AFI - Singing the Pain

The period spanning the 90s to the early 2000s saw many punk-rock and hardcore bands rise to prominence and achieve considerable popularity, showing both a strong, driving melodic charge and more reflective moments, with sounds that were either more direct and carefree on one hand or more melancholic and emotional on the other. This is how bands like Offspring, Rancid, NOFX or Bad Religion rose to fame; alongside them, arriving a bit later before achieving commercial success, were A.F.I., short for A Fire Inside. Over the course of the 90s and 2000s they established themselves internationally as one of the most celebrated melodic hardcore bands, with a style that gradually moved from rawer, more energetic beginnings toward increasingly melodic, refined and sophisticated territory, adding pervasive gothic atmospheres, electronic flourishes, alternative-rock elements and emotional choruses. With their melodic flashes and emotional outbursts they crafted some hugely successful anthemic hits, but in recent years their inspiration has waned and their releases have lost quality. Let's retrace their career.

The band formed in 1991 in Ukiah, near San Francisco, when Davey Havok (vocals), Mark Stopholese (guitar) and Vic Chalker (bass) came together, with Chalker replaced shortly after by Geoff Kresge. They were joined by Adam Carson, who was just learning to play drums. Put bluntly, everyone was basically "learning" from scratch, and they learned fast through long, grueling sessions in garages and basements covering the idols of their teenage years, pushing the do-it-yourself approach of punk culture to its fullest. Davey Havok would later comment sarcastically on that period: "We were genuinely amazed that we managed to put our sh*t together enough to even release a split".

California is a leading territory in the hardcore-punk field, having given birth to many of the genre's greatest masterpieces and most influential pioneers (Dead Kennedys, Fear, Germs, Social Distortion, Adolescents and Black Flag, among many others). The newly formed band found a strong affinity especially with the melodic hardcore current and with albums like No Control by L.A.'s Bad Religion, which they devoured note for note. But to that they also added a notable interest in the horror-punk of Misfits, a punk-rock subgenre influenced by post-punk, early gothic-rock and rockabilly, with distinctive aesthetics and lyrics inspired by horror B-movies. From Misfits the four took the aesthetic and the darker elements.

Naturally, the early AFI were a bit different from the band that would later achieve international success, being more influenced by alternative rock, emo and pop-punk. This is true above all because the band would go through line-up changes that would prove significant for their musical direction. But the roots of these changes were made possible by an open-minded attitude that can already be traced back to their beginnings; despite their differences, they already carried the groundwork for the seeds of later changes to take root.

Their official debut came in 1993 with the EP Dork, a split with Loose Change that shows as much rawness as it does the talent of the Californians, foreshadowing their first LP released two years later.

Answer That And Stay Fashionable is inspired by Quentin Tarantino's Quentin Tarantino film "Reservoir Dogs", from the parody artwork to the references scattered throughout the album. The record also includes a cover of "Man In A Suitcase" by the famous Police, later replaced on the subsequent reissue by a cover of "Open Your Eyes" by a minor punk-rock band, Circus Tents. It's a genre record that adds nothing to the canons of hardcore-punk. The songs also tend to sound too much alike, and Havok's vocal performance is fairly flat, at least compared to his future performances. Still, it's a fast, powerful album, and the tracks remain impactful, overflowing with energy and featuring ironic, witty lyrics. Between intermittent basslines, gang vocals and guitar riffs that hit you right in the face, the result, while not destined to go down in history, puts the band in a good light within the punk and underground circuit. This earns them a contract with Nitro Records, the independent label run by Dexter Holland of Offspring.

Their second record, Very Proud Of Ya, keeps the same direct, in-your-face approach. There aren't any major changes; it's simply a bit shorter but with more songs. There are some interesting tracks, but the ingredients are a bit recycled from punk-rock and melodic hardcore to pad out the length of an LP. Still, the record pleases the underground scene, which sees AFI as one of the sharpest bands on the hardcore-punk scene, but it lacks the commercial appeal that is, in these years, making the fortune of several other similar bands, and this keeps them from truly breaking through. Most of the music press also starts finding them too repetitive (except among the hardcore fans most loyal to staying "true and pure"). Artistically, this isn't necessarily a bad thing: it allows the Californians to retain spontaneity in their songwriting and genuine aggression in their guitar attacks and vocals. But the risk is always that of sliding into monotony.

