Channeling the scrappy ache of ’90s emo, the New York City band’s DIY rock songs voice the joy and catharsis of creating in community.
For the Brooklyn band Blair, emo is an action, a summoning of feeling from the spark where it forms. On their new three-track Tears to Grow EP, Blair channels the tattered glow of ’90s Midwest emo and blown-out Northwest indie rock through the hearts and minds of young born-and-bred New Yorkers. Theirs are songs not for long drives, but for anxious subway rides. When the members of Blair lock in, though—when the poised noise of the guitars weaves with the textured swoop of the drums, when the call-and-response vocals collectively build to a scream, when they make room for a rushing solo before all crashing back together—the sound of Tears to Grow reflects the joy and catharsis of creating in community.
Blair began shortly before the pandemic, releasing their debut single, “day one homies,” in 2019 and performing in both the city’s underground punk and rap scenes. You might recognize drummer Anysia Kym Batts’ name from her expansive collaborations with New York rapper MIKE. And before Blair, singer-guitarist Genesis Evans was known for his streetwear brand, Humble, as well as his skillfully understated skateboarding. Fellow skateboarder and emo instigator Ian MacKaye once said, “Skateboarding is not a hobby or a sport; skateboarding is a way of learning how to redefine the world around you.” In their ecstatic DIY rock songs—rounded out by guitarist Pauli Ocampo Zapata and bassist Nico Chiat—Blair ride that radical perspective and open it to others.
Tears to Grow evokes the scrappy ache and daydreaming of early Jawbreaker, the droll introspection and bent melodies of Alex G. But Blair’s lyrics, which voice earnest appeals to overcome self-loathing and learn self-love, are uniquely affecting. More than one song expresses care and concern for a mother, while acknowledging the facts and grave injustices of being young and Black in this country. “Hi Mommy, I’m sorry/I’d like to speak eventually,” goes one devastating measure of “by the c.” “Take a step back/Could have been me/Who died last week.”
In a 2020 interview, Evans discussed Blair’s origins, how he grew up rapping and singing on friends’ beats but “always wanted to try creating it all from scratch”; Batts has noted a similar impulse behind her expressive drumming. Describing Blair’s collective influences, from hardcore to jazz and R&B, Evans cited other young Black artists, like Navy Blue and Mal Devisa, who use “their voice to talk about their struggle, Black liberation, mental health issues.” This amalgam plays out beautifully on Tears to Grow’s six-and-a-half-minute closer, “promise,” an emo epic in three movements.
“Promise” sounds like memories cascading in real time—a call dropping, a door closing, time running out—reaching forward by way of Blair’s own nonlinear logic. It’s a song about the promise Evans makes to his mother to not hurt himself, about the promises his father has left unsaid. And it contains a promise to potential listeners, too, as Blair sing about how “no one’s as misunderstood/As that lonely Black child/Who’s born and raised in the hood/Who’s so capable of anything/No one’s told ’em that they could.” Actively encouraging self-worth, peaking into shouts, “promise” turns the candor of emo into a positive force. Every note feels charged by the power of vulnerability as a vital component of liberation. “We can do anything as long as we begin,” Blair sing. “We’ll heal from it all/Promise/I know we can.”
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