quintessential emo music. The band went on hiatus after their fourth album, Folie à Deux. When they returned in 2013, FOB brought with them a more mainstream rock sound and lost a lot of their appeal to their core fanbase. Such a tale has befallen hundreds of popular bands, but a story does not have to be unique to be sad.
For this reason, I have also criticized the band a lot. At the beginning of the day, L thought I did not like Fall Out Boy. The band dips into a lesser known song, “Bang the Doldrums”. I sing out the bridge: “And I cast a spell over the west to make you think of me the same way I think of you.” L reconsiders her position. The truth is only a real fan can be so critical. This is the same way I act towards Star Wars. I can talk for hours about the flaws in all nine of the movies, but the lady doth protest too much, methinks. You do not have to like something to love it.
The best post-hiatus part of the set is American Beauty/American Psycho. Tiny intermission videos have played between each album, and for ABAP, “Battle Without Honor or Humanity” comes on. The song is most famous for its inclusion in Kill Bill. Fall Out Boy jumps into “Uma Thurman”. As a Tarantino fan, I appreciate the reference even if the line “she wants to dance like Uma Thurman” is referencing Pulp Fiction.
Shockingly, the next song FOB plays from ABAP is not “Centuries”. After hearing that song a thousand times on ESPN in 2015, never hearing it again would be too soon. Instead, they play “Centuries” during the album-mashup finale, but this ABAP part of the set remains untainted. Instead, the band plays my favorite post-hiatus song, “The Kids Aren’t Alright”. Lucky moments like that are why we go to live shows.
Patrick Stump spends most of the Mania set at the piano. In between songs, he says, “I thought I was young. Then I wasn’t.” The audience of aging millennials can relate. The sad melancholy to When We Were Young is that we all wish we were still young.
E is also a true Fall Out Boy fan. After the set, I ask for her thoughts. She says it was alright, but what she really wants is to go back fifteen years and hear them play their old stuff. I can relate especially since I never saw the old Fall Out Boy. Nowadays, we have to content ourselves with a handful of songs from their first three albums. I do not mind getting older, but what hurts are the missed opportunities from youth.
The finale includes a cover of “See You Again”. Wiz Khalifa comes out as a surprise guest. Even if the song is Charlie Puth’s, hearing “we’ve come a long way from where we began” from Patrick Stump is far more powerful. When you grow up, sometimes you never see a particular person, moment, or band again. Maybe worse yet, sometimes you come back, but it is all different. A time machine sure would be nice.
Saturday 11pm
My Chemical Romance are playing on the purple main stage. When We Were Young’s whole album concept is designed for this moment. The Black Parade is great from top to bottom and cohesive in its entire execution. Despite the long hours behind us at WWWY, the energy of the crowd is intense from the moment the band comes out. This excitement only grows when MCR gets to the second song of the album, “Dead!”, arguably popular primarily due to its inclusion on Guitar Hero II.
Sticking to the album order has its benefits. The crescendo of the set comes early as “Welcome to the Black Parade” is played fifth. In all of music, only “Bohemian Rhapsody” is a more popular rock opera song. The crowd shouts every word. When it is over, however, a few tired and casual fans depart. The remaining crowd becomes even more locked in. Bands should play their biggest hits midway through. Nobody wants a lackadaisical fan sticking around at a Radiohead show hoping (in vain) for “Creep”.
E and J left after Fall Out Boy. For E, MCR are too theatrical, too much of a facade. This is a complaint I understand in general and is also why I hate Kiss—The makeup, costumes, and swagger are thin veneers over the fact that Gene Simmons is an asshole. But this theatricality is the most interesting component of MCR. L describes frontman Gerard Way as weird, but I never understood this. When Way appeared on the Nerdist podcast, he came across as shy and introverted. The stage persona of performer Gerard Way™ is juxtaposed against songwriter Gerard Way. At WWWY, he does zero crowd work. The songs take over from someone who perhaps might not feel all that comfortable on stage. And this discrepancy between performer and person is a recurring theme of The Black Parade.
TBP is best defined as a high-concept rock opera. The story is largely considered to be about the Patient, a young man stricken with cancer and facing his death. The album has countless interpretations, and the lore is fascinating. Wendigoon’s take is particularly compelling. But I am not here to focus on the narrative. Instead, I want to strip away the concept and focus on the underlying truths that tell us something about the songwriters.
And what I get from The Black Parade, and especially the last three songs of the album (ignoring the hidden track), is that Gerard Way is deeply unsatisfied with the creative process and being a rock star.
