1997, A Better View of the Rising Moon

Dammit, I’m stumped. I’ve been wracking my brain to try to come up with what possibly could’ve been so big about 1997 the year that it would cause 1997 the band to name itself after it. And I’ve got no freakin’ idea. What, was it that Deng Xiaoping died? The Simpsons became the longest-running animated series? The big shootout in N. Hollywood? The band members’ collective twelfth birthday?

On closer inspection, maybe it’s not a particular event 1997 the band has in mind, but a general sound. Thankfully leaping backwards in time past contemporaries/recent forerunners like Taking Back Sunday or fellow Chicagoans Fall Out Boy, 1997 instead choose to mine those heady early days of emo, back when bands like Mineral and Sunny Day Real Estate ruled the skies. Honest — had this album been released a decade or so ago, it would’ve been on Deep Elm or Jade Tree, not a more hardcore label like Victory. And hey, that’s great by me; the late ’90s were a happy time for yours truly, especially with regard to music. I was one of those sappy emo kids for whom the roaring guitars and shy-boy vocals really seemed to fit perfectly.

So given that, I guess it makes sense that despite my initial misgivings, A Better View of the Rising Moon has burrowed deep into my brain, to the point where I’m roaming around the office muttering bits of songs under my breath (and possibly freaking out my coworkers). 1997 take their love of folks like Mineral and The Promise Ring, with all the catchy, emo-kid bitter lyrics, singalong choruses, jangly/loud guitars, and sweet melodies, and drag it forward into the new century, in the process incorporating some neat little sounds (the playful mandolin in “Garden of Evil,” the slight country feel to “The Roads You Can Take” and “Tennessee Song”).

Oddly, the band this album reminds me of isn’t even strictly an emo band — at points it’s a dead ringer for fellow Midwesties The Anniversary. A Better View brings to mind that band’s Designing a Nervous Breakdown in a big way, from the oddly thick guitar sound to the boy/girl call-and-response vocals to the delicate, warm keys (which also bring to mind Mates of State, to boot). While The Anniversary trafficked most of the time in soul-crushing melancholy, however, 1997 do it all with a smile rather than a grimace. The guitars chime and crash, Caleb Pepp and Kerri Mack’s vocals swoop and swoon, and there’s a sense of cheery joy throughout, even on sadder, slower tracks like “Droppin’ Dimes” or “Grace” (which, by the way, sounds like a great Veruca Salt outtake, mostly thanks to Mack’s singing).

At the end of the day, I shouldn’t really bother trying to figure out where the heck in the musical timeline these kids think they’re from. The good part, the important part, is that they’re here right now.