This came out in 2004 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
“Don’t want to be an American idiot,” declares Billie Joe Armstrong. Since when?
Hey, don’t get me wrong; I love Green Day as much as the next aging punk fan — but come on, that’s like Michael Jackson asking people not to call him wacko. If anything, these guys are the original American idiots. With albums like Dookie and songs like Basket Case, Green Day kickstarted today’s whole underachieving pop-punk scene. No Green Day, no Sum 41. No Gob. No Good Charlotte. No wonder Billie Joe is worried about his rep.
Of course, this isn’t new for Armstrong. Ever since the ballad Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) became a crossover hit, he’s been slowly but surely moving his music in a more mature and melodic direction, trying to live down his past, live up to his potential and earn a little respect to go with those royalties. Lately, the guy seems so attached to his acoustic guitar, you’d almost think he wants to be the next Bob Dylan.
Not quite. Actually, he wants to be Pete Townshend. And American Idiot is his Quadrophenia — as in a concept album / rock opera. Yes, rock opera. With a loose storyline, a nostalgic theme and a narrative arc. With running characters named Jesus of Suburbia, St. Jimmy and Whatsername. And with multi-part epic songs about apathy, angst, ambition and the state of the American dream in today’s “alien nation.” (It’s probably about more than that, but that’s mostly what I could make out — I didn’t get a lyric sheet with our high-security advance copy, and Billie Joe isn’t exactly the poster boy for enunciation.)
Ambitious? Definitely. High-concept? Totally. But American Idiot is neither as intimidating nor as pretentious as it sounds. Obviously, this 57-minute set is the most varied and complex disc of the band’s career, with influences that veer from Mott The Hoople glam grandeur to Meat Loaf camp, from Celtic funerals to Caribbean country, from power-pop to The Police’s Every Breath You Take. But at the same time, American Idiot is also the punkiest disc they’ve recorded in years.
Sure, a couple of these 13 songs are nine minutes long. But that’s only because they’re made up of a handful of two-minute songs sandwiched together, a la The Who’s A Quick One, While He’s Away. And most of those two-minute songs are made up of the staccato power chords, choppy beats, snotnosed vocals and inescapable hooks that define classic Green Day. The leadoff title track and first single might be the crunchiest and catchiest song Armstrong has penned in a decade. But the sprinting, Clash-inspired punk of St. Jimmy and the spiky churn of Letterbomb aren’t too far behind. Even arena-sized rockers like the anthemic Are We The Waiting pack a decent musical punch, while Bic-lighter singalongs like the Good Riddance sequel Wake Me Up When September Ends and Boulevard Of Broken Dreams deliver a decidedly potent emotional wallop.
Ultimately, how solidly it connects — not how high it aims — is what makes the disc so appealing. Despite Armstrong’s aspirations, American Idiot is not some freeze-dried, overwritten piece of technical perfection. Rather, it’s big and messy and risky; quirky and unpredictable and audacious; it wears its heart on its sleeve, climbs out on a limb and isn’t afraid to fall on its face. And I don’t know about you, but I’ll take that over boring perfection any day.
All in all, not bad for an idiot.
