As The Promise Ring moves into unapologetic pop with Very Emergency, their accessibility expands exponentially. Gone are the one-take, mumbled, cryptic caterwauled vocal lines; instead singer Davey von Bohlen provides catchy melodies and fully intelligible narratives, frequently well-harmonized (as on “Emergency! Emergency!”) and sweetened up with sing-along syllables (like “ba ba bada” on “Skips a Beat”). Gone are the interlocking, amateurish post-hardcore guitars; instead, von Bohlen and guitarist Jason Gnewikow trade licks and syncopated riffs, as on “Happiness is All the Rage.” From the perspective of the insular 1990s underground, by 1999 The Promise Ring is an emo band in name only—their palatability and lack of overwrought sensitivity don’t fit into the mold defined by Sunny Day Real Estate, Jawbreaker, and others. From the perspective of the emo/screamo bands that made it big just a few short years after this album was released, late-1990s/early-2000s ‘emo’ records like Very Emergency (and others—I’m looking at you, Bleed American, and your quoting of the ballad “All of My Everything” in “A Praise Chorus”) are no longer meant for the misunderstood misfits, but instead function to reposition sensitive, poppy guitar bands as safe for the clean-cut masses. Predictably, the purists that hold The Promise Ring to the gold standard of their debut, 30º Everywhere, are disappointed—this is now a band happy to have fans sing along with them, unafraid of the bright lights outside of the basement ghetto.

The Promise Ring take themselves a bit more seriously on Nothing Feels Good (Jade Tree, 1997), their second full-length, but they also have more fun: higher production values, tighter musicianship, and a better mix all befit a band that aspires to sell-out those 150-person all-ages venues across the late-90’s indie landscape (they graduated to the mid-sized venues with their next album, 1999’s Very Emergency). In many ways, Nothing Feels Good perfectly straddles the cutesy emo of 30º Everywhere and the pop perfection of Very Emergency, and it’s no wonder that the album’s title was borrowed for the first book on emo (written by Spin contributor Andy Greenwald). Guitarist Jason Gnewikow (who also designed their album covers) and bassist Scott Beschta are noticeably better than on previous recordings, especially on “Is This Thing On” and “A Broken Tenor.” Davey von Bohlen’s vocals are also much stronger and more tuneful, and the higher prominence in the mix a) allows the listener to actually discern his lyrics, and b) prompts a lot of sing-along moments, especially on nonsensical syllables like “doo doo” on “Red & Blue Jeans” and “ba ba ba da” on “Why Did We Ever Meet” (quoted in Jimmy Eat World’s “A Praise Chorus” by von Bohlen himself). Drummer Dan Didier—von Bohlen’s partner in later projects Vermont and Maritime—rocks the syncopated start/stops that define Midwest emo: for example, on “B is for Bethlehem.” Although the title track illustrates The Promise Ring’s continuing interest in ballads, they still play guitar rock, and not very challenging guitar rock at that—you’ll find neither the discordant noise nor the low fi fuzz that featured prominently in other indie bands of the era—but poppy, happy, and if not explicitly strategically saccharine, remembered as such. On Nothing Feels Good, The Promise Ring, for better or worse, laid the groundwork for the mass explosion of emo/pop in the early 2000s.

The Horse Latitudes collects The Promise Ring’s early singles: Watertown Plank, Falsetto Keeps Time, and the split with Texas Is The Reason (which includes fan favorite “E. Texas Ave.”) were all released prior to their first full-length, 30º Everywhere (the final two tracks were previously unreleased). “Watertown Plank,” the group’s first released song, is far more than a mere historical curiosity, and easily holds its own among the better songs on 30º. There’s nothing groundbreaking about this collection, but it does provide a good barometer for their later material: much like contemporaries Braid or The Get Up Kids, this band moved quickly from poorly-produced, unfocused (and sometimes silly) songs to tight, shimmering pop gems in just a few short years, and it all started here.

