Matt Pryor + Kevin Devine - Harpers Ferry (Allston, MA; Sept. 6, 2008)

Last time I saw Matt Pryor perform, I was nineteen. My friends and I drove two hours, arriving early to wait in line with scores of fresh-faced Get Up Kids devotees, eager for a front row position. When the doors opened, we packed into the pit, a sea of thrift store hoodies and converse kicks, perfectly poised for an evening of punk infused fist pounders and heartfelt emo sing-alongs.

Ten years later, I walked into Harpers Ferry three hours after doors opened, and on the arm of my husband (a high school sweetheart with a history of missed connections and poor timing, so that’s sort of emo, right?). Having come directly from a wedding, I wore a formal red dress, my husband a suit, appearing as though we had just returned from the Republican National Convention. I even rocked the Sarah Palin glasses and hairstyle. As my husband turned to the bar, he asked, “Do you want a beer, honey?” – “No, sweetheart. I’ll just have a seltzer and lime.” And at that moment, I realized that I’m old as shit. Thus, it was with great relief to hear Pryor echo the sentiment later that night. “I can’t remember the lyrics to this song. I’m old as shit.”

Growing up was certainly the theme of the evening. Opening for Pryor was Kevin Devine, a singer-songwriter from Brooklyn, quite popular with the young crowd that had impressively filled in Harpers Ferry, despite tropical storm warnings. Devine performed introspective, passionate acoustic pieces, matched by a chorus of sweet, earnest voices, stage front. I, on the other hand, turned to my husband, and asked, “How do all these kids know this guy and these wordy lyrics?” – a question that quite fairly could have been asked ten years ago to my friends and me.

When Devine left the stage, a couple dozen kids left the venue as well, notably all of an age too young to have attended those early Get Up Kids shows. Though surprised to see them go, I was personally grateful. I’ve seen what happens when former emo stars try to bridge the generation gap, and it’s not pretty. Yeah, I’m talking to you, Chris Carrabba.* I appreciate that you now write and try to perform more mature music, but the kids just want to hear “So kiss me hard, ‘cause this will be the last time that I let you.” But you make it worse by staying mum on your personal life, and I’m pretty sure you’re married.

*Sorry for the preachiness, Chris. I adore you and think you’re a really humble, sweet guy who deserves his privacy, but you know what I’m sayin’?

Pryor, on the other hand, has grown up. When the Get Up Kids split, reportedly in large part due to Pryor’s desire to stay home with his family, he continued to make music with his folksier side project the New Amsterdams. A few years later, Pryor started writing kids’ music with the Terrible Twos, a pseudonym of the New Amsterdams. Pryor just released his first solo album Confidence Man, touring in support of it, while playing some Terrible Twos shows along the way.

Pryor’s acoustic set included most of the tracks from Confidence Man, and a handful of those in attendance had dutifully already learned the words. But the loudest sing-alongs of the night were the Get Up Kids and New Amsterdams hits like “Out of Reach” and “Mass Pike.” Pryor graciously listened to yelled out requests, even when people pressed their luck with obscure songs. (Did you really think he’d play “I’m a Loner, Dottie, a Rebel”? Come on, buddy.) The crowd also warmly welcomed on stage Eric McCann of the New Amsterdams, who backed up Pryor on the upright bass for a few songs.

As a veteran of the stage, Pryor interacted with the crowd confidently and playfully, sometimes (jokingly?) acting annoyed. A couple people yelled out “Campfire Kansas,” to which Matt replied, “It’s funny when people who saw the Get Up Kids live come to my shows. Because, there were actually two singers of the Get Up Kids. So they would know that I didn’t write ‘Campfire Kansas,’ I’ve never sung it, and I don’t even know how the hell it goes. Jim Suptic’s in a great band called Blackpool Lights. Go see him and bug him about it.” But he then challenged an audience member to come on stage to sing the song, and a young woman obliged with help from the crowd, but not Pryor (see the photo of Jill below).

Pryor, who lived in Allston for a year, told a couple of stories about writing songs during his time here. He mentioned how surprised he was that Harpers Ferry hosts indie bands, since he remembered it as a frat bar. He explained that “Central Standard Time” was written after visiting his then girlfriend, now wife, in Mission Hill. I laughed, hearing him sing about the VWF hall there, thinking that even Mission Hill (and Allston, for that matter), has grown up, too, with its current pick of trendy bars, unheard of ten years ago.

Pryor ended the evening with “Mass Pike,” and though I shed a little emo tear knowing he didn’t play my favorite Get Up Kids track, “I’ll Catch You,” it brought the most nostalgic moment of the night. As the crowd sang along to the chorus, “Last night on the Mass Pike, thought I was losing you / Last night on the Mass Pike, I fell in love with you,” some fellow late 20-somethings jumped up and down, hands in the air, sweetly reminiscing the glory days of the pit.

It was a fantastic night of celebrating a beloved band’s front man and how he (and all of us) grew up. Midway through Kevin Devine’s set, my husband and I realized we were standing behind Matt and his wife. Observing their still picture of committed love, there was something tender, and maybe even poignant, about the contrast of Matt’s tattooed arm against his wife’s glass of red wine. For Mr. and Mrs. Pryor, and many in the crowd, the never-never land of teenaged punk shows has passed in the face of calls to check in with the babysitter. And that’s a good and beautiful thing. 

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