It was sometime in September of 2008, at least so Facebook tells me. For all its faults the one thing Facebook has been good for is hanging onto those memories through pictures that I’ve forgotten. I had been drinking a lot of whisky that night so the whole thing is a little hazy; and by a little I mean a lot hazy. And there I am, fake blood dripping from my mouth, covered in mud, and wearing nothing but a bandana and underwear. It was Fake Injury Party 2: Mud Wrestling Edition.

The night started off hard and only accelerated, much like Japandroids 2012 sophomore album Celebration Rock which kicks off with the banger The Nights of Wine and Roses, and doesn’t let up until the sounds of dying fireworks on Continuous Thunder. The album is an ode to nights like Fake Injury Party; nights when anything seemed possible. It plays with the ferocity of how we used to enter parties; kicking in the door, breaking a vase to announce our presence and set the tone for the night, then we’d force the closest person to chug their beer because we were about to crowd surf them through the living room and into the kitchen for shots. We’d carry on all night laughing and singing and drinking and wrestling, pulling in everyone we could to have a good time and make it the best night possible; because in our minds it very well might have been our last.

These are great songs that fill me with a sense of nostalgia when I listen to them – because those were great nights full of great memories for me. Being with my best friends, living in the moment, our only care was to have the most amount of fun in that moment, a moment that seemed tinged with a thousand possibilities. Days when I’d stay up all night partying with friends; chanting, cheering, drinking – a communal gathering and all of us striving for an experience. I used to live for those nights. Toiling away at school or at a job during the week, just itching and waiting, killing time until the weekend arrived and we could do it all over again. Pushing ourselves, living the night as if it were our last and the Reaper was coming at dawn with the sun.

And then things changed. Fewer and fewer people would be at the parties. The music changed. Fewer nights ended with me shirtless. And still we pushed on, undaunted, as if through sheer force of will we would continue the party.

Until we didn’t anymore. Not in the same way.

And that’s the danger of nostalgia. It’s a desire to return to an earlier time in one’s life, whether physically or mentally, a yearning for that mythical “golden age” when things were better, simpler, more happy; and in contrast it suggests that right now, the present that you’re in, is not any of those things. Taken in the context of this album, and in particular the song Younger Us where that idea hits really strongly, it’s kinda depressing. They were good memories, sure, but to think your life peaked at a time when the only goal was to get obliterated drunk…well…it’s kind of sad. But that seems too simple, it feels too easy to just write it off in that manner, so I wanted to dig deeper.

Here are the two verses of the song:

Remember when we had them all on the run
And the night we saw the midnight sun
Remember saying things like, "We'll sleep when we're dead"
And thinking this feeling was never gonna end
Remember that night you were already in bed
Said, "Fuck it" got up to drink with me instead

Gimme that naked new skin rush
Give me younger us
Gimme that you and me in a grave trust
Give me younger us
Gimme my girls running, love, wild and free
Give me younger us
Gimme my boys and I swimming through the streets
Give me younger us

You can see that clawing desire in the verses. First in the repetition of “Remember”; a focus on the past while not looking towards the future, and even ignoring the present. And again in the refrain: “Give me younger us”; as if that was the only time these things existed. And what is it that they want to return to? Looking at their examples the underlying feeling is one of excitement and possibility, that feeling that anything was possible in a given night. I argue that there’s no reason for that to go away. There is still a wide world out there with fun and experiences to have, it’s just the nature of those experiences has changed, shifted with time and an understanding of the world. Every once in a while I’ll get that tickle, that itch, for a wild night out, and I’ll indulge on an even more rare occasion. When I wake up the next morning (or afternoon) I realize, even if I push through with it, it’s not the same. You may love steak, but the tenth, fifteenth, twentieth night of steak for dinner isn’t going to have that same elating effect as the first or second night. That example might be a bit hyperbolic, but the principle is the same. If you over-indulge in chasing those feelings and experiences in only one way and don’t grow and expand, you’ll stagnate.

So you have to shift, find what fills you with that sense of wonder and possibility. For some it might be passing on their knowledge and experiences to others – writing, teaching, starting a family. For me it’s hunting out new experiences, new places, new perspectives on the world. Even day to day there are adventures to be had if you are open to them; take a different route home, stop off at that fruit cart you always pass.

What nostalgia denies is the changing nature of joy and happiness. It’s looking back and trying to recapture that feeling instead of looking forward to see what else in this life could ignite it. My favourite line in the song goes; “Remember those nights you were already in bed/Said ‘Fuck it’ got up to drink with me instead”. Those were my favourite nights. Nights when you had resigned yourself to the fact that nothing was going on, and just as you’re tossing in the towel the phone rings. I remember coming home from school one weekend; I didn’t expect much, it was winter, it was cold, it was last minute, but I called up some friends anyway to let them know I was in town. “You’re home? Get a suit and get over to the Golf and Country Club – work Christmas party, open bar, you’re my plus one.” We closed the bar at the club that night, drank them out of whisky, and went on to make hazy memories of downtown bars.

It’s a great story, and it was a great night, but the thought of revisiting that night now doesn’t fill me with the same excitement. The thought of pushing myself and my body that far fills me with a sort of dread. What’s still exciting though is the spontaneity of the night, the possibilities that lay ahead. That night would play out much differently now. Instead of a raucous party it might be a phone call to go sledding at midnight, or check out a meteor shower.

There’s a great idea about partying that I learned from the professional partier himself, Andrew W.K. It’s the idea that a party is simply any time that you’re having a great time being your authentic self. For some – and there was a time in my life where this applied to me – it’s getting drunk with your friends on the weekend; for others it’s brunch on a Sunday and then going to the art gallery; maybe it’s staying in and reading a good book; or playing songs you wrote to a cheering crowd; spending time at the park with your family and pushing your child on the swing. It’s a definition that shifts and changes with perspective. Anything can be a party if you’re having a good time and being true to yourself.

Don’t get me wrong, this album is a banger, I love it. The lyrics are brilliant as the idea of partying only seems to be inferred with the energy of the music, because there is only one instance – in this song at least – where drinking is explicitly stated. Instead it brings up these broader feelings and emotions of nostalgia and I guess, for me back then, that involved a lot of partying. Every time I listen to this album it gets me fist-pumping excited as I’m flooded with those wistful memories. And when it’s done I tuck those memories away and look forward in search of the next great adventure.