During the following tour, bassist Kresge left the band and was replaced by Hunter Burgan, not just to complete the shows but as an official member.

With their third album, Shut Your Mouth And Open Your Eyes, the band shows two sides of the same coin. On one hand, the four are more mature and aware of their own abilities, which allows them to nail a greater number of incisive riffs, catchy vocal hooks, and chord progressions better suited to composing and performing what they intend to express through music. On the other hand, their stylistic boundaries start to feel too tight, not only because this album is when AFI begin to gain a wider fanbase with broader musical interests, but also because the band members themselves feel the urge to break away from their roots and move toward greater stylistic cross-pollination. On the album, the band's horror-punk influences carry noticeably more weight. At the same time, melodic openings become more pronounced too, without ever veering directly into gothic-rock, but with hindsight one can see a coherent evolution taking shape that will lead to the following albums. There's a fifth, "ghost" member of the band contributing backing vocals: it's Jade Puget, a longtime friend of Davey Havok's and former member of Loose Change (and of Redemption 87), the band from the original split EP. Inside the booklet, the phrase "A Fire Inside" appears: it's the first time it's explicitly mentioned, and from this point on it will be the band's official acronym.

The phrase is picked up again shortly after for the EP A Fire Inside, which notably features two covers, of Cure and Misfits (other EPs are also released during these years, but in very limited pressings and largely negligible except for collector fans).

The biggest change up to this point comes in 1999 with Black Sails In The Sunset. Mike Sopholese leaves guitar duties, replaced by none other than Jade Puget. It's the most significant change yet, because Puget injects fresh sonic ideas into the band's music. His style is far less rough and granite-hard than Sopholese's: less "thrashy", more tending toward "grunge", with a gentler touch on the strings and a greater willingness to open up melodically and atmospherically. This doesn't stop him from playing with real fire and crafting high-impact riffs, but he frames them with an unusual care for songwriting and various compositional refinements.

The record earns critical recognition within its niche, winning favor above all through its longer, relatively more structured songs, as well as through its denser atmospheres, which give the impression of something more "profound". Credit is also due to the more introspective, melancholic lyrics, heavily influenced by English darkwave and American deathrock. In the hidden track "Midnight Sun", Charles Baudelaire is even quoted.

Davey Havok had in the meantime changed his vocal style, turning raw screams into a loud, controlled shouted singing that at times veers into emo/screamo territory, at others takes on darker tones, closer to David Bowie and Robert Smith. We're still witnessing the band's transformation, but we're not yet looking at the finished creature.

The Art Of Drowning comes out in 2000 and remains, to this point, A.F.I.'s masterpiece.

Their dark-tinged hardcore-punk grows even more pessimistic and introspective, starting with the album title, which refers, in Havok's words, to the self-destructiveness of the human race, concerned only with its own personal needs and selfishness while forgetting its responsibilities toward the world. The cover art itself has a fully horror-punk look in the style of Misfits, and the opening track (aside from a brief 30-second intro) is bluntly titled "The Lost Souls", pairing searing guitar riffs with powerful, intermittent bass lines to make everything even bleaker.

There is, however, a redemptive side to it: it never slides into misanthropy for its own sake, but instead tries to shake listeners into reflecting on the band's core themes and acknowledging what the Americans believe are the personal changes one needs to make (as in the single "The Days Of The Phoenix"). This also ties back to the influence of straight edge culture.

The songs carry a more calibrated, smoothed-out power compared to their past work, yet remain striking for the melancholic charge running beneath the surface. Song lengths are now consistently longer than the punk-rock average, running roughly 3-4 minutes, more in line with alternative rock; it's no coincidence that the album achieves solid commercial success, with many tracks getting airplay even on stations unconnected to punk. There are also the first flashes of electronics (as in "The Despair Factor", which would go on to become one of the band's anthems).

