American Football

Review

Midwestern Emo was born in Urbana, Illinois, at Chris’s house

If the blues is the sound of America’s rivers, then emo is the sound of her basements

If we save America’s midwestern emo houses from college-town yuppie developers, we can have music in the future, too

Mike Kinsella, Steve Holmes, Steve Lamos, and Chris Strong lived a mere five-minute walk from each other’s homes in Urbana, a mid-sized city in a midwestern state that is often thought of as the heartland of America. (The geographic center of the lower forty-eight is actually a solid nine-hour drive east, in the town of Lebanon, Kansas; and while Kansas too has a legitimate claim on heartland status, the name of Lebanon does not necessarily evoke for waves of amber grain patriotism like plain ole Urbana does.) According to the 1997 student-staff directory at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana, Mike Kinsella and Steve Holmes lived together at 609 W. Elm in Urbana, Illinois. Lamos lived at 109 ½ W. Washington. Strong lived at 704 W. High. Mike and Steve and Steve were in a band that rehearsed at each other’s houses. When that band released its debut album, for the cover they chose a photo their friend and neighbor Chris had taken of his house — 704 W. High. It is …

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Against the Country

A book filled with sentences that make you want to read them aloud and to glory in their humor, which is by turns exuberant and dark, it is a mirror in which we see ourselves plain.

A peer of Twain and Melville walks among us. His name is Ben Metcalf.

But who is he? And why has no one I know ever heard of his ghostly, rage-fueled masterpiece?

By Chandler Fritz

The first time I read Against the Country my wife rolled over in bed and swatted at the reading light — it was 4 AM and my laughter had woken her up. I had found the book earlier that afternoon while perusing the stacks at the New York Public Library. Its cover, of simple white font floating on a background reminiscent of Joyce’s “snotgreen sea,” stood out amid the loud titles of other contemporary fiction. From the colophon I learned it had been published by Random House in 2015, but other than that, my knowledge of the book and its author was zilch. From the very first page, however, it called out like an estranged relative; one I had never met but known all my life. My second read was more studied, but an undercurrent of hysteria remained, especially as I discovered that none of the many book-lovers in my life had even heard of the novel, let alone read it. Literary kismet is rare. It renders a text uniquely yours — you unearth a piece of yourself within a book. The type of …

American Football

Against the Country

Edward Van Halen RIP