Live music is a spiritual experience, one which has direct effects on the human soul. A perfectly stricken chord can mend a heart once broken. The synchronistic roar of a crowd can morph loneliness into acceptance. A helping hand picking up your fallen body in a pit can lift you out of the darkness. The energy produced from live music can be a form of medication. It is a prescription that can only be filled by those on stage pouring everything they have into a microphone, spewing out into a sea of strangers who are all intertwined into one unified soul. This year, our remedies were stolen away overnight with no safe return in sight; a thought that struck the purest form of fear into my heart.

Concerts are vessels for exploration, transformation, rejuvenation, and solace. It is a ritual I have regularly relied on for my own mental well-being for more than half of my life now. I am remarkably thankful for this year delivering landmark releases from some of the best artists out there defining a new generation of the art, and for artists of all shapes and sizes giving their all inside of a webcam for their communities to sing along from the comfort and safety of their homes. But nothing hits like the anticipation of waiting for the lights to go dark, followed by the drop of your heart upon that first note, kick, beat, or scream. It is beautiful addiction, and one that has severe reparations when stripped away cold turkey.

Concerts have kept my anxiety, depression, lack of confidence, and self-consciousness at ease and in control, and quite frankly are the reason I am still alive today. And while I sit here today, laid off from a dream job and relying on state benefits for survival, the most terrifying aspect of this horrendous year has been fighting myself without the help of live music. Every day, for now nine months and counting, I hunger for that rush. But here I sit on the couch and watch the time tick on by, looking for any distraction I can to grasp onto to provide some sense of mental and emotional stability.

Each morning begins as each night ends; late and numb, scrolling through my phone as I struggle to find the energy to change the scenery from one room of my tiny apartment to another. One of these mornings over the summer had a different light to it. During my morning routine, I stumbled across a tweet from one of our public relations partners sharing news of a new indie title from a studio I was unfamiliar with; Teenage Blob from Team Lazerbeam. It was described as a collaborative “art-punk” project between the studio and Philadelphia based band The Superweaks, with a trailer showcasing a DIY Adult Swim-like hand drawn aesthetic and shredding indie-punk guitars. The fascinating promise of a playable six track EP piqued my interest, so I inquired.

What I expected from Teenage Blob was a weird, gnarly, goofy half hour of my time tied with a solid punk EP. An indie I expected to vibe with, but one that may slip my mind in a year stacked with next generation consoles and titanic gaming releases, not to mentioned new releases from some of my favorite bands. But what I discovered was more substantial. Teenage Blob unveiled itself to become the remedy I desired. An experience that calmed my spirit, one in which satisfied the musical cravings haunting my psyche. If I may be brutally honestly, but possibly sound quite hyperbolic;

Teenage Blob kept me breathing in 2020.

From the moment your eyes open in the morning leading all the way up lights go dark inside the venue, Teenage Blob exquisitely simulates every single aspect of the concert-going experience. Even with the aesthetic of a grueling Nicktoon brought to life with exaggerated writing and surrealistic scenarios, the portrayal of daily tasks shadowed by lingering anticipation is precisely nailed by a group of talented individuals who truly understand the importance of live music. Teenage Blob is a shockingly grounded experience; utilizing the Philly punk scene in creating an authentic simulation. It is a love letter to not only Lame-O records, one of the best labels doing phenomenal work for the scene and remarkable artists, but cultural legends such as Hop Along, PUP, Cayetana, and Diet Cig. The game takes the ideologies of groundbreaking writers such as Frances Quinlan and Alex Luciano, melding it with chaotic energy of one air guitaring on their bed or scream-singing along in the shower to create a fever dream version that is this iconic energy of live music. Especially one that seems more literal when starved from it for almost a year.

