Crossing the Great Line: How Underoath Changed Metalcore Production

Do you remember when metalcore was dangerous?  Guitars that were angular, almost chainsaw-like?  Ear-piercing, throat-shredding vocals that were near unintelligible at times?  How about the sound of a 12-gauge shotgun firing as the drummer signaled mass chaos?  These were actual hallmarks of the genre in the early days.  Bands like Integrity in the early 90s embraced that raw, metallic sound, far closer to hardcore than the polished metalcore that would eventually dominate the genre. Production values were sparse, so bands relied more on finding ways to use that raw, dry sound to their advantage.  It wasn’t polished, but that was kind of the point.

Fast forward, oh, I don’t know… about 13 years.  Metalcore had become the dominant heavy genre in music.  Gone was the post-grunge and nu-metal, and in turn, we had these bands that were just trying to demolish you in every way, shape, and form.  Nothing was sacred, as breakdowns were heavier than ever, and they still retained that raw, angular sound that most of us came to love. There was a bit of a problem, though.  Those same breakdowns were becoming stale.  Bands were starting to sound the same.  The scene was becoming almost a parody of itself.  You had bands like Zao and Converge that were still pushing the limits, but they were few and far between.

Production had gotten better over the years.  The guitars were beginning to sound more compressed.  Drums were louder, but were lacking that “shotgun” snare that was such a signature of the genre.  It’s almost as if the more polished production had sterilized the genre.  Had metalcore become safe?  Had it become a genre just built on grids and presets?

Underoath had been around for a good while at this point.  Nearly a decade in metalcore years is like… 40.  In their early years, they mixed black metal elements into Christian metalcore, to varying degrees of “success.”  The minor breakout, The Changing of Times, saw them transition to a more linear sound, stressing soundscapes and textures over raw production, blast beats, and monotonous breakdowns.  The exit of Dallas Taylor and Octavio Fernandez signaled a massive change in the band’s sound, as they brought in vocalist Spencer Chamberlain to handle harsh vocals and Grant Brandell to play bass.  Underoath’s next album was going to change everything for the band and the genre as a whole.

Up until this point, metalcore had been what most of us would consider a “niche” genre.  When Underoath released They’re Only Chasing Safety, gone were those chainsaw guitars and odd time signatures, and in place were bombastic choruses and catchier structures.  Everything was huge.  The biggest difference, though, was the searing-bright production.  Everything was clean.  Everything was polished.  Every instrument and vocal had its own space to live in.  It was nearly unrecognizable.

Let’s be honest: if you weren’t like I was and completely taken aback upon first listen of TOCS, I would probably call you a liar.  This wasn’t just a departure.  This was a complete and utter 180.  Underoath took everything that made them identical to everyone else in the genre and flipped it on its head.  AND PEOPLE LOVED IT.   It peaked at #101 on the Billboard charts, which is remarkable.  Sure, it was eclipsed by Killswitch Engage(#21) and Shadows Fall(#20) in the same year, but metalcore charting at that time was unheard of.  Eventually certified Gold, TOCS was one of metalcore’s very first “hits.”

By 2006, metalcore had firmly crossed over in the mainstream.  Heavier artists like the aforementioned Killswitch Engage and others were firmly planting themselves on the charts.  Big festivals and tours like Warped Tour grew year after year, and new ones like Taste of Chaos attracted bigger and bigger bands.  While it was incredible for heavy music, it kept watering down the scene.  Every new band you heard sounded just like the last one that came out the week before.  It was fucking boring.  Really fucking boring.  

“Writing On the Walls” stunned me.  I remember driving through Boca Raton, listening to satellite radio like I always did back then.  I remember I was on Glades Road next to the mall when I heard those shimmering guitars for the first time.  Aaron’s distorted vocals sounded ethereal, almost calming.  I was not prepared for the onslaught that was to follow, as Spencer came roaring in.  What the actual fuck is happening?  What happened to that poppy, linear Underoath?  This still had that beautiful Underoath/Aaron quality, but it was heavier, nastier, and more atmospheric.  It was mathy, chaotic.  It felt like a jolt to the fucking spine.

