![]() ![]() ![]() Released by Carrabba’s friend Amy Fleisher Madden on her upstart Fiddler Records that March, The Swiss Army Romance’s first pressing was only one thousand copies, but the Internet dubbed it faster than a fleet of teenage tape decks ever could. If it had happened only a couple of years before, the somewhat hesitant Carrabba might have had a slow and organic growth track ahead of him, but the exponential possibilities of file sharing blew up any such gestation period. His first solo performances around South Florida, where he had moved with family as a teenager, were a typically modest start in front of friends and local skater kids. Napster was in the ascendant at the same moment that Carrabba decided to share with those around him a batch of acoustic songs that didn’t mesh with the other punk and hardcore bands he played in. The story of Dashboard Confessional’s early success is inextricably linked to the story of the nascent Internet’s first major impact on the music world. The Swiss Army Romance did offer earnestness in spades though, which is where the rooms full of teenagers hanging on every word came in. There is no bloodletting on the level of This Bitter Pill, which concludes Places with a draining scream. Its mood is definitely lighter than that of The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most, the record by which Carrabba’s broadest audience was introduced to him. Listening to The Swiss Army Romance twenty years after its initial, very limited release, the album doesn’t come across as unduly heavy as Dashboard’s reputation became. In 2002, the headline of a Rolling Stone interview declared Carrabba to be the “King of Pain.” Sixteen years later, in an article heralding Dashboard Confessional’s return, the New York Times referred to him as – yes – the “King of Pain.” Somewhere, Sting must have been stewing. It's more the general perception of Dashboard Confessional that has remained the same. But when you’ve got heavyweight producers like Daniel Lanois and Don Gilmore at the helm, what do you expect? This ain’t hipster night at the Indie Club, or beret night at the Jazzbo Lounge.For a guy whose daily diet once reportedly consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for both lunch and dinner, Carrabba’s music has changed more from record to record than someone who wasn’t otherwise familiar with his work might suspect. “Heaven Here,” especially, has arena rock sincerity coursing through its pulsating, fist-pumping veins, as do a few other tracks of lesser note. Counting Crows vocalist Adam Duritz provides a nice counterbalance to Carrabba’s vocals on the sweet piano ballad, “So Long, So Long,” and “Slow Decay” takes the pure rock esthetic that opens the collection on “Don’t Wait” (the album’s first single) and takes it a level higher, with dark lyrics and Carrabba’s trademark soaring vocals propelled by some true screamo energy. The title track is a real beauty, likely a candidate for many a love-struck victim trying to hang on to what was, and another more subtle track, “Stolen,” features a breathless Chris Carrabba confessing, “you have stolen my heart,” bobbing and floating on a fragile current of guitar and drums. Suffering from a lack of texture and variety, Dusk feels a bit homogenous as you work your way through the entire collection, but a number of standout songs spice things up. On the band’s fourth studio album, Dusk and Summer, Dashboard Confessional continued to turn up the volume (not quite to 11), adding even more layers of big guitars and epic grandiosity to what had previously been mostly acoustic territory. ![]()
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