Of the two bands that arose from the ashes of beloved Midwest emo band Cap’n Jazz, The Promise Ring represent the poppy side, albeit it’s a very peculiar, mumbling form of pop on their first album, 30º Everywhere (Jade Tree, 1996) (the experimental side continues to be found in Joan of Arc and Tim Kinsella’s side projects). Davey von Bohlen’s vocals have progressed beyond the background yelps of his former band, but not by much—his proudly pronounced lisp and warbling pitch are simultaneously endearing and annoying, especially on “My Firetower Flame.” Former members of Wisconsin experimental/post-hardcore bands None Left Standing and Ceilishrine propel the music forward with more force than the chaos of Cap’n Jazz: “Between Pacific Coasts” is among the faster songs, while “Scenes from France” provides one of many downtempo examples. Actually, much of 30º is downtempo—aside from the catchy opening of “Everywhere in Denver,” the best songs are the slower ones. “A Picture Postcard” (previously released on the Falsetto Keeps Time 7”) is practically an emo classic, and quickly became a thorn in the band’s side as sensitive beefcake dudes requested it at every show to demonstrate their capacity for compassion. It’s not difficult to hear clichés here: dynamic shifts, cryptic vocals inaudibly buried low in the mix, start-stop arrangements, etc. aren’t unique to The Promise Ring in 1996. However, hidden amongst the amateurish clichés are glimpses of the pop powerhouse The Promise Ring would become over their next few releases.

It’s impossible to consider Retribution Gospel Choir separately from Low—both bands, after all, share two-thirds of their members: frontman/guitarist Alan Sparhawk and bassist Steve Garrington (a relatively recent addition, replacing Matt Livingston in both bands, and having not yet recorded with Low). Yet, where RGC’s self-titled first full-length (Caldo Verde, 2008) felt like a very loud Low record—continuing the trajectory of Drums and Guns (2007), Low’s heaviest album yet—on 2 (Sub Pop, 2010), their sophomore effort, Sparhawk’s side project assumes its own identity and musical approach: no longer is RGC merely the grunge version of Low, which itself was a reaction against the guitar rock prevalent in the mid-to-late 1990s. Both bands have common elements: Sparhawk’s voice is intense and expressive, and the music is atmospheric with plenty of room to breathe—especially in the epic “Poor Man’s Daughter” and “Electric Guitar.” Low finds beauty in the interplay of simple textures, but in their second release since Low’s last, RGC outright jams with guitar heroics, pounding drums, and concise pop statements like “Workin’ Hard” and “White Wolf.”

Retribution Gospel Choir’s pedigree is unimpeachable: originally the brainchild of critical slowcore/minimal rock darlings Alan Sparhawk (Low) and Mark Kozelek (Red House Painters, Sun Kil Moon), RGC allows these normally quiet men to stretch out in loud, dense, and downright grungy guitar rock arrangements. Although Kozelek toured with the band, he opted to serve as producer instead of a recording member for the debut full-length, ultimately releasing it on his own Caldo Verde label. The album Retribution Gospel Choir (2008), then, is more representative of Sparhawk’s darker side than any other influence—and perhaps representative of the personal issues that caused him to cancel some touring obligations in 2005. If Low’s The Great Destroyer (2005) is Sparhawk’s rock album, and Drums and Guns (2007) his electronic album, then RGC falls somewhere between the noise/psychedelia and pop of Low’s more experimental efforts, especially on “What She Turned Into” and “For Her Blood.” Other tracks—such as “Take Your Time” and “Destroyer”—build really strongly on the atmosphere and space of Sparhawk’s work with Low. It’s not unfair to think of this as a side project record—not until 2 (2010) does Retribution Gospel Choir fully come into its own. One final note: although “Breaker” saw its initial commercial release on Drums and Guns, it is originally a RGC song (and self-released on a 2005 summer tour EP).

On Catastrophe Keeps Us Together (Grunion, 2006), the Brooklyn-via-Madison trio drops their flagship emo sound—and Polyvinyl Records—and takes a stab at radio-friendly pop-rock on Grunion, a new label owned by Q-Prime, the management company who handles mega acts like Garbage, Metallica, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, etc. Whether or not this is a calculated attempt at broader exposure is impossible to answer this far removed—after all, they toured this record in smaller clubs than previous records, and although they played Lollapalooza in 2006, it was an early slot on a side stage. Conspiracy theories aside, their 5^th full-length record finds Caithlin DeMarrais assuming vocal duties entirely—gone are Kyle Fischer’s tuneless yet endearing yelps—sometimes with terrible digital reverb, yet her lyrics are no longer searching but resigned. Fischer’s guitar playing has been placed lower in the mix, losing some of its expressivity in the transition; Will Kuehn’s drum fills sound rather languid, and DeMarrais’s fluid basslines are rarely as interesting as they’ve been on the previous two records. The whole album sounds conservative, and is definitely a disappointment after the strength of 2003’s Long Knives Drawn. There are a few good songs here—the opening track, “Life of Leisure,” and “I’ll Make You Mine” all translate well both on record and live—but there are also some true clunkers: “Bottle,” “Cities Above,” and “I’ll Keep It With Mine” (yes, it’s a cover of the same Dylan song Nico recorded on Chelsea Girl) all sound like a band long since disinterested in playing music together. Every album up to this one has been consistent, and I feel cheated.

