Lagwagon – Hang

When we last saw 90’s punk staples Lagwagon they had released the jokingly titled, I Think My Older Brother Used To Listen To Lagwagon – the EP’s title poking fun at the band’s lengthy career and aging nature of their fanbase.  Considering that the release of the EP left fans “hanging” for a nearly seven year break – enough time for listeners to develop careers and start a family – it wouldn’t be a stretch to extend the joke to “I Think My Dad Used To Listen To Lagwagon.”  To say it’s been a while is an understatement.

Lagwagon is a serious legacy act harkening from the “golden age” of Fat Wreck Chords defined by No Use For A Name, NOFX, and Strung Out.  As with all legacy acts, the thought of returning to activity for a new record is both exciting and terrifying.  A band must compete in a vastly altered landscape, and then live up to the unrealistic expectations created from years of absence heightened by the lure of nostalgia.  Thankfully, front man Joey Cape has been anything but inactive in his solo career, and his musicianship remains sharp as a tack.  The resulting twelve song album, Hang, should quell any fears that Lagwagon is not up to the task.

Fans rejoice; Hang is Lagwagon in its purest form.  

Lagwagon stuffs Hang chalk full of their trademark vocal and guitar intensity, revisiting familiar ground as well as branching out to neighbouring territories. Cape has always represented the darker side of pop-punk, and his weighty lyrics unload well against a an angsty backdrop.  The sub minute-long acoustic opener “Burden of Proof” has become somewhat of a Lagwagon tradition, channelling the fragile unease first explored via Cape’s short lived spin off Bad Astronaut.  From here Lagwagon jettisons headlong into their stormy combination of speedy vocals and snapping, hurried drumbeats.  “Reign” has all the marks of a classic track, easing listeners comfortably into the much heavier, “hint-of-metal” underlying each of Chris Flippin and Chris Rest’s dense riffs.  “I was made of broken parts, sewed together with a broken heart,” belts Cape forcefully, setting the tone for the bleak images of a fractured humanity forcefully articulated a song later in “Cog In The Machine.”  

Of course the shifts in tempo that Lagwagon has become known for are back in full force.  “Poison The Well” moves gears between speedy verses, indulgent guitar solos, and a mid-tempo chorus as only Lagwagon can.  As always, the swaps are abrupt and loosely uncomfortable, but absolutely integral for Cape and his crew achieving each track’s sense of direction.  The album’s flagship track, “Obsolete Absolute,” takes pretty near two minutes of steady instrumental escalation and sound clips before culminating in a swirling sonic storm of borderline melodic ferocity.  

Once this undeniable high point runs its course, Hang shifts away from aggression and towards that of reflection and acceptance.  Without scaling back too far, the songs become slightly more springtly.  Those like “Burning Out In Style” and “You Know Me” seem less bent on provoking audiences to anger, and more about reaching out in camaraderie.  Even the gently inviting piano segments of “One More Song” fit in perfectly amidst Hang’s overarching harshness.

But on a more personal level, Hang’s existence comes as a relief.  With labelmate Tony Sly’s recent tragic and untimely passing thrusting us into a world without No Use For A Name, the fleeting mortality of those artists that we all grew up becomes clear.  Such an unexpected fate could befall any beloved legacy act and close the shutters on their story in the blink of an eye. That Lagwagon chose to pick up after a lengthy absence and boldly challenge themselves with such success and passion speaks to their generosity and drive.  We can all be thankful that Lagwagon has left yet one more meaningful and memorable footprint in their story.  Hang respects Lagwagon’s aging legacy by embodying a work that could just as well serve as a final destination as the next fork in the road.