2. “Jesus of Suburbia”
Green Day’s American Idiot has often been compared to the Who’s 1973 conceptual opus, Quadrophenia, and it’s not difficult to understand why. After all, both records’ narratives center on rebellious teenage males whose punky individualism puts them at odds with social conventions, familial expectations, peer pressures, and romantic expectations. In other words, the protagonists of both records are sick of the bullshit that surrounds them, and they even develop alternate egos to help deal with the banality and overwhelming uncertainties of everyday life.
Furthermore, both records contain rambunctious multifaceted suites in which each stylistic change represents a new emotion or perspective. Although the entirety of American Idiot contains examples of these connections, the second track, “Jesus of Suburbia”, does it the best. Broken into five distinct movements, the piece is a tour de force of catchy melodies, invigorating momentum, emotional timbres and progressions, and most importantly, wonderful transitions.
Structurally, the song actually resembles another Who song, “A Quick One, While He’s Away”, more than it does anything on Quadrophenia (the two songs are even the same length). Still, there’s no denying the thematic connections. For example, the first part of “Jesus of Suburbia”, like “The Real Me” on Quadrophenia, finds the central character declaring his independence and disconnection from the world around him. In both instances, we find a “Me vs. Them” mentality amidst a sense of grand rejection.
It begins thunderously with a dense start/stop rhythmic progression, over which Billie Joe Armstrong speaks for the hero, Jesus of Suburbia (a title that inherently implies martyrdom and cultist leadership). In fact, his first words—”I’m the son of rage and love / The Jesus of Suburbia / From the bible of ‘none of the above’ / On a steady diet of soda pop and Ritalin / No one ever died for my sins in hell / As far as I can tell / At least the ones I got away with”—suggest a rejection of theology and acknowledgment of outcast guidance. These admittances, coupled with eventual allusions to alcohol, drugs, parental abandonment, debt, and existence “in the land of make-believe that don’t believe in me”, introduce listeners to a character meant to represent the outlooks and situations of countless real-life suburban youths.
The song then segues (via delicate acoustic guitar and vocal harmonies) into its next segment, “City of the Damned”, during which Jesus of Suburbia continues to lament the lies and realizations that trouble him so much. For example, he speaks of reading “the graffiti in the bathroom stall / Like the lonely scriptures in a shopping mall”, as well as for representing the “City of the Dead / At the end of another lost highway / Signs misleading to nowhere / City of the Dead / Lost children with dirty faces today / No one really seems to care.” These verses and chorus are sorrowful and fragile, with effective chants that evoke a call to action, while its arrangement is a bit slower and more melodic.
From there, the music becomes more biting and quick, with fierce tones and percussive thrashing complementing Jesus’ angry transformation in “I Don’t Care”. Interestingly, the POV seems to shift to the followers of Jesus, who share his disenfranchisement with society as they scream, “Everyone is so full of shit / Born and raised by hypocrites” and “We are the kids of war and peace / From Anaheim to the Middle East / We are the stories and disciples of / The Jesus of Suburbia!” It’s a hypnotic slice of revolt that also serves as an exceptionally dynamic juxtaposition to the next part.
“Dearly Beloved” has a markedly different approach, including a swing beat and more nuanced production (the harmonies and bells are an especially nice touch). Armstrong once again sings as Jesus, who addresses the public like a speaker at a funeral and explains his mental state. He asks, “Are we demented? / Or am I disturbed? / The space that’s in-between insane and insecure / Oh therapy, can you please fill the void? / Am I retarded? / Or am I just overjoyed?” Clearly this is Green Day’s commentary on the way American teenagers are dealing with their inner conflicts. These details, combined with the usage of Ritalin that was mentioned earlier in the song, also allude to how authority figures were handling the behavior of their sons and daughters. Medicate and diagnose, but never really listen.
The final movement, “Tales of Another Broken Home”, is a gripping beast that provides the perfect sense of closure. Its first half is another punk rock explosion, with Armstrong signaling that Jesus is leaving everything behind to find his place in life. In other words, he refuses to stay silent and complacent; it’s time to act. He asserts, “To live and not to breathe / Is to die in tragedy / To run, to run away / To find what to believe / And I leave behind / This hurricane of fucking lies / I lost my faith to this / This town that don’t exist.”
Afterward, the piece momentarily becomes a piano ballad in which Jesus explains his viewpoint: “I don’t feel any shame / I won’t apologize / When there ain’t nowhere you can go / Running away from pain when you’ve been victimized / Tales from another broken home.” With that last word, though, the trio brings back the aggression, and listeners are left with a final battle cry –”You’re leaving! Oh, you’re leaving home!”—that is very exciting.
Aside from being an exceptionally intricate, intelligent, gripping, and ambitious track that demonstrated how much Green Day had grown as musicians and composers by 2004, “Jesus of Suburbia” did a fantastic job of setting up the story, characters, and social commentary that makes American Idiot such a masterpiece. Its energy, melodies, transitions, and poignant lyrics expressed expertly the overarching mission of the punk movement, all the while speaking volumes about the state of youth culture at the time. Unsurprisingly, its meanings and music are as relevant as ever.