I’ve come to realize that the day I became a Man was the day I stopped enjoying the placative whining of Chris Carrabba. It’s not necessarily bad music, depending on one’s tastes, and there are more poorly-written lyrics out there. But there is something about the band’s songs that makes them arguably more suited to a high school talent show than a young adult’s downtime.
Yes, there were hours of commiserating with the singer for his similarly jaded love experiences, but these do little to create real progress, to console or forget. In fact, one could go his entire life without listening to DC and still become a Man, but it would be harder to identify that singular moment, the one point that defined the transition so absolutely.
So how do you know if you’re listening to Man music? Well this varies from Man to Man, but if you’re listening to Andrew Calhoun, you could do worse. He’s difficult to listen to for more than a couple of songs, but he’s a Man, and his songs bear that out.
Parenthetically, DC has a new album coming out in a few weeks. I’ll probably still give it a listen; real Men aren’t afraid to dabble in the guilty pleasures of their youth every once in a while.