Many music journalists, over these two years, start labeling the band "gothic-punk", but A.F.I. reject the tag. On the whole, it remains, admittedly, still an album rooted in melodic hardcore-punk (especially that of Ignite, NOFX and early Offspring) and more refined post-hardcore; but the horror-punk and gothic contaminations, along with Puget's meticulous guitar work (which doesn't shy away from layering or double-tracked parts), are now a constant presence. The result shows a surprising spontaneity and balance among its various tendencies. And it's the last record for the independent label Nitro Records.

The band's evolutionary arc reaches its peak in 2003 with the ambitious Sing The Sorrow, a major-label debut on DreamWorks that marks a sharp break from the past for the four Californians. It's their biggest commercial success (a platinum record) and probably their best album, alongside its predecessor, with which it forms a complementary relationship. It's the longest leap forward in their stylistic progression, so much so that The Art Of Drowning now looks, by comparison, like the band's more hardcore-punk side. Sing The Sorrow has by now fully transformed their sound into a highly melodic, atmospheric form of hardcore ballad, clearly influenced by gothic-rock, emocore and alternative-rock, but above all enriched by compositional refinements that manage the difficult feat of combining urgency, catchiness and versatility.

Even if the more underground punk-rock purists might turn up their noses at an intro like "Miseria Cantare" — with its evocative keyboard washes, the imposing toll of the drums and Havok's sentimental vocals set against fiery, epic backing choirs — the record cements the band's commercial and critical breakthrough, finally earning them international fame. The single "The Leaving Song, Part II" is the album's high point, with memorable searing riffs, a meticulously detailed arrangement and hints of dark-metal. Equally intense is "...But Home Is Nowhere", with its anthemic chorus and bursts of rage and melancholy playing off one another.

Perhaps one could fault the band for making this whole new dark attitude, so emotional and melancholic, a little too overt at times, to the point of feeling contrived. It's no coincidence that many longtime fans now cry betrayal. But for everyone else, it remains a new milestone cleared: Puget's creative riffing and Havok's passionate vocals manage to produce one of the most successful punk records of 2003.

The formula is pushed further three years later with Decemberunderground, which finds the band doubling down on its more melodic, atmospheric side. It's a very catchy record, one that seems to act as a connecting thread linking bands like Offspring, Finch, My Chemical Romance, U2 and Cure. It's strong within its genre, but it sits at least a notch below the two previous records, since it loses some intensity and occasionally edges toward mannerism. What had particularly defined the band in recent years was the balance between contrasting tendencies, the blending of black and white, the bittersweet flavor that turned their songs into little gems of energy, emotion, adrenaline, introspection and tragedy all at once. This interplay of light and dark is echoed in the album's very title, which sets the chill of December winter against the fire of their rock. This time, however, the quartet pushes its sharper edge somewhat into the background to focus on the melancholic, emotional side. The result is evocative, with Havok in finer form than ever lyrically and expressively. The formula, though, isn't as jarring as before, and at times feels a bit predictable. Even the catchiness occasionally comes across as forced. Still, it remains the logical outcome of the band's evolution up to this point, and the musicians' compositional class is once again undeniable, especially on the most gripping tracks ("Kill Caustic", "Miss Murder", "Summer Shudder", "Love Like Winter," "37mm"). In hindsight, it's a solid album, especially compared to what came after.

2009 brings Crash Love, which continues the melodic path, further emphasizing and expanding emo-pop, power-pop and punk-pop influences. The result, however, doesn't fully convince: too formulaic, not very incisive. Even the melancholic passages lose their genuineness and feel more like a Placebo carbon copy set to a Green Day beat. The lyrics grow more banal and stereotyped. The clean, precise sound starts to feel overly polished. The more vivid, varied side of Decemberunderground is set aside, making Crash Love feel like a diluted, monotonous version of it. It's a record that's too stylistically one-note, inconsistent in quality and far more predictable, struggling to land the melodic spark that defined its predecessors.