Why did this sound so different?  Of course we had to wait to find out, as the single was released in late May of ‘06.  The album, Define the Great Line, was to be released about a month later in June, so for a 23-year-old, that month felt like a decade.  I probably listened to “Writing On the Walls” at least 200 times in those weeks.  I studied every single lyric, note, beat… all of it.  I was obsessed.

I found my answers on June 20th of 2006.  What immediately struck me on first listen was how crystal-clear this sounded.  How every element, every instrument, every vocal traveled throughout the entire space.  Nothing was drowned out.  You could hear the bass… THE BASS.  Not just kicks, BUT THE ACTUAL BASS. But hearing the full record finally triggered the bigger question: why did this FEEL so different?  

They’re Only Chasing Safety was a pretty straightforward record for the most part.  You could hear the electronic flourishes underneath.  You could tell they were experimenting with their sound and attempting to add more atmosphere and electronics.  The elements were all there, just seen through a pop lens.  This, on the other hand, was almost smothering.  The electronics underneath the guitars on Define the Great Line create a somber feeling, which is such a contradiction to the absolute chaos the guitars and drums create on the surface.  What makes this so different, though, is that you can hear every single element. Nothing gets lost in another.  Chris Dudley, who handles the electronics and keyboards for Underoath, said the label encouraged the band to keep moving in a poppy direction.  The band responded by going darker, grittier, and more atmospheric.  Chris and producer Adam D described it as “movie-soundtrack music.”  Who knew a Christian band could make the soundtrack to our apocalypse?

There isn’t a better example of this than “Casting Such a Thin Shadow.”  It feels desolate, isolated.  You’re standing alone in the middle of something enormous while the sound just hangs in the air around you.  It moves and breathes around you.  There’s this sense of everything collapsing as the song continues, until this massive crescendo.  You almost feel the air and the ground moving. It’s almost ethereal, and at the same time absolutely crushing.

This changed everything.  No one had approached the genre in this way and fashion before.  It was a brand new discovery.  This was what everyone in the genre should be striving for.  I don’t know if I really said that at 23, but if I did, I’d probably regret it.  Hindsight is always 20/20.

And if I thought things were getting stale in 2005 and 2006? Oh, buddy. Welcome to My Era of Disappointment. 

Evolution can be beneficial or detrimental, depending on one’s perspective. For instance, a beneficial example would be our evolution from apes. 5/5, would recommend. A less beneficial example? The sterilization and generic quality of today’s metalcore. Over the last 20 years, we’ve seen these bands get more focused on heaviness, vocal gymnastics, and sanding away any and all character from the production.  Everything either sounds exactly the fucking same or is so focused on shocking the listener that they forget to make an actual fucking song.  YES, I’M FUCKING ANGRY!

I miss the days when songs would almost sound like they could collapse in on themselves at any moment.  I miss the days when the breakdown wasn’t the focus of the entire song, but something that accentuates the moment and brings the tension to a satisfying break.  I miss the days when a vocalist was more worried about letting everything go than being the most technically proficient vocal artist in the genre.  Stop sticking cameras down vocalists’ throats.  It’s disgusting.

Define the Great Line was proof that production didn’t have to sterilize the music.  You could add different layers and textures, experiment with soundscapes, and still make a cohesive metalcore record.  Underoath knew that, and they ran with it.  They continued to pad their resume in September of 2008 with Lost in the Sound of Separation, which further pushed the envelope of those production values.  They weren’t just a metalcore band anymore, and they embraced it(at least for one more record and then shit all over it).  At the risk of sounding cliché, this wasn’t just music anymore.  This was a full aural experience.

I know I sound like an old man, sitting on his lawn chair, yelling at all the kids to stop chugging and play some actual riffs. I get it. But this isn’t me asking metalcore to go back to 1998. I don’t want shitty production just because shitty production sounds “real.” I don’t want every drummer tuning his snare like a shotgun, and I sure as hell don’t need every band trying to rewrite Jane Doe. I just want the danger back.

Define the Great Line proved that polish wasn’t the problem. You could make something enormous, crystal-clear, layered, atmospheric, and meticulously produced without making it feel safe. You could hear every instrument and still feel like the entire song might collapse around you. Nearly twenty years later, that’s what so many bands are still missing.

Metalcore doesn’t need to become less polished.

It just needs to remember how to be dangerous.