Hop Along

PUP

Cayetana

Diet Cig

Any developer could have created their own original score and soundtrack, crafting a narrative centered around a manufactured band, but collaborating with a band who’s sweat is ingrained into the floors of venues such as TLA on South Street or Union Transfer give the game a beating, living heart. The Superweaks are Philly. The Superweaks are punk rock. The Superweaks understand what makes live music special. Chris Baglivo, Evan Bernard, Mike Bell, Mikey Tashjian, and Andrew Wilson have crafted six beautiful tracks that scream to the soul of every locked down ageless kid who’s heart flies under the banner of punk, emo, scene, metal, ska, and every other rock sub-genre imaginable. “Your problems all repeat like they’re a faint distress call on an island you call home,” a line that opens a window into an aural comforting hug to the ones desperately missing sweat filled nights skanking, moshing, and dancing in our homes away from home.

Six individual games from Team Lazerbeam accompanied by six anthems from The Superweaks. These are the chapters that compile into the story of our hero; the vessel whom which I found myself inside. As I, too, consider myself quite blob-like at times, this was not much a challenge. Each of the six experiences are unique to one another, both in game design and in song. Each triggered specific emotions and memories of my own, helping me grasp onto cherished moments and reinjecting the energy into my circulatory system as if I was living through them again.

Teenage Blob is groundbreaking experience; the birth of a new medium. It is one that transcends both gaming and music, melding the two forms of entertainment into an inherently fresh experience. With that idea in mind, I wanted to approach this piece a bit differently. The following six stories, six personal experiences and reactions, are completely my own. They are the memories and emotions I grasped onto while initially playing Teenage Blob, the ones that helped me relive various sensations. They are brutally honest, and strikingly intimate. These responses are what grounded me in an uncertain year, guiding me back into a sense of hopefulness. By sharing these stories with you, I hope to achieve expressing how crucial Teenage Blob is to the future of interactive experiences.

Track One: New Year

Get going. Find a new place to go.

“Wake up banana-brains! It’s the big day!” - a text in which both opens this game and one I have woken up to (in the words of The Superweaks) a million f***ing times. Admittedly, I unfortunately have not been called “banana-brains” before. Growing up in Yonkers, NY, a mixed-cultural and mixed-class city that lies smacked in the middle of The Bronx and White Plains, I have been woken up by more crude nomenclatures in the early hours of many days. But a connection I cannot deny is the jolting force celebrating the day of a show. It is a monumental occasion. You have survived the week, the month, the year. After purchasing tickets sometimes a year or so in advanced, the time stamped onto the paper ticket has finally arrived.

There is no stronger sense of emotional synchronicity than the one between you and the person on the other end of that cellular signal. That is pact you have established, one which stands the test of time no matter where that particular relationship may land. This the unfamiliar conversation with my high school best friend anticipating expectations before our first Bamboozle Festival, my very first concert, in 2008. This the thrilling conversation with my best friend before meeting at LaGuardia airport to fly to Chicago for Riot Fest for the first time. This is the anxious conversation I held with a former girlfriend before meeting in Union Square to see Kevin Devine, our final concert together before one final fight and breaking up. This is the nervous conversation I held with my wife before seeing HIM’s final performance in America during for one of our first dates.

Every live music experience has a personal connection tied to an individual who has directly shaped the person I continue to develop into. Since that first Bamboozle, I have attended hundreds upon hundreds of concerts. This sparks of flurry of memories both cherished and unwanted into mind. It took my everything to not breakdown in tears as I was streaming my initial play-through of the game, bopping my head back and forth to the rhythm of the drums with the goal of blurring my glossed over eyes. The baffling bookend? This was only the first frame of gameplay.

Track Two: Paper Person

Give up your dreams and pay your dues.

We have all worked dead end jobs we did not enjoy. For most, it was for pure survival; pay the bills, feed yourself, keep yourself healthy. With concert junkies, each paycheck on a part-time minimum wage went towards tickets and merch. Blob forgive you if you find yourself to have an affinity towards vinyl, particularly tour-exclusive pressings. For our admirable Teenage Blob, this job was delivering sandwiches in Team Lazerbeam’s warped reimagination of Paper Boy. For me, it was my time with GameStop after graduating with an audio engineering degree, no hopes of career in sight, and a father rotting away from the inside out due to renal cancer.

