Joyce Manor’s new album ‘I Used to Go to This Bar’ is a masterclass in polished pop-punk nostalgia. While it doesn’t break new ground, its unapologetic embrace of early-aughts sounds will be a satisfying trip down memory lane for the band’s loyal fans.
In his seminal 1981 book “Simulacra and Simulation,” cultural theorist Jean Baudrillard argued that Disneyland is emblematic of reality’s collapse into perpetual imitation. “Disneyland is presented as imaginary in order to make us believe that the rest is real, whereas all of Los Angeles and the America that surrounds it are no longer real,” he writes.
On their seventh album, the LA county pop-punk stalwarts Joyce Manor remind listeners why the band’s origin lore—which involves day-drinking Four Lokos at Disneyland in 2008—is so apt. In the nearly two decades since their debut album, the band has descended further into millennial nostalgia, unironically cosplaying their ’00s influences with little creativity.
That’s not to say they haven’t maintained a loyal fanbase—if Baudrillard were alive, he may have chalked up Joyce Manor’s sound more to cultural fluency than creative stasis. In “I Used to Go to This Bar,” that yields about 20 minutes of nine polished, catchy tracks that will unapologetically transport listeners to the teen angst of the early aughts.
Much of the album, like its titular track and the existential dread-filled “The Opossum,” embrace pop-punk tropes, like power chords, simple lyrics and relentless tempo, to a tee. But a couple songs attempt ambition by incorporating additional, still nostalgic, sonic elements, like almost funky bass lines in “After All You Put Me Through” and monotone vocals on “All My Friends Are So Depressed.”
“Hey, you knew it all along / I was ashamed and I was wrong / Hit the bong, wrote a song / Fell asleep for way too long,” frontman Barry Johnson sings in his subdued, melancholic voice over jangly guitars.
What unites their pop-punk and these disparate styles is the unwavering commitment to the past—there is no realized innovation, but that doesn’t mean it’s not fun to listen to.
Joyce Manor has been ascribed unearned comparisons to Weezer and Green Day. In reality, “I Used to Go to This Bar” harks back to songs from bands with less staying power, but who were undoubtedly at one point in the zeitgeist.
“I Know Where Mark Chen Lives,” for example, opens with a guitar riff reminiscent of the opening to Yellowcard’s 2003 “Ocean Avenue,” and echoes its sense of youthful longing. “You fight back tears of frustration / As I search for something to say,” Johnson intones.
The mid-tempo power chords that open the album’s titular track are uncannily reminiscent of, if not a direct homage to, the beginning of Sum 41’s “Fat Lip” from 2001—though “I Used to Go to This Bar” is more a wistful lament of grief and love lost than an anthem for teenage rebellion.
All this is not to say the album won’t satiate the band’s devoted fans, nor that it isn’t a mostly enjoyable listen. And in a contemporary culture tangled in a web of simulacra and simulation, perhaps that’s all that really matters.
For fans who have grown up with Joyce Manor, this album isn’t a reinvention; it’s a comfortable reunion. It’s the sound of a band that knows exactly who their audience is and what they want to hear. It’s the musical equivalent of meeting an old friend at the very bar the album is named for—everything is familiar, a little worn around the edges, but ultimately comforting and exactly what you needed.
Ultimately, “I Used to Go to This Bar” is a testament to the power of nostalgia. It doesn’t aim to change the landscape of pop-punk, but instead to perfectly preserve a specific, beloved moment in time. For Joyce Manor, that isn’t a failure—it’s a mission accomplished.
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