28 June 2006
tell your friends...
The first thing that comes to mind when you get oh so deep into Chris Carrabba’s latest creation is the old frat boy declaration: I keep getting older, but the girls stay the same age. Even though the songs are devoid of all jockiness and sung in that panting, sands-in-our-hourglass-are-almost-gone Dashboard Confessional way, they’re heard as if they were being delivered by Trip McNeely in “Can’t Hardly Wait.” There’s a clear card that Carrabba continues to play with his fans that remain stuck in their tumultuous teens, believing each night and each time they press the end button on a cell phone conversation is another cliffhanger, a dramatic too be continued that is bigger than Mt. Everest. How will they ever get what’s her name find out that they’re that prince charming she sighs about finding in her bedroom on lonely nights? How can tomorrow possibly get any worse? Can I survive the strain of this love? Why is this so hard? Why is love such a pain in the ass? Why can’t I get to that happy place faster? Why can’t I savor it when I finally get there? It seems like a lot of things to ask oneself, but it really just boils down into one general longing for something that life has taught is relatively unattainable: satisfaction. Carrabba relies on the universally subscribed to understanding that the grass is not only greener on the other side, but it’s more lush, warmer and is as fragrant as a million greenhouses. It’s a place that’s unreachable and maybe that’s why he hurls himself self at the same problem every time he cuts a record. He must be girled out by now. Haven’t they all been gotten – wooed by his greased up, lettuce-shaped hairdo – by now to make this desperation overkill? Maybe tomorrow’s second listen will give some answers. – Sean Moeller
Purchase Maritime music at: Insound
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