Fall-in for Fall Out
Rock bands that originally created “emo” music did so by blending punk and pop — which was when clever scribes like me also called them “pop-punk” bands.
The idea was that these youngsters loved the anger and rebellion of punk but probably grew up in upper-middle-class homes and actually liked the cheerleaders at their high schools, so any Dead Boys or Clash instincts were tempered by the reality that sugary melodies could also get them prom dates.
Fall Out Boy is one of the most successful of these acts, and now, almost 20 years into their careers, they’re no longer in high school. At least, I hope not. Nope, they’re grown-ups, and the way it works in the music industry today is that, in order to survive, Fall Out Boy have embraced new production techniques and songwriting templates — otherwise they won’t sound exactly like The Killers and Panic! At the Disco and Imagine Dragons, all of whom also sound like Fall Out Boy.
Where does this lead us? Fall Out Boy is indeed as big as ever, and their latest album, “MANIA,” released early this year, is catchy — I’m not being facetious; it really is catchy — but the caveat is you have to be a really devoted fan to tell it apart from records by Imagine Dragons, Panic! At the Disco or The Killers.
See Fall Out Boy Friday in the Mohegan Sun Arena. Fall Out Boy, 7 p.m. Friday, Mohegan Sun Arena; Machine Gun Kelly and Against the Current open; $69-$79; 1-800745-3000. Lightsleeper
Neil and Liam Finn
If it was announced Neil Finn was going to release a recording that consists entirely of him knocking his own teeth out, one by one, with a bowling pin, I’m sure I’d buy it. Finn has provided large chunks of the soundtrack to my life, and I’ll always be as grateful as I am in awe of his gifts. Not sure whether he’s been bored or just tying new things in the past few years — he just joined Fleetwood Mac, for Chrissakes! — but the results have been mixed. And now we have “Lightsleeper,” the just-out collaboration between Neil and his eldest son, Liam. Don’t expect any Crowded House-isms but rather just trust in Neil (and Liam): This is a very lullabaic, dreamy record — the perfect music for waking up late on a fall crisp morning, stretching like a cat and yawning under flannel sheets, and smiling at the thought that you have nothing to do all day but enjoy those parts of the world still worth savoring. Springsteen on Broadway
Walter Kerr Theatre, 219 West 48th St., New York City
We know that Bruce Springsteen can rock stadiums. Turns out he can also fire up an intimate Broadway theater. His Tony-winning show, “Springsteen on Broadway,” consists of just The Boss, telling richly detailed stories of his life and leading from those tales into him performing some of his greatest songs. His wife, Patti Scialfa, does come out for two songs, but the rest of the night — all two-anda-half hours of it, with no intermission — is Bruce by himself. It’s magical. If you can get tickets before the show closes in December, do. Small Fry: A Memoir
By Lisa Brennan-Jobs
Even though this book (a sort of tell-all memoir about tech-millionaire Steve Jobs from the point of view of his estranged daughter, Lisa Brennan-Jobs) hasn’t been published yet, I’m already looking forward. Here’s why: Other than already being fascinated with the life of Jobs (I read Walter Isaacson’s biography with vigor some years ago), Vanity Fair put out a excerpt of Brennan-Jobs’ memoir in its September issue. I read it last weekend and couldn’t help but be impressed. Brennan-Jobs has an enjoyably raw prose, one that feels even more poignant as she details memories growing up with her father (who refused to pay child support). Jobs, as she recounts, is biting — bordering on emotionally abusive. In one passage, she remembers asking him if the first personal computer that he invented, called The Lisa, was named after her. “Nope,” he says. “Sorry, kid.” In another, she asks if she could have one of his many Porsches. “Absolutely not. … You’re not getting anything. You understand? Nothing.” These are some tough anecdotes to grapple with, especially as Jobs denied that Lisa was his daughter. She writes: “For him, I was a blot on a spectacular ascent. For me, it was the opposite.” I’m looking forward, then, to see how the writer comes to terms with her father and his legacy. The book hits shelves Tuesday.