Record Revisited: AFI / Black Sails in the Sunset (1999)

Revisited by: Joshua Amses [Joshua is a writer of the totally emo-sounding books: Raven or Crow and the forthcoming The Moment Before an Injury.]

How does it hold up?

During Warped Tour of summer, 2001, rumor had it Davey Havok was spotted wandering Suffolk Downs beneath a parasol. Even though most of the kids at the racetrack had a copy of The Art of Drowning in the side pocket of their black cargo cutoffs, this new imagination of Havok (or ‘Davey’ as we knew him then) was troubling. Sure, we’d seen the fishnet undershirts and inevitably black nail polish, but the phrase “punk rock umbrella” didn’t really work. Neither did “punk rock parasol.” Something was wrong. But even when Jade Puget botched the intro riff on “Days of the Phoenix” during their set, we were willing to forgive him, and not because he physically resembled Limahl, c. 1984. We were glad to see these guys on stage! In sunlight! Without Jack O'Lanterns! Or the parasol!

But I think we knew the punk rock umbrella represented the pinnacle of the band’s transition from Anthems For Insubordinates/Asking For It to A Fire Inside, a change that began with the release of Shut Your Mouth and Open Your Eyes, but coalesced (Davey would like that word) on Black Sails in the Sunset. Sure, the path to a major label slush fund is paved with liquid eyeliner and concept haircuts. But for those of us who followed their previous work, the Gorey-themed ersatz woodcut on the album’s cover was a welcome change. Their three previous LPs were competent and forgettable, the kind of albums you would like a lot if they came with a t-shirt. So this Pirates of Dark Water shit seemed promising. Maybe there was something hummable here.

And in fact, AFI’s quaternary full length had much to admire. The catchiest and most interesting song they released until this point was a faithful cover of “Today’s Lesson.” But here we had Misfitsy (or Danzigish, if you prefer) tracks with the crusts removed by a manful dose of Robert Smith, varying tempos, interesting guitar work, and even a passable slow number, “God Called in Sick Today.” Havok’s nasal trademark never quite redlined as it had on much of his earlier work, and the compositions varied just enough to be distinguishable from one another, without dipping into experimental territory (punk hates that). AFI perfected the “I sing, you shout” borecore dynamic by their second record, but on “The Last Kiss” and “Porphyria,” they sounded like they were tearing the clock out of the wall rather than punching it. Granted you had to duck or wince whenever former labelmate Dexter Holland appeared, interred in the production, but still there (tracks 6, 7, and possibly 12, take warning). But in sum, Black Sails was a welcome surprise.

And while the album’s lyrics were more evocative than brilliant, they were certainly better than when Toucan Sam shared a writing credit. Yes, there was plenty of melting wax, crushed velvet, and dead flowers for the hair-in-the-face kids, but certainly enough gloom and gray skies to go around. It was easy to imagine each of the compositions taking place in an autumnal landscape with a witch cooking on a stake in the foreground (looking at you, “Malleus Maleficarum”). As an adult who had to roll up the sleeves of his Patagonia fleece to write this, it’s a little difficult to argue for the tenuous poetry of lines like: “Now I’m on display / I am becoming / Hurt myself today / It’s all for you.” Loud music has always been home to a bumper crop of uniform angst, but varying its emotional filter never hurt anyone. Nowadays, I rely on Grandpa Burma for my punk rock pathos, but back in 1999, we all needed somewhere to turn after Walmart started selling Casualties records.

Considering the album arrived on the coattails of Hot Topic’s premillennial boom, when anything combining black and purple flew off the shelf (on bat wings), and considering where the band has gone since departing Nitro, it’s easy to see Black Sails as a piece of shrewd marketing. Get Davey Havok to go full Tim Burton, and the youth shall follow. But the record always seemed to me like the one on which AFI found a renewed aesthetic/creative energy, embraced it fully, and made a pretty good album. And while most of their material since The Art of Drowning sounds like it could accompany Meredith Grey during a remorse montage, and even if Havok has swapped the punk rock umbrella for a role on Broadway, and the odd, impromptu Nicki Minaj sing-along (Shrewd marketing, phase III? Young Money, meet Jack Skeleton?), I’m still willing to shelve the cred question long enough to give Black Sails in the Sunset an occasional spin.