We are the children of a generation who were not required to go to war; a generation with little meaning and few heroes. We are a DIY-driven mass of knowledge-gluttons who rarely converse without thinking we are right. We are the 30-somethings we knew we would be and we can’t wait to be the elder statesmen we are destined to be. We consider each of our favorite albums to be, at least somewhat, our anthem. There can’t be hundreds of anthems, though. There can’t be just one, either. Japandroids’ grasp of youth and folly certainly ranks them as spokespeople, and their music is certainly energetic and with causation. Their pinnacles speak highly of our indecision and vaguely of angst. They understand the mute-worthiness of speaking, even when there’s little to be said.
Of course, there’s your dividing line. Depending upon who you ask, pop music’s grasp on reality is fleeting already, and our generation’s understanding of life’s foibles is limited enough without art mirroring us. When “The Days of Nights and Roses” muses on meandering: “Don’t we have anything to live for?/ Well, of course we do/ but until they come true/ we’re still drinking/ and still smoking,” Japandroids are presupposing the line of questioning from older generations. I’m not giving them The Who status quite yet, but what, if any, question would you expect the older folks to ask us? Each question you get, each news story of wayward youth and each glaring eye you wander past is asking you, “What are you doing with your life?” Well, “Roses,” and all of Celebration Rock attempts to answer it. “We all want to know what nobody knows:/ what the nights of wine and roses hold… we don’t cry for those nights to arrive/ we yell like hell to the heavens.”
