This is an edition of the newsletter Pulling Weeds With Chris Black, in which the columnist weighs in on hot topics in culture. Sign up here to get it in your inbox every Thursday.
Earlier this week, a few people sent me a link to the Instagram account of the band Texas is The Reason (yes, they are named after a Misfits lyric), where they were teasing something. The emo legends disbanded for the first time in 1997, reunited briefly in 2006 and again in 2012, and have now confirmed they will be doing it all over again in 2025. I’m sure some of you are saying, “I don’t know who that is.” You are not alone; we’re living in the era of the ultra-niche reunion. Bands that played in basements, kitchens, and shitty clubs have gained a new audience and new life thanks to the context-collapsing power of the Internet. Just look at the recent reunion of the screamo bands Orchid and Saetia; screamo was a genre decidedly not built for the masses, but the shows sold out instantly. Saetia broke up, virtually unknown, in 1999; just last week, I saw a guy wearing a Saetia hoodie on the F train.
Texas is The Reason will play at the second annual Best Friends Forever festival in Las Vegas this October, along with several other niche bands cashing in on nostalgia. Some are more well-known, like the Jenny Lewis-fronted Rilo Kiley, Jawbreaker, and a secret headliner still represented on the poster by a string of question marks (speculation says Sunny Day Real Estate, The Promise Ring, or the disgraced but recently reunited Brand New). And some, like Wednesday and Tiger’s Jaw, are newer bands who’ve picked up the torch for their forebears. But plenty of them are exceptionally niche bands that I saw play for less than 100 people on a Tuesday night in Atlanta in my teens, like Knapsack, Elliott, and Mates of State. It’s a twisted mix meant to get guys my age with the discretionary income to splurge on a VIP weekend in Vegas to relive their youth as well as actual young people desperate to see their favorite bands live in real life. It’s the perfect storm.
There was a time when reuniting was frowned upon; it was cooler to stay broken up, cultivate an air of mystery, and let the songs from your heyday do all the talking (even if they were only available on a limited 10” vinyl). But thanks to the power of YouTube, digital streaming platforms, and TikTok, good bands can find an audience and make money, even decades after they unplugged their amps and got real jobs. I am not immune. I spend countless hours scouring YouTube, watching performances of my favorite bands, especially from this era. It brings me back to body odor, $5 shows, tight pants, and chokers. Even so, I looked down on this for a long time—bands who used to seem above it all, almost mythic, reuniting long after the sun had set. But now I understand it’s incredible to revisit something you cared about deeply and finally get paid for it. Imagine being an accountant in Minneapolis with two kids, thinking the ship has sailed, and suddenly, you are on stage playing for thousands of adoring fans. We discuss music discovery and the algorithm negatively all the time, but this might be the one positive outcome: great bands having second (profitable) lives.
I love Texas is The Reason and still listen to them often; same with Sunny Day Real Estate, but I am not sure I will make the trek to fabulous Vegas. I will always want to remember them blasting from a CD in my white sticker-covered Acura Legend driving to high school, but I’m happy other people will have the chance to experience them live.