This trilogy starts with “Teenagers”. On the surface, this song may appear to be an anthem for disaffected and ostracized teens, but the track is also Way addressing these youths and being uncomfortable with them. Chuck Klosterman explains this well in Eating the Dinosaur:
I liked the idea of someone twenty-eight years old feeling guilty about appealing to people half his age…”Teenagers” is Way realizing that he’s trapped in his teenager self: because his job is to create What The Kids Are Listening To, he will be one of them forever. They will leave you alone, because you’re not a pop star. But they won’t leave him alone. And—as uncomfortable as that might feel to Way—he desperately needs that contradiction to remain in place. If teenagers lose interest in My Chem, they will end up playing state fairs and rib festivals. So Gerard Way has to figure out how to be loved by people he cannot relate to (and sometimes scare the shit out of him).
MCR may speak to their external audience, but the band does not have full control over this relationship.
“Disenchanted” focuses on the internal aspect of this struggle. In many ways, this track is the saddest on an album that contains “I Don’t Love You” and “Cancer”. Let’s take a personal Genius approach for a minute:
It was the roar of the crowd that gave me heartache to sing. It was a lie when they smiled and said, “You won’t feel a thing.”
My Chem’s audience helps fuel the creative process for them, but creating powerful art and being a hyper-successful band exacts a toll.
If I’m so wrong, how can you listen all night long? Now, will it matter after I’m gone? Because you never learned a goddamn thing. You’re just a sad song with nothing to say about a lifelong wait for a hospital stay.
The dark themes of MCR’s work are a huge part of why their work is popular. But how much do fans truly understand it? In the words of Kurt Cobain, “He likes to sing along. And he likes to shoot his gun. But he knows not what it means.” Even worse though, some fans may truly understand the work, but that does not help the artist. Is leaving art behind important if doing so still leaves the creator unhappy in life? Everyone dies in the end anyway.
And if you think that I’m wrong this never meant nothing to you.
Here is the crux of the catch-22: You can disagree with how Way feels about his work. The Black Parade may be seminal art for you. However, that does not invalidate the isolation and futility My Chemical Romance feels towards their own work and performances. The lesson of the emo genre is that emotions are always valid, regardless of their source.
Naturally, consequences arise from this struggle which is what “Famous Last Words” touches upon.
So many bright lights to cast a shadow, but can I speak? Well is it hard understaning I’m incomplete? A life that’s so demanding, I get so weak. A love that’s so demanding I can’t speak.
Despite being world-renowned artists, MCR struggles to have their voices truly heard. In some ways, the attention given to them makes their jobs as artists more difficult. The song even predicts that the band will soon end:
Nothing you can say can stop me going home.
My Chemical Romance released one more studio album after The Black Parade. They broke up in 2013. Since then, they have done a single reunion tour and a handful of other shows like When We Were Young in 2022 and 2024. TBP makes it clear why this happened.
The band finishes playing the album and then returns for a short encore. They play two songs from Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. The first is “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)”. The second is “Helena” which concludes with the words “So long and good night.” When We Were Young comes to a close. The message is clear: Get the hell out. We’re done here.
Thursday, March 7 8pm
Powfu is playing at Valley Bar. He is a twentysomething lofi rapper. I first discovered his work on the bootleg boy Spotify playlist. His biggest song, “death bed (coffee for your head)” exploded on TikTok, but Powfu can hardly be considered a big artist. Valley Bar is little more than a large underground room with low ceilings and an attached bar. Only 250 people can squeeze into this venue.
L and I are still soaked. For the first time in weeks, downtown Phoenix is drenched in rain. The downpour started when we were waiting outside Valley Bar for the doors to open. The elements, however, cannot put a damper on my mood. I have not been as excited for a concert in years.
The most shocking part of the show is realizing how many young people are here. The under-21 section takes up well over half of the room. The benefit to this is L and I spend the entire show leaning on the bar top. Drinks are easy to acquire. We are also able to keep our distance from the youths who make us thirtysomethings feel ancient and decrepit.
The young demographic should not be surprising. Most of Powfu’s music is about teenage and young adult experiences. This is highlighted well in one of the first songs in the setlist, “mario kart”:
I’m still playing Mario Kart, but I’ll admit it’s not entertaining…I bet it’s been a while since you played it. Pretend I needed something to buy, so I can bump into you at your day shift.
The lyrics are prosaic, but the textured detail gives a radical authenticity to them. The Mario Kart reference feels loaded with history even if those details are unsaid. Visiting your friends and your crush at their after-school jobs is so familiar even if you have not experienced that in decades. Specific details like these are always a risk that you will alienate your audience or make them cringe. But those particulars are what allow fans to connect with your work in a way that generic songs fail to do. Even if the lyrics themselves are not strongly poetic, a young songwriter’s weaknesses make them feel more true to the experience of youth.