There are moments we all live through from time to time where we are in desperate need of an escape. We’re all living through such a moment, albeit a drawn out one, right now. For myself back then, it was fighting reality. There we many days I chose hunger over satisfaction and risked my health to avoid trips to doctors. I chose to work grueling hours, sometimes starting first thing in the morning until sunrise the following day. I risked sacrificing relationships with friends and family, choosing a meaningless retail gig over what mattered more. All of this in order to save for my next live music fix.

Yes, the stories you consistently hear about GameStop and how they treat their employees are quite true. This made my choices even more unbearable. But what Paper Person sparked were the lighter memories. As our Teenage Blog backflips over the hedges, I’m reminded of the little boy who visited me weekly to tell me about his latest gaming adventures. As he feeds the pups, I’m reminded of eating Applebees take-out with my incredible store manager on the store floor as we wait for midnight release shoppers. As he breaks windows of houses too cheap to pay for sandwiches, I’m reminded of giving the finger aimed towards GameStop Corporate by constantly sharing better deals with folks and actively saving unknowing teenagers from signing up for a horrendous credit card. And finally, when the bridge of the song hits and he is slowly crossing a field, I’m reminded of how grateful I am for the times I got to take a breath and enjoy the little things.

These moments, both positive and negative, piled into what became at the time my most desperate days. I felt weak; physically, emotionally, and mentally. I felt like a coward running from the truth. But I was not ready to face the reality lying in the room sharing a wall with mine. Sleepless nights were spent counting down until my next escape, calculating numbers as coughing fits erupted in the adjoining room. And when the payoffs finally hit, it was without fail pure ecstasy every single time. The shows rejuvenated my soul. They built me back into the person I can love more easily. The more I attended, the more prepared I grew to face my reality. Towards the end of my cliche dead-end job story, I had to say goodbye to my father. But the funny thing is that everything does in fact happen for a reason. I found a dream job, stability, and confidence; the start of a new chapter in my life. Of course, a new chapter filled with more shows and new memories, with tickets achieved in a more sound and healthy manner.

Track Three: Tony Dork

Trying to sing along my tongue gets heavy dredging words half remembered.

Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater is in all of our DNA. We grew up dreaming of becoming a skating legend, shredding on the mega ramp next to Bob Burnquist at the X Games. But in reality, most of us didn’t make it to LA to compete with Bucky Lasek. Some of us even gave up on skating altogether. This is the path of the Blob in Team Lazerbeam’s take on a less glamorous THPS. The goal: collect bananas and give high fives while shredding in a Battletoads cosplay. What spoke me most here is quite simple. Internally, you may feel as if you are on top of the world. You are the most rad human being on this planet, and nothing can bring you own. But in reality, chances are you look like a fool. But there is nothing wrong with that as long as you’re loving yourself in that moment.

I was one of those kids in the early 2000s doing his best to become a hometown hero shredding on his Alien Workshop board while cranking Blink-182’s Untitled out in the streets on a Phillips boombox. Unfortunately I reached a bit too high one day, attempting to skate down a steep hill and bashing my right leg into a guard rail. My balance was shot, barely able to stand on a board after finding the courage to try again.

That board resided in the corner of my bedroom for years until my first Warped Tour back in 2008. We had a newcomer in the punk rock scene in our group of friends after being introduced to Senses Fail and The Fall of Troy in Guitar Hero. The two attributes he knew about Warped were punk rock and skating. He was a novice skater at the time, so he decided to borrow that Alien Workshop board to accompany him to the Long Island parking lot festival. There was a third and fourth attribute he did not account for; crowds and heat. With these seeping into his spirit, he quickly abandoned the board, forcing our group to take turns lugging it around all day. Did we appear to be the biggest try-hard posers of the day? Yes. But did we feel as if we were living that THPS dream whenever it was in our hands. Absolutely.

