Short Fictions – Cities Underwater | Single Review
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Lauren Records
How different are you from the version of yourself that existed five years ago? One would hope a lot. I feel like I’ve changed fundamentally as a person since 2019, inside and out, but all for the better. Sure, some of those changes were made under duress, but I wouldn’t swap the progress I’ve made for anything.
Five years ago, the pride of Pittsburgh, midwest emo revivalists Short Fictions released their debut album, Fates Worse Than Death. Dropped smackdab in the middle of December on a DIY label, this very blog bestowed the LP with the esteemed “That’s Why You Don’t Publish an Album of the Year List in November” superlative. Sure, that is mostly a dig at those other music publications that act as if the year is over before Thanksgiving rolls around, but it’s also meant to speak to how great that record is.
To this day, Fates Worse Than Death remains a monumental LP in both my personal life and the larger emo music landscape. Since the album’s release, I’ve seen the band live multiple times, absorbed their Audiotree performance, and worn my Mallard Shirt so much it’s shrunk down an entire size from repeated washing. I’ve also followed the band feverishly as they’ve followed up their debut with one fantastic release after another. 2022’s Every Moment of Every Day iterated on the ideas found in their debut with even more sheen and adoration, then last year’s mouthful of an album, Oblivion Will Own Me and Death Alone Will Love Me (Void Filler), took things to a darker, spacier, and more inward place. The group’s discography is dotted with screamo outbursts as well as some of the most catchy and pure-hearted love songs this side of Carly Rae Jepsen’s discography. All this to say, the band has had a hell of a half-decade with nary a single misstep, yet as much as I love each of these records, something always draws me back to Fates Worse Than Death.
Short Fictions’ debut centers around a specific brand of climate crisis panic and captures what it’s like to grapple with that weight on top of everything else. Even when they’re about falling in love, the songs that Short Fictions write are dispatches from a world crumbling in slow motion – because that’s the one in which we all exist. And despite the very emo presentation on most of these songs, there is an overt rejection of what most emo music stands for, perhaps best articulated when band leader Sam Treber sings, “You should only write songs about girls and your friends” on the record’s fourth track.
Instead, the band uses the power of their words and music to speak to the larger issues that threaten us all. Climate change, gentrification, police funding, and mental health are all addressed directly across the record’s scant half-hour runtime. Everything feels urgent and beautiful, making for a vibrant and exciting collection of music wrapped in a deceptive emo package with more going on under the hood than the charmingly cluttered cover lets on.
Back in September, I was on vacation with my family in central Oregon. My parents, two younger brothers, and I were all staying in a small resort town we would travel to every summer from my childhood through college. We hadn’t been back in years, first because of COVID, then because I lived across the country, and then because we all had different schedules.
My two brothers are now both in their mid-to-late twenties; one lives across town from my family, and the other still lives at home but works a night shift job. I live across the country in North Carolina, so between all of that, it’s not often we get an opportunity to take a family trip like this anymore. It was novel to pack all five of us (plus a dog and a cat) under one roof for a week, and the trip was fun until we had to head home a day early due to nearby wildfires. The signs were there in the days leading up to our evacuation: smoky air had wafted in, obscuring the mountain range and adding a sting to the air that you could feel in the back of your throat. By the time were hurriedly packed our shit into the family van, the sky was dark by four PM and what light we had was cast in an unsettling orange hue. Two days later, the area we were staying in was hit with a Level 3 evacuation alert, which equates to “drop everything and leave now.” We had left just before the worst of it.
By the end of the month, I’d be back out in North Carolina, where I’m currently living while my partner finishes grad school. I never thought I’d love North Carolina as much as I do. The palmetto bugs are nasty and the water is filled with undrinkable forever chemicals, but aside from those two things, this is probably my favorite place I’ve ever lived. This state is gorgeous in ways I’ve never experienced anywhere else in the country, and the people here are forthright in a way I am continually appreciative of. On top of that, the arts scene here is tight-knit and inspiring, the weather is stunning, and there’s an absolute embarrassment of great restaurants and coffee shops. I love this place, and it truly feels like home.
