Before AFI came on the goth punk scene in the late 1990s, the major labels were merging, and the indie rock gold rush had more or less gone bust. The pained howls of Kurt Cobain were replaced twice over–once by the brighter, scrappier pop-punk of Green Day and other pop-punk bands, and then again by tamer, polished radio alternatives like Goo Goo Dolls, who were once one of those heralded, scrappy indie bands. Before the decade was up, the focus would turn to rap rock and bubble grunge like Creed.
In this environment, a band like AFI, who spent several years working their way up the West Coast punk rock ladder before breaking big in the early 2000s, wasn’t likely to blow up, but they did. Their major label debut, 2003’s Sing the Sorrow, was among its top sellers. With its slick production and artistic stretch, it could have just as easily been rejected by longtime fans, as happened a few years earlier with Jawbreaker, whose Dear You was initially a commercial flop and was derided by many longtime fans for its cleaner production and singing.
Instead, AFI was able to learn from the stories of the bands that came before. Instead of suffering a similar fate to Jawbreaker, they became one of the decade’s biggest bands, fixtures on MTV with hits like “Girl’s Not Grey” and “Miss Murder” and winners of multiple MTV Music Video Awards. Yet, they aren’t spoken of nearly as regularly as other now-legacy acts of the era.
Andi Coulter’s entertaining new book, the third release from J-Card Press, makes a compelling case for AFI’s place as trailblazers and survivors. It is every bit as deserving of praise as more heralded peers. Where early 2000s mall emo was characterized by a lot of misogyny, despite many of those bands having substantial women fanbases, AFI kept the tent wide open and safe for all of their fans, a key distinction from their peers and a key factor in retaining their dedicated fanbase.
Coulter also highlights how AFI’s early adoption of the emerging promise of the internet put them far ahead of their peers. Even in the late 1990s, before most bands had their own websites, AFI was already there with a Geocities site. From there, they shrewdly invested heavily in building community on emerging social media platforms to stay connected to fans.
Even as AFI evolved its sound over the years, fans stick around for the personal connection to the lyrics of lead singer Davey Havok and the community they have built. Indeed, the band had a preternatural gift for keeping fans engaged, creating scavenger hunts, and encouraging lyric dissection years before Taylor captivated Swiftie Nation.
Coulter tells AFI’s story through them, including interviews with band members and her experiences as a longtime fan. It is an effective blend, particularly for a band whose longevity is rooted in their connection with their fans. To tell the story from AFI’s point of view would seem somewhat one-sided in this case.
What would a punk band’s ascendance be without a backlash? AFI’s evolving sound did alienate some of their early adopters, but far more fans were coming on board, and the band’s goal was to reach as many fans as possible. While there are plenty of crash-and-burn stories from bands who built devoted followings in the underground, it is refreshing to see a band defy the odds but not become a self-parody in the process. AFI deserves their flowers for innovating and avoiding the pitfalls of those who came before to cultivate a long-running career.
Coulter’s book about AFI is written with great affection and the depth of knowledge that comes from being a dedicated fan. J-Card’s first two releases celebrated Dayton noise rock legends Brainiac and hip-hop icons De La Soul. Hopefully, Coulter will return for another installment, as this book is a must for the AFI faithful and anyone who enjoys a well-told DIY success story.