Warped Tour is a magical event. It shaped my teenage years unlike any other outside influences growing up. As our Teenage Blob is skating around hive fiving folks in the streets, the memories of seeing Pennywise for the first time floods into my mind. I begin to remember how utterly horrendous I felt as a tiny fish in a massive sea of veteran punks, so desperate for a hydration I succumb to a steaming hot half drunk bottle discovered on the disgusting ground. Tired, weak, worn out, blacking out; the symptoms of a kids first Warped. But all of a sudden you hear a deep growl that shakes your core, a pounding kick that pumps your heart, and following the words cast over the crowd:

“To all my friends, present, past and beyond

Especially those who weren't with us too long

Life is the most precious thing you can lose”

July 28, 2008 - Englishtown, NJ | The day after my first Pennywise experience

Partaking in Bro Hymn changes you. It is a moment you become part of a singular voice for all the world to hear, paying tribute to those we have lost. It’s a seminal moment for a young punk kid to find solace and peace in death, and overcome the fear surrounding it. You become a part of something bigger than one individual. The resounding chorus of “whoa” shouted at the top of your lungs while dancing in the pit cement your legacy lasting far beyond your time on this planet. Your blood, sweat, and tears are forever sealed within the concrete and on the skin of every person you bashed shoulders with and hugged during those two and a half minutes. In 2020, I would give anything for those two and a half minutes. But the Blob handing out high fives helped me picture the ones I shared with complete strangers that day, all thriving and celebrating life.

Track Four: Guitar Zero

So, with note and rhyme I’ll defend my decline.

Do you remember the first time you played Guitar Hero or Rock Band? Many dreamer’s first instrument was a plastic guitar where they’d initially shred along to three slow-crawling notes on a digital fretboard. Sticking with the games, that slow crawl eventually turns into a Van Halen-esque sprint as you perfectly nail the hardest tracks on the list. What Red Octane, Neversoft, and Harmonix achieved was the sensation of feeling like a true rockstar, triggering an imagination of performing in front of a sea of roaring bodies dancing and screaming along to your lead. Teenage Blob, on the other hand, speaks to the punk kid hopelessly chasing the dream of recognition through music. Teenage Blob isn’t Guitar Hero or Rock Band, simulating Rock God stardom. It’s StepMania, authentically simulating the broke punk kind wannabe scrounging for anything to utilize in their arsenal.

Guitar Zero takes you inside Team Lazerbeam’s version of a Guitar Center or Sam Ash; a setting I’m all too familiar with. Unlike our hero, I have never worked in one of these bigger retailers. While Blob shreds inside the store with the intent on making sales, I spent hours on end sneaking in practice sessions. For those not in the know, this is an unspoken forbidden law for big box guitar shops. Yes, you may absolutely taste test an instrument you have the intention of purchasing at some point. But where I discretely crossed that line came with writing songs, finding and documenting amp tones, and demoing chord progressions, solos, and baselines on my phone. Hell, there were times my first band spread across the retail floor and jam while doing our best to act as if we melded accidentally.

What makes these reemerging memories even more welcomed now more than ever is the fact that at this point in my life, I was a horrendous musician. With every out of key note and scratched chord, I received dirty looks that would not dampen the massive smile across my face. Seeing a mirror image of myself reflected on the Blob, as well as the hecklers in the background, sparked the nostalgia trip of my early musicianship. It motivated me to not only attempt to perform some of my old, terrible music, but also play along with The Superweaks as the tracks blared through my speakers. It reminded of performing in front of small yet passionate crowds, getting screwed by promoters, fights with my old bandmates, and overnight practice binges filled with cheap alcohol and Red Bull. While Guitar Hero and Rock Band are the Rock God dreamer’s game, Teenage Blob is for the small time punk that continues to strive for the good life.

Track Five: Ghost Step

Rally ‘round your lie when you decry that I just want to matter.

Every moment leads to these final two scenes, the first being the climax. The first four tracks in Teenage Blob are representative of the highs and lows we ride on our daily lives. At their best, they’re thrilling, hopeful, and joyous. And on the other side, they’re terrifying, heartbreaking, and riddled with anger. Throughout my days, I grasp onto the highs for as long as I possible can. But my mind doesn’t allow that grip to hold too long. The tumble from euphoria is a painful drop into a dark descent, losing the person I’ve grown to love and appreciate and not knowing my way back. Live music, these climaxes that build throughout the countless highs and lows, are the remedy I spoke of. It is the lantern at the bottom of the dark cavernous mazes to guide me back home.

