Where did they all go, those jean-jacketed floppy-hairs you were surrounded by when Joshua Fit For Battle played your college dining hall in 1998? What happened to the dirty thrash-screamo guy with a pot belly that you used to see at all the Robotic Empire fests and whose newer sludge-tempo band you witnessed playing an audience-baiting gig a few summers later? A trend dominates underground punk music momentarily until its chief proponents and most vocal ‘zine-and-messageboard cheerleaders get burnt out and become what Maximumrocknroll columnist and eponymous label-owner Felix Von Havoc (if your mental picture of him doesn’t involve a monocle and Mad Max gear, you’re slightly off) calls “Jetta punks.” In the case of screamo, we could think of its elements dispersing into a few different factions: the rough-hewn-mask-and-Bedazzler brigade going in the arty two-piece direction that most would be quick to write off as inferior Lighting Bolt/Wolf Eyes/Prurient worship; the doom-stoner camp that worships Sunn 0))) and Khanate and were probably at more than one stop of this fall’s Kylesa/Coliseum tour; and the third, which I find most interesting (and would probably group myself into). It’s shared by those whose hardcore listening in the mid-to-late-‘90s was more traditional—the guys who got burnt-out on MRR’s overemphasis on powerviolence and garage rock during the same time frame and preferred to sink into their favorite overstuffed armchair of choice with Cro-Mags’ The Age of Quarrel and their favorite CD-R of rare Midwest hardcore from 1982. It’s a mixture of these older fans, younger kids who grew up on streetpunk, and art-punk listeners who herald a back-to-basics direction that make up the punk roots revival of 2005.

Of course, one Webzine’s newly-hailed micro-trend is another’s overblown and overhyped O RLY? back page. Toronto’s Career Suicide and Fucked Up merited coverage in Vice last year, which somewhat predictably played up the punk-is-dangerous-again equation that magazine and its lovers of grisly photos take as a categorical editorial imperative. But what the excellent interviews with them did get across is their attitude toward performing in the old warhorse of hardcore, which is extremely fresh to many listeners right now. The two bands share one member, but Fucked Up are the heavier and more distinctive, presenting the listener with an utterly confounding discography, a blog explaining the occult references in their songs, artwork that give Alan Moore a run for his money, and a blazing sound inspired by the likes of Negative Approach, Infest, and every imaginary ‘80s punk monster you conjured up peering at show flyers in a museum exhibit. “Reset the Ride” outlines their all-or-nothing philosophy, a barreling mammoth of a song guaranteed to lay waste to all the insignificant art-rock you heard this decade. (For bonus fun, seek out live photos of the band after trying to guess what they look like.)

Career Suicide, meanwhile, go for something akin to the speedier, catchier hardcore of the This is Boston, Not L.A. route, despite recent detours into midtempo ’78-style slashing reminiscent at times of, oh, let’s say, the Zero Boys and Dow Jones and the Industrials. “There’s Something Wrong with You” plants the vocal snottiness-meter severely in the red and offers two treats for admirers of this genre, the lyrical reference to Reagan-era foreign policy, and the miniaturized power-pop guitar solo.

Elsewhere, Allentown, PA’s Pissed Jeans are adding to the ferment, going for an oft-cited homage to Flipper and other more obscure slow-crawl noise-rock weirdos of Reagan’s first term. I hear a lot of Jesus Lizard in their sound, which adds a beautifully sadistic twist to the self-loathing on their debut album, Shallow, such as “Ashamed of My Cum.” Offering a swampy mess of twisted guitar playing and a prolonged, near-anthemic lyrical ejaculation (sorry, I couldn’t resist), this track is one of the more concise blasts of howling despair on the album. Bands like Pissed Jeans and Philadelphia’s Clockcleaner (who have played together, as well as with both Fucked Up and Career Suicide) seem to be pointing toward a new pollination of ‘80s hardcore and noise-rock with lessons learned from late-‘90s takes on the murkier corners of art-punk. It will be interesting to see what happens as this new school continues to develop.

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