IN REVIEW: Green Day - "Father of All Motherfuckers"

What many casual observers don't know (or may not have noticed) about Green Day is their ability to shapeshift. It's easy to forget that, after breaking through with Dookie, they made a point of experimenting with their sound; by incorporating many different elements and influences into their maturing songwriting, they managed to explore a wide range of sonic possibilities while simultaneously maintaining the essence of what made them, well, Green Day. Of course, they accomplished all of this even before turning it all on its head with American Idiot, a record that went against the grain of what was expected of them and earned them a sizable second wind of popularity in the process.

For fans of a certain age, it's somewhat overwhelming to realize that it's been twenty years since their boldly mature sixth album Warning threatened to delegate Green Day to the realm of forgotten '90s rock stars, and yet here we are. In this millennium, Green Day has gone from near has-beens to rock opera slinging world beaters to legit Rock and Roll Hall of Famers. With all the accolades, and legions of adoring fans, it can also be easy to forget that they've spent the better part of the last decade struggling to maintain relevance; 2009's 21st Century Breakdown, while a formidable follow-up to the staggering success of American Idiot, will always be seen as the lesser of their Big Statement Records. Then, there was the haphazard and reckless exercise in overindulgence that was their 2012 trilogy, 37 songs' worth of towering mediocrity that wrought a wake of fan indifference where one decent album would have done just fine (as proven by the partial reconciliation that was 2016's Revolution Radio).

Which brings us to now, a thirteenth album from a band that can now boast more than thirty years in the game. Father of All Motherfuckers is positioned as a back-to-basics record, which is a delicate stance to take because a statement like that may give fans misleading visions of Dookie. This is most definitely not that, rather a stripped down distillation of Green Day's influences both old and new; while there are moments of unmistakable Green Day-ness present here, by and large this is a record whose main intent is not to throw back to past classics but instead to throw back to the spirit of those classics. So as to say, the goal is to run the carefree attitude Green Day soaked their early work into through a modern filter. To help with this, they've partnered with Butch Walker (who has carved out a career as a solo artist and producer, but who I'll always most fondly remember as a member of Marvelous3); Walker's presence brings a modern sheen and an in-the-red punch to the band's garage-rock indebted songs.

For what it's worth, the band sound more inspired here than they did when they attempted a similar trick on ¡Dos! As the second part of the aforementioned ill-fated trilogy, eight years ago they sounded like they were pushing out half-assed songs on an assembly line, and that record lacked the immediacy and reverie that they had showed just a few years earlier as Foxboro Hot Tubs; here, Billie Joe Armstrong gleefully pushes his voice into an uncomfortable falsetto without a shred of shame, snarls with attitude and conviction and brings more swagger to the proceedings than he has in a long time. Mike Dirnt's bass work is more memorable than on recent outings (especially on the title track), and Tré Cool's drumming is as tight and deceptively complex as ever. The vocal layers, percussive flourishes and a few choice studio tricks along the way makes for a record without any real duds to speak of, even if the wilder detours are sure to throw fans for a loop.

To me, though, what's more problematic than a few of-the-moment vocal effects and the thicker coat of gloss afforded some of the tracks is the blatant retracing of steps that's heard throughout. Stab You in the Heart doesn't have anything really wrong with it other than it being a virtual mash-up of The Beatles and Hippy Hippy Shake. Junkies on a High, meanwhile, features a vocal performance that could be subtitled Boulevard of Broken Dreams II: Electric Boogaloo. Current single Oh Yeah! features a Joan Jett sample and straight up tries to pass it off as a chorus. I wouldn't dare accuse Green Day of being completely unique and original on their best (greenest?) day, but they do seem to spend a good chunk of Father of All Motherfuckers going out of their way to remind us of other songs.

Still, this album has a lot going for it, thanks for the most part to its attitude and genuine affection for the source material; as a testimonial to not just Green Day's but, indeed, rock and roll's history, this is about as good as it was going to get for this band at this stage of their career. I also have to admit that it's a consistently fun listen, and I certainly can't say they don't deliver on the pre-release promise of a no-muss, no-fuss record. At just 26 minutes, it doesn't have time for deep thought or to overstay its welcome. In fact, while typing this review I listened to Father of All Motherfuckers in its entirety three times, and it's gotten a little more enjoyable every time.

Is it a grand return to form? Not in the slightest. This won't hold a candle to Dookie or American Idiot in terms of overall importance, but I think that was hardly the point here. Now that I think about it, even wondering where to rank this in comparison to the other twelve records is kind of moot. It doesn't feel like this record is a response to what came before, nor an indicator of what Green Day will do next. This is simply a quick in-and-out record, designed not with a legacy in mind, but rather the moment. Not a grand statement, nor a bid at another massive hit, just a rock and roll record by a rock and roll band that loves rock and roll. Maybe I wasn't meant to spend seven paragraphs talking about it, and maybe the time spent reading this would have been better used on simply enjoying your life.

Well, shit. Now I feel bad for wasting everybody's time.

February 7, 2020 • Reprise
Highlights Father of All Motherfuckers • Oh Yeah! • Graffitia