The energy on stage is palpable. Powfu is giving it his all. The setlist has been paced well. The most unhinged moment of the show comes when two fans are brought on stage for a McDonald’s filet-o-fish eating competition. At this point in the show, these two sandwiches must contain cold fish and stale tartar sauce, but the two contestants wolf them down to the roar of the crowd. In all the best ways, this show feels like watching your friend’s band perform.
The two opening acts, Jomie and Cody Lawless, are brought out for multiple songs throughout the setlist. My favorite of these is “future diary”:
But I’m holdin’ you back, and everybody sees it. Only got time for me on the weekends. Life with you is all I ever knew, but I’ll leave right now if it’s best for you…But you got school and family. You got real shit happening. I got shit I’m battling, gettin’ pulled down like gravity.
“future diary” contrasts well with a song like “Grand Theft Autumn” by Fall Out Boy. They are both songs about underperforming young men ruining relationships. But “Grand Theft Autumn” is about feeling entitled to someone due to your potential:
Someday I’ll appreciate in value, get off my ass, and call you. In the meantime, I’ll sport my brand new fashion of waking up with pants on at four in the afternoon.
Talking about how your ex should get back with you because you have unrealized potential works as a teenager. When you are in your thirties still delivering pizzas, selling drugs at the local dive bar, and yelling at your mom to get off your ass about cleaning your room, your potential is long expired. On the other hand, “future diary” will always make you empathize with its the narrator since he recognizes his flaws and is giving up on the girl. Perhaps millenials are the entitled ones.
Regardless, no one can write songs like “Grand Theft Autumn” or “future diary” past the age of 25. Part of me wishes I could still make genuine art about being a burnout. Instead I have to settle for writing some meta-commentary that circles around the topic.
Someone once warned me that my musical taste would be locked in at thirty. No new bands would be appeal to me. While it does take a lot to pull me away from old Radiohead and Bloc Party records, I have not quite met this fate. New music can still break through to me, as evidenced by me being here.
Yet as one of the oldest people in this room, being at this concert feels almost voyeuristic. Powfu is almost a decade younger than me, and I should feel like Steve Buscemi trying to interact with his fellow kids. But instead, I genuinely feel a connection with Powfu’s work and all the fans inside Valley Bar. If you felt something long ago, the experience sticks with you. This old man is, at least on some level, always going to understand these kids.
And the reverse is true as well. Near the end of the show, Powfu plays “laying on my porch while we watch the world end”:
I can feel the world get farther. Every year the stars get darker. Running out of time, we don’t get much left. We can fall in love with our final breath.
As an old person, that line rings even more true.
The final song is a pop punk cover of “Mine” by Taylor Swift which gets everyone’s blood pumping. Sometimes music just needs to loud and fast. Maybe that’s the real lesson to be learnt from pop punk. Either way, the kids are doing alright.
Sun 12am
Staying at Park MGM may have been a mistake. L and I are now stuck walking the length of the Vegas Strip for an hour and a half. Our legs are ready to give up each time we climb stairs to cross the road.
Though my body is exhausted, my heart is full. When We Were Young 2024 was another spectacular experience. The cost may be high, but no music festival packs as many big names into a single day as WWWY. Teenage Matt would not believe he would ever get to see all these bands at once.
We left the festival grounds with thousands of people around us. By the time we are halfway down the strip, only a few stragglers and the usual late night Vegas traffic remain. This is as quiet as Las Vegas gets. The neon lights have a warmth to them now. L and I are too tired to talk much, so I am stuck in my head. I am still thinking about what JT Woodruff said at the end of Hawthorne Height’s set: “There’s never been a music scene like this.”
Woodruff is wrong. Emo and pop punk mean a lot to me, but the scene is not unique. Many people think the same way about classic punk or metal. Boomers loved the Beatles and Fleetwood Mac. Gen X had Nirvana and Oasis. Ten years from now, Gen Z will have their own equivalent of When We Were Young.
As much as I loved WWWY 2024, my favorite concert this year was Powfu. A small, intimate show is always going to be better than a large arena concert or a music festival with 70,000 people. But beyond the setting, it was nice to be reminded that there will always be new kids on the block making great, albeit different, music.
A sadness exists behind When We Were Young. Everyone present knows that emo and pop punk have run their course. At this point in the night, we are not even sure if there is going to be another WWWY2. The festival is a cultural funeral for thirtysomethings who used to wear studded belts.
Naturally then, many fans become crusty over this reduced cultural importance. Attending WWWY is witnessing millenials become boomers in real time. You hear the most dreaded of statements:
They don’t make music like this any more.
But this is bullshit. The sound may be different, but the thematic heart of emo can still be found in new music. Sometimes you come back to What The Kids Are Listening To and think it is different. But the truth is you just have to look closer. Sometimes you come back and it’s all the same.