Standouts include anthemic choruses like the one on "End Transmission" and the sugary counterpoints of "Darling I Want To Destroy You", sadly undermined by lyrics that come across as a parody of Havok. The rest of the album, however, is bland.

Despite positive reviews in some trade magazines, Crash Love disappoints audiences and isn't rewarded by sales either.

Nothing much changes with 2013's Burials, where the band's creative crisis is plain to see, as it tries to sound deeper and darker but ends up recycling itself without finding the right balance of melody and energy. In intent, the album should be an intriguing hybrid of punk-pop and goth-rock, updating the spirit of Joy Division for the post-hardcore and emocore era. But the results, on most of the songs, leave something to be desired. Save for a few exceptions ("A Deep Slow Panic", "The Conductor"), nearly every track sounds watered-down and anonymous, lacking the creative flair that had set apart the band's records of ten years earlier.

In early 2017 the new self-titled album was released, though it was instantly nicknamed The Blood Album by press and fans alike because of its cover art. The tenth studio effort behind the band's symbolic little star-on-a-crest logo takes a summarizing approach, revisiting even their distant early records with the aim of reclaiming certain elements and blending them into the path pursued on their most recent work. In practice, it's a wink to the band's original fans, without losing sight of the more recent ones.

Unfortunately, perhaps precisely because of this forced synthesis, the album doesn't fully recapture the qualities those early records—still quite raw—displayed, namely a power capable of real emotional impact and a visceral, genuine energy. Rather than infusing the more mainstream melodic sensibility of recent times with the energy of their early days, the band instead seems intent on diluting that energy to make it more accessible to a mass audience. That's not necessarily a bad thing: at its best, the album is genuinely catchy and could push newer fans to dig deeper into the band's back catalogue. Elsewhere, though, it slips into monotony and predictability. And the basslines evoking darkwave, or the palm-muted guitars, aren't always particularly inspired—at times they come across as contrived tricks, drifting far from the memory of the melodramatic peaks of the band's mid-career.

In 2021, after a four-year wait, AFI decided to lay their cards on the table and fully embrace their love of 80s wave sounds: Bodies is a nostalgic record, carefully crafted in its sonic research, steeped in mildly melancholic atmospheres without ever overdoing it, carried along by Davey Havok's expressive voice. Aside from the catchy, sun-drenched opener "Twisted Tongues" and a few more guitar-driven detours like the punk-pop "Looking Tragic" and "No Eyes", the record draws heavily from the post-punk and dark era. There are lulling dirges recalling the Cure ("Dulcería") and the Smiths ("On Your Back"), small synth-pop brushstrokes mixed into the guitar arrangements ("Escape From Los Angeles"), nods to Siouxsie and the Banshees and New Order ("Death Of The Party"), and melancholic blends of Joy Division and Green Day ("Begging For Trouble").

The sincere, passionate faithfulness to certain sounds is admirable, as is the band's willingness to follow its own inspiration, but what's often lacking is the songwriting itself. AFI alternate tracks that may not be brilliant but are effectively inspired with others that sound patched together, offering few melodic ideas and little real conviction. Notably, the most charismatic songs are concentrated in the album's first half, while the second half grows staler, almost feeling like style exercises for their own sake. The closing "Tied To A Tee" is a bittersweet funeral march in which the band tries to heighten the mood, but it's undercut by repetitiveness, by the ineffective contrast between the deliberately bare-bones arrangements and the emotional chorus, and by an abrupt, unemphatic ending.

For the most part, the songs are short, a holdover from the band's origins, which on one hand is a plus, since the record flows immediately and smoothly, but on the other makes everything sound less developed and less deep than it could be. Still, AFI have found the ingredients that suit them best, and their future can be viewed with confidence.

This is where AFI's discography comes to a close, for now. The decline of recent years doesn't undermine the personal, original stamp the Californian band left during the most inspired season of its career. Anyone wishing to venture into these territories will inevitably have to reckon with A Fire Inside.

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