April 6, 2011 | Maxwell’s in Hoboken, NJ | In attendance for music video shoot (seen at 00:13)

As exaggerated as it is presented in this moment, Team Lazerbeam once again understands what makes the necessity of live music so critical to the well-being of folks such as myself. Cemented in authenticity and care, Teenage Blob achieves the heart pounding release within the window of a computer monitor. Within the game, you are literally naked as you are floating through the venue being pulled by the gravitational pull that is the screaming guitars, shattering cymbals, and therapeutic melodies without a care in the world. Nothing else at this point matters. You made it. You’re alive, here in this room, dancing and screaming with people you are now inherently connected with for the remainder of your days. This is a safe space where you can take all of the pent up energy you’ve involuntarily grasped onto, and just let go.

The memories and stories from hundreds of live music experiences flood into my mind and into my heart. With how many I can share here with you, I can fill a novel. But what I will share is this:

These are the moments that shaped who I am, who I strive to be, and who I continue to grow into. These moments are the ones that allow me to keep living this life. It’s a life I truly love, but one that is hard to live. Without a regular flow of new moments, I lose a bit of myself. I fall a bit deeper inside that cavernous maze. But Team Lazerbeam helped me relive the past sixteen or so years all at once, and it’s something I will be forever grateful for.

Track Six: The Deepest Blues

I won’t give up, it’s all right.

With the conclusion of the climax comes pure bliss. While the shows themselves are the remedy, the moments that follow are what bind the euphoric sensation to your spirit. The aural vigor sweeping through masterful timbres burrow themselves inside your veins as you re-enter the world. The first breath you take as you exit the venue feels as if it’s the first breath you’ve ever taken. Whether you’re welcomed with a light summer breeze or a gentile chill of the wintery atmosphere, the sensation on your skin instills a sustainable energy you will carry for days, weeks, and months to come.

As the Blob swims through a sea of credits, reminiscing on the journey that is nearing its end, I am reminded of those moments outside New York City venues I cherish the most. The bitter cold when leaving Music Hall of Willamsburg after a raging performance from Jeff Rosenstock. The comforting hug from a spring wind outside of Irving Plaza after an emotional performance from HIM, with the anticipation of a road trip to Lancaster, PA to see Say Anything the next day looming in the air. The cooling rain igniting a joyous afterparty in the streets outside of FLC in the Bronx celebrating hometown heroes Daly’s Gone Wrong. Each shock transitions into a resounding, calming silence only filled with the ambiences of the city. The space between ambiences is only filled with the instant replay of the previous hours, keeping you company on your trip home. And as you reach your final destination, your day ends as it began; with a full heart, a gapping smile, and a hopeful spirit for what’s to come.

What terrifies me the most this year is the absence of that hopeful spirit. The purest form of serotonin grows further out of our reach by the day, and there’s no end in sight. Besides an invisible killer drastically depleting our population, we have battled with a murderous regime meant to serve and protect along with a government that holds no regard for the people they govern. If there is any time where live music is needed, it is now. But here’s the truth - the punks, the metal heads, the scene kids, the headbangers? We are resilient.

Along with the countless artists who continue to adapt and fight throughout the year, Team Lazerbeam is the prime example of resilience. They are proof that the spirit of live music will never be silenced. Even with the sense of an ending world or a still clock frozen in time, Team Lazerbeam and The Superweaks stand tall as innovators, caretakers, and leaders in a year we so desperately need them.

To Ben, Jason, Richard, Chris, Evan, Mike, Andrew, and Mikey,

Thank you for providing me with that hopeful spirit that has been dwindling away as the clock continues to rotate. You have single handedly kept me breathing this year, and I could never properly express my full gratitude toward you and your work.

Written by Mike Towndrow

Want to learn more about Team Lazerbeam, Teenage Blob, and game-punk? Check out my interview with Team Lazerbeam’s writer and artist, Ben Rausch.

Teenage Blob & The Importance of Live Music