by Cory Kibler
Power-pop-rock is near and dear to my heart. I was born in 1982, and like many of my peers, the first contemporary bands I fell in love with were Nirvana, Green Day, Weezer, Superdrag, Goldfinger and Nada Surf. So I’m predisposed toward loving loud guitars, tight songs and big melodies. I also naturally hold these types of bands to an extremely high standard — perhaps unfairly so.
As I got older, power-pop faded from the popular music landscape, and the percentage of quality records within this genre seemed to be increasingly rare. Perhaps I just grew older and pickier, but I can count on one hand the number of pop-rock albums that have blown me away in the last 5-10 years (whether you want to admit it or not, Bleed American from Jimmy Eat World fucking slayed. Sorry, haters.)
Omaha’s Flight Metaphor is a band that’s been on my radar for a while (thanks, slamomaha.com), but their new seven-song EP Eastmost Peninsula is my first taste of their output. (That sounded gross. No matter — I’m keeping it in. That also sounded gross). 
What doesn’t sound gross is this new EP. In fact, it’s really good.
One of the reasons I’m so drawn to it is that it’s incredibly earnest. These days, it’s difficult to find bands that aren’t being at least a little tongue-in-cheek. Everyone’s making a joke or some sort of jaded statement (even The Hold Steady, the current paradigm example of the sincere rock band, seem to be acutely aware of themselves and what their music symbolizes). Flight Metaphor, on the other hand, exist in a netherworld of pop music. They’re good enough to be loved by critics, yet accessible enough to be loved by even the most casual rock fans. This is a lot easier said than done.
Their music is fast, positive-sounding, tight and catchy. This is especially true on “Moments,” the first actual song on the record (there's an intro track that sounds like the music that would play during a Flight Metaphor NES game. I love it). Their lyrics aim to be straightforward, insightful and uplifting. The opening lines of “Coffins” are a good example of this: Everybody’s scared to die, but we don’t know how to live. That might sound grim, but the song's tone implies an unarticulated follow-up message: essentially, “We need to start living to the fullest, bro!”
This music is the kind of legitimately rad rock you’d hear on the radio in the mid-'90s, but that you’d never hear on the radio today. It’s the type of sound that would’ve gotten an adolescent me excited about music, compelling freshly-pubescent Cory to discover other bands similar to Flight Metaphor. Just as Nirvana led a lot of us to bands like The Pixies and Pavement, today’s budding rock fans could theoretically latch onto Flight Metaphor and learn a ton about alternative rock music. It’s a shame radio stations don’t play actual rock 'n’ roll anymore.
I don’t mean to say that Flight Metaphor is somehow a stepping-stone to something better or more legitimate — I just mean that they’re one of the bitchin’ rock bands in our indie-rock scene that could sell a million records if they got the right kind of attention. To my ears, “Biting my Tongue (Biding Time)” could easily be a song that played at the end of a sexy action film. You know, when the robot does the heroine.
There are a few weak spots on the record: I really wish lead vocalist Mike Harvat would either (a) strengthen up his falsetto, so that it’s more confident and on-pitch, or (b) maybe not attempt falsetto at all. There are also a few examples of trite end-rhymes — anytime someone rhymes “self” with “shelf,” I cringe a little. Luckily, I’ve always felt that the ultimate secret to being a great power-pop-rock band is having a drummer that plays like a fucking machine, and Flight Metaphor's Bill Harvat offers that all over the place. (“… like a fucking machine” is a Flight Metaphor simile, btw.) Listen to this record, put some booze into your face-holes, and sing along!
Bro!
Cory Kibler grew up in Ventura, Calif., and Colorado Springs, Colo., before coming to Nebraska for college and graduate school in 2000. He has slowly transformed into a Nebraskan, which left a mess. He plays music as a solo artist and with The Sleepover, and he has played in the past with such bands as Shacker and Robot Creep Closer. He helps run netlabel Mr. Furious Records with his friend C. Howie Howard. You can contact him at cory.kibler@gmail.com. He misses you. So bad.