Ah, the live album. Rainer Maria was always a great live band: Kyle Fischer’s boundless energy lit up the venue, Will Kuehn’s drumming held everything together, and Caithlin DeMarrais’s vocals were a degree or two more delicate and revelatory than on record (see “Rise”). That said, the live record Anyone in Love with You (Already Knows) (Polyvinyl, 2004) isn’t a live show: the tracks (representing all four previous albums they had released by this time) are culled from six different shows over three years, and it just feels weird to longtime fans. The production is consistent across the album, so there are no auditory cues that this is a compilation, but the pacing is all off, “Tinfoil” starts the set (as it starts 1997’s Past Worn Searching) instead of the encore, and plenty of live mainstays are simply missing. On the plus side, it’s great to hear a more mature band reading songs from their back catalog, such as “The Reason the Night is Long,” “Rise” (both on 1999’s Look Now Look Again), and “Soul Singer” (the single non-album track here, on the Atlantic EP, 1999). The live mixing reveals new elements at times: although not as tight as on record, Rainer Maria’s performances always had some musical surprises; and we can even hear Fischer’s vocal choruses, as on “Mystery and Misery.”

Rainer Maria reached full maturity on Long Knives Drawn (Polyvinyl, 2003)—their final record, Catastrophe Keeps Us Together (2006), is more of a postscript to their recording career. Caithlin DeMarrais is 100% the frontwoman here—guitarist Kyle Fischer’s vocal contributions are practically non-existent—and this is decidedly her record. Gone is the sentimental lyrical catharsis; instead, DeMarrais sounds alternately outraged and detached on songs like “Long Knives” and “Ears Ring.” Emotion isn’t fully expunged however—this is still an emo band, after all—and songs like “The Awful Truth of Loving” and “Connecticut Catholic” might have been more appropriate on an earlier album. This record also marks the height of their instrumental interplay—Rainer Maria are truly a band on this record: DeMarrais’s bass is tighter than ever; Fischer’s guitar is energetic and manic yet restrained and in lock-step with Will Kuehn’s drumming, which has progressed miles from the workmanlike technique of earlier recordings. While Rainer Maria never reached full pop maturity—Catastrophe went a bit further but didn’t quite nail it—Long Knives Drawn demonstrates that emo clichés don’t have to age poorly: this record acknowledges their fans’ investment without ignoring their maturity.

Better Version of Me (Polyvinyl, 2001) marks the midpoint of Rainer Maria’s recording career in a number of ways: not only is it the first album recorded since moving en masse from Madison to Brooklyn (a move documented on their Atlantic EP, 1999), but their sound is in the middle of shifting from the precious Midwest emo of their early career (which reached its apex on 1999’s Look Now Look Again) to the glossier riff-driven pop-rock of their later career. Songs like “Spit and Fire” and “Hell and High Water” benefit from being caught in the middle. Still, after the complexity of Look Now, Better Version feels simultaneously rushed and indulgent, especially on “The Seven Sisters” and “Atropine.” Kyle Fischer has started to rescind his share of vocal duties to focus more on the guitar, and while longtime fans bemoaned this change as a dramatic shift in the band’s character, the energy he brings to his instrument here more than make up for the loss of his voice—listen to “Thought I Was” for a good example of what the band gains in his guitar, and compare against “The Contents of Lincoln’s Pockets” for what they lose in his singing. Caithlin DeMarrais’s voice is stronger and more tuneful than previous releases, and she admirably carries songs like “Artificial Light” and “Ceremony.” The lyrics also continue to mature—goodbye undergraduate musings, hello narratives—and Better Version is the first evidence that Rainer Maria is a band who asks their audience to grow with them.