Rock criticism is based on hyperbole. When a band breaks up or doesn’t reach their full potential, rivers of ink are written about the “tragic” circumstances of the breakup, or the record company’s lack of faith in the product. The tragedy is almost always blown out proportion. Many musicians are control freaks who don’t play well with others. Sometimes a band is too far ahead of its time to make impact. Rock n’ roll is important, but a band that doesn’t bloom isn’t on the same level as the genocide in Darfur.
The Exploding Hearts are one of the exceptions. Formed in Portland Oregon in 2001, they formed a strong following in the Pacific Northwest. Sometimes you can look at a band and say “These guys are going to make it.” The Exploding Hearts looked like rock stars from the beginning. They had really cool hair, mod suits and lots of leopard print. They pretended to snarl like Johnny Rotten, but you could see the suburban faces underneath. Whatever it is, they had it to spare.
Most of all, they had the songs. The Hearts sounded like My Generation era Who if they were fronted by Joey Ramone instead of Roger Daltry. They were poised to take their place in the power pop pantheon. The influences were obvious: Nick Lowe, early Joe Jackson, Cheap Trick, The Jam and Graham Parker. It never seemed like the Hearts were ripping off their heroes, but following in their footsteps.
The Exploding Hearts have only one official album, but they made it count. Guitar Romantic sounds like it was recorded in a single session. There are no extraneous instruments, just guitar, bass and drums. Nothing is over four minutes. There are a few guitar solos, but only when it is absolutely necessary. The solos last for a few measures before fading into the main melody. The melodies are what set the Exploding Hearts apart from so many other bands. The first time I heard “Modern Kicks,” I wanted to hear it again. Terry Six’s guitar is the first thing you hear. He plays the riff for a few seconds before the rest of the band joins him. Six and frontman Adam Cox’s guitars blend in a jangly dual guitar attack. Cox is all alone, he loves getting stoned, staring up into space.
Cox’s lyrics don’t have the verbal density of other indie rock songwriters, but he never forgets the details. In “Sleeping Aids and Razorblades,” he catalogs everything he’s done since his breakup (“I’ve hung new posters on my wall and the dog don’t remember your name.”) Cox’s tone alternates between self-deprecation and anguish. The bouncy jangle of band helps to mask his sadness. He’s moving on, but he can’t help but look at the “tear stained pictures of younger days.”
If the Exploding Hearts were so promising, why did they only make one record? In the spring of 2003, the band was on the verge of a breakthrough. They’d just played a triumphant series of shows in San Francisco and were en route to their hometown of Portland. Their touring van flipped over on the highway, killing frontman Adam Cox, bassist Matt Fitzgerald and drummer Jeremy Gage. Only guitarist Terry Six survived, continuing the legacy with his new band, The Nice Boys. Dirtnap Records released a collection of b-sides and rarities called Shattered. There were many benefit shows. Then The Exploding Hearts faded into history, known to a select few.
Neil Young once wrote that it is better to burn out than to fade away. The Exploding Hearts didn’t even have a chance to burn out. Listening to Guitar Romantic, I can’t help but wonder what they would have done. Would they have downplayed the power pop in favor of straight punk? Would they have signed to a major label? Would Adam Cox finally have a successful relationship? We’ll never know. The Exploding Hearts never even had a chance to sell out; they were just getting started. I never met them or saw them live, but I miss them.
