Nobody in First Day Back was alive in the ’90s, but that doesn’t stop the Santa Cruz five-piece from sounding like one of the decade’s foundational emo bands. In reality, they formed last year after a string of on-campus crossings: reconnecting with a freshman-year neighbor looking for a place to crash, replying to a lamppost flyer seeking bandmates, and poaching a Title Fight-loving bassist from a jazz band. If the magnetism of their first jam session didn’t make it obvious, the five musicians—lead singer and violinist Maggie, drummer Spencer, guitarists Nathan and Zion, and bassist Luke—learned they shared a deep reverence for Braid. What better way to honor the emo band they loved than to start a new one named after a favorite song?
Forward, First Day Back’s unassuming debut, lit the internet ablaze when they self-released it in June. Recorded in a Santa Cruz living room by their friend Benjamin Chung, it’s comprised entirely of live takes with all five members playing at once. They used no click tracks or isolated parts except Maggie’s vocals, and the audio is minimally adjusted. That homespun aura gives Forward an everlasting glow. And First Day Back don’t bother with the cheeky electronic samples or maximalist song structures so trendy in current-day emo; the album opens with a full-throated yell and then dives headfirst into the abrasive post-hardcore rhythms, brainy guitar melodies, and impassioned sing-scream of second-wave and Midwest emo.
On all nine songs, First Day Back let mood dictate what and how they play. “Paint” is the sound of craving time alone to create art, where Maggie’s violin swells are as evocative as the crashing fuzz of Nathan and Zion’s guitars. Familial heartache lays heavy on “Us,” one of Forward’s strongest songs, thanks to a tender balance of delicate guitar parts over a roving bassline; the pain of watching parents fight rips Maggie’s vocals in two, but so does the music, which snowballs into a weaponized outburst of its own. First Day Back play with a transparency usually reserved for private moments: screaming into a pillow in your bedroom, or putting your hoodie up to stress-cry on the bus. Each disposition is fully realized without feeling melodramatic. Even their final addition to the album, the instrumental “Upstairs (212),” was the result of an impromptu jam intended to document their contemplative mood.