At the end of September, Hurricane Helen swept through the Gulf Coast, killing hundreds and flooding the western part of North Carolina in the process. Homes were destroyed, lives were ruined, and the loss remains incalculable, with entire towns completely wiped off the map. It’s a horrifying thing to watch unfold, with echoes of Hurricane Katrina, Florence, and dozens of other natural disasters ringing through the nation’s consciousness. But that word, natural disaster, surely takes a lot of onus off the real problem here. This is a man-made problem. Corporations, our government, and our pollutant-producing military-industrial complex all contribute to this phenomenon, making things like Hurricane Helen more common.
At the same time, our government is sending billions overseas, actively contributing to Israel’s genocide, and building cop cities to keep our already militaristic police force ready to quell any dissent. Meanwhile, people within our borders are clinging to library wifi while being kept out of grocery stores in their own neighborhoods by armed guards. It’s fucked.
It’s here we find ourselves as Short Fictions revisit “Cities Underwater,” re-recording the Fates Worse Than Death cut and giving it even more bite. As they turn the once-five-minute track into a three-minute outpouring, the group infuses the song with a newfound sense of urgency and anger. The snare pops, the guitar is caked in additional layers of distortion, and Treber’s shouts still ring just as true as they did back in 2019. By the time we get to the song’s titular line a minute in, the blast beat becomes a conduit for all the rage and frustration I feel watching the world destroy itself.
I’m not sure if it’s a testament to the band or a condemnation of our culture that the lyrics of “Cities Underwater” feel just as relevant now as they did back in 2019, but the song has taken on an entirely new meaning in 2024, even if it happens to be the exact same as it was five years ago.
After it felt like I spent my September escaping from one natural disaster to the next, I spent the following weeks explaining to various people in my life that, despite living in North Carolina, I was safe and sound out on the coast in Wilmington. We hadn’t experienced much more than strong winds and lots of rain on the day that Helen made landfall, but it was sweet of anyone to ask. I would usually go on to tell them how severe things were out on the western side of the state, relaying anecdotal stories from friends, band’s Instagram Stories, and local reporters.
Asheville, which has recently become a lifespring for indie rock of pretty much every genre, was especially hit hard. Once they got power and cell service back, seeing bands like Wednesday, MJ Lenderman, and Kerosene Heights log on to share that they were safe was a brief respite. Then, seeing the toll that Helen took on their homes and community was a secondary wave of grief and loss that I wasn’t expecting, especially considering these were just a few stories of the thousands impacted. But the people that live here are strong, and seeing those same artists reflect on the events was surprisingly heartening. Furthermore, watching the community rally around the people of Western Carolina, sharing mutual aid links, setting up donation tables in local businesses, and getting out to help their neighbors has been reaffirming in a very spiritual way.
I know it’s a small consolation in the wake of such a disorienting loss, but it reminds me that people care. Sometimes, it feels like we’re living in a divisive and regressive time, but watching strangers help strangers served as a needed reminder that everything isn’t always as dark as it seems. Similarly, watching this same artistic community of artists I adore express their love, care, and dedication through things like the Cardinals At The Window compilation, which binds together 136 songs from primarily southern artists, displays not just the wealth of talent and beauty to be found down here, but how quickly people can band together to turn something devastating into something beautiful that helps others directly.
I’ve gotten a fair bit away from Short Fictions, emo music, and their re-recording of “Cities Underwater,” but it feels difficult, if not impossible, to take in a song like this and not connect what it’s saying with what we’re experiencing. We’re still living in a conflicted, divisive, and precarious time. If we can’t talk about these issues, recognize the bigger problems, and find ways to change them, we’re shooting ourselves in the foot. Sometimes it takes a re-recording of a five-year-old midwest-emo-post-hardcore track to put a finer point on it. If the next five years are to bring as much change as the last five, I hope that we’re going in the right direction.
