But things began to change with the rise of a new, commercial breed of punk's subset emo, driven by the mainstream success of Chris Carrabba's Dashboard Confessional, mid-career breakouts Jimmy Eat World, and a generation of tearful, tattooed bands chronicled in Andy Greenwald's Nothing Feels Good. Blink-182 had already muddied the waters of punk status with its Total Request Live-charting videos for 1999's Enema of the State, paving the way for Hot Topic hits from the likes of Sum 41 and Good Charlotte—when Carrabba led the angstiest sing-a-long in pop history on a revived "MTV Unplugged" in 2002, it was punk's coolness death knell. Indie, dictated largely by obscurity fetishists on message boards and critical outlets such as Pitchfork Media, turned its back on its once-loved spouse.
Instead, the underground swerved into the irony-steeped post-punk of the Strokes and Interpol, the dance-floor incantations of the Rapture and LCD Soundsystem, and the soft, sensitive coffeehouse folk of Sufjan Stevens and Fleet Foxes. Not all gave up on anguished sincerity, but Arcade Fire's emotional bluster drew from the legacy of arena rock, not D.C. hardcore. Elsewhere, the White Stripes and Black Keys built their guitar noise on styles vintage enough to draw praise from the cred police. As indie's star rose, punk had a separate falling-out with the pop charts, dropping well below the sales stats of pop divas, hip-hop stars, and world-conquering DJs, whose myriad strains of electronic music now inform artists from Washed Out to Carly Rae Jepsen. The top-selling rock act of the 2000s wound up being Nickelback, a band whose consumption ode "Rockstar" sounds about as punk as overdosing in Paris Hilton's driveway.
Now, though, punk's experiencing an impressive revitalization within the indie scene. There have been hints at a reconciliation on prior efforts such as Fucked Up's David Comes to Life or the Hold Steady's Stay Positive, which sings praise to the Clash's "Saint Joe Strummer," but since January, the secret's out: tastemakers from Pitchfork to NPR have championed a generation of young acts including Cloud Nothings, whose pummeling latest, Attack On Memory, was recorded by Pixies and Nirvana producer Steve Albini.
Vancouver duo Japandroids' similarly raved-about sophomore set, Celebration Rock, is as enthusiastic as its title implies, all full-volume guitar chords, clattering drums, and youthful rebellion. "Don't we have anything to live for?" the band's Brian King sings on "The Nights of Wine and Roses," before delivering a line that could launch a thousand Williamsburg parties. "Of course we do, but until it comes true/we're drinking." It's music meant to be shouted along with, full of whoa-oh-ohs sized just big enough to leave room for the audience—a crowd-pleasing trick more often practiced on the Warped Tour than Coachella.