Open Wounds in the Palms of My Hands (A Fire Inside Ep - AFI)

Member Name: Frankingsteins

Product:	A Fire Inside Ep - AFI
Date:	24/06/07 (65 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Two excellent original songs, and good choice of cover songs.

Disadvantages: Nine and a half minutes long.

Berkeley-based goth punks AFI are nowadays better known as the feminine frontmen of the ‘emo’ scene, and the majority of their fans probably have no idea that the angry schoolboys started out making albums that ripped off the Misfits.

This semi-self-titled 1998 E.P. captures the transition perfectly between the band’s early years as hardcore punk rockers, and the more successful Offspring-like direction they would embrace for what remained of the millennium before abandoning punk altogether in favour of mainstream success. Although it is incredibly short, comprised of four songs ranging from forty-six seconds to four minutes in length (two of which are covers), this E.P. sees AFI’s ferocity reach its zenith of intensity, while remaining admirably honest about their influences. Of course, most of all, it makes for a satisfyingly obscure collector’s piece.

The first two songs are probably the best material AFI had recorded up until this point, following a similar style to the previous album ‘Shut Your Mouth and Open Your Eyes’ but excelling those mediocre offerings, while the starkly contrasting covers of the Cure at their most contemplatively atmospheric and the Misfits at their most pointlessly hostile round off this E.P. to a point nearing perfection, leaving the listener craving more material that was just over the horizon in the form of the ‘Black Sails in the Sunset’ album and the start of their real success. It’s easy to accept the only significant drawback of this release being under ten minutes long when viewed in the chronology of the band’s output, which consistently provided an AFI fix every year between 1995 and 2000 in the form of albums and original E.P.s, often twice within a year.

‘A Fire Inside’ stands out from the pile not only for its bold and simplistic cover art and fiery orange spine, but for its abnormal release on the independent record label Adeline, owned by Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong, as opposed to the band’s more common home at the independent record label Nitro, owned by the Offspring’s Dexter Holland and Greg K. Allegedly, the reason for the E.P.’s existence is AFI helping the Green Day frontman to get his record company off the ground, which explains the comparative lack of new material and decision to play cover songs. Nevertheless, the two songs that open this album betray no signs of lazy or rushed production, and could only have benefited from the increased focus.


1. 3½
2. Over Exposure
3. The Hanging Garden
4. Demonomania

Both the enigmatically titled ‘3½’ and more suggestive ‘Over Exposure’ deal with the common AFI and punk theme of standing apart from society. More specifically, the first is an angry fit of self-loathing, the chorus proclaiming ‘I’m so sick, so sick of myself’, while the more depressive speaker in the second describes and laments the unforgettable horrors of everyday life, finally begging, ‘can someone please take these images from my mind?’ Both songs inherit the recognisable sound of the previous year’s ‘Shut Your Mouth…’ album, but broaden the scope to include heavy metal influences that would never really surface again, and the hardcore that has crept in again more recently in its dissolution through emo.

The first song in particular shockingly opens with a heavy, down-tuned guitar riff playing alone, that reminds mostly of Metallica, a great swan song for original guitarist Mark Stopholese who would be replaced for the next album. Thereafter, Adam Carson’s drums and Davey Havok’s feminine vocals confirm that this is the familiar AFI, only with more testosterone and rage. The lyrics are grisly, narcissistic and depressing, enhanced by Davey’s tortured screams that alternate with his more common shouting-along of the verses, while the chorus features a classic bit of unison punk shouting in AFI’s distinctive pre-pubescent manner, everyone having to yell to be heard over the loud guitars.

After two and a half minutes, the song concedes to end in guitar feedback, offering an outburst of feelings without resolving an awful lot. That’s where ‘Over Exposure’ comes in, immediately veering off into a guitar riff that plays around the stereo before launching into a similar shoutathon to the previous number. After getting a couple of relationship issues off his chest, perhaps based on personal experience, Davey relaxes a little into more of a clean singing voice, just as the instruments noticeably slow down after each verse and chorus before plunging into the next one, the audio equivalent of a racing driver slowing down for the bends.

On the whole this is more intrinsically forgettable than ‘3½’, lacking a memorable riff and based more on lyrics than instrumentation, but together the two pieces form a perfect whole that was perhaps intentional, and clearly presented in the correct order. Many other bands would have simply combined the two in a medium length punk ‘epic’ of four and a half minutes (including the Offspring, as demonstrated on their contemporary album ‘Americana’), but that would have left buyers with only one new song on this release. I’m sure they made the right choice, I just can’t conceive of anyone deciding to listen to ‘Over Exposure’ in solitude when it works so much better as the second track.

The cover of the Cure’s ‘The Hanging Garden’ offers a relaxing centre to this E.P. that stands vastly apart from the rest for its slow pace and dreamy atmosphere. Davey does a passable impression of Robert Smith that’s probably more due to following the original song than deliberately attempting an accent, and it’s great to hear the musicians playing something radically different outside of their comfort zone – Mark filling the air with high and distant guitar melodies tinged with Eastern influence, Adam keeping a steady and prominent tribal drumbeat throughout, and new bassist Hunter Burgan filling in on lead duty in this predominantly clangy song. It’s not a Cure song I was previously familiar with but I expect it sounds much the same as the original, though probably with less melodramatic singing, and it does drag noticeably towards the end, especially in comparison to the previous songs, unlike its successor.

At forty-six seconds, a couple of which are merely standard silence at the end of the disc, some would question the point of including ‘Demonomania’ at all, perhaps even tracing it back to its origin in the Misfits’ ‘Earth A.D./Wolfsblood’ album and questioning the relevance of its very existence. It’s true that ‘The Hanging Garden’ would have made for a nice mellow closer to this E.P., allowing the listener to drift off into meditation and come out of the experience feeling comforted after the emotional torment of the first two songs, but it was never meant to be. What we have instead is a ridiculously short and pointless piece that doesn’t really say anything, but makes an awful lot of noise about it and ingrains itself into the listener’s head regardless, in the tradition of all the classic Misfits songs.

The ‘Earth A.D.’ album is a fitting source of inspiration, itself noticeably more hard-edged than the Misfits’ earlier output, which sounds a lot more like typical AFI, complete with ‘woah-oah-oahs.’ This E.P. follows Glenn Danzig’s example in unleashing some fury without fears of alienating anyone, and ‘Demonomania,’ while primitive and unremarkable in comparison to the output of either band, is at least fittingly brief and to the point, whatever that point may be (Davey sings that his father was a wolf, and doesn’t say much else). It’s jarring after the third track, and it’s so silly and brief that it’s possible that the band even included as an affectionate joke, rather than be the fiftieth punk band to release a cover of one of the more successful Misfits songs. It sounds pretty much identical to the original, the difference again being in the vocals despite the imitation of Danzig, and the production is a little neater than it was in 1983. It ends the E.P. on a fast and energetic note, opting to replace emotional baggage with unadulterated punk rock enjoyment, and as you can see, takes a lot longer to read or write about than to actually listen to.


‘A Fire Inside’ is the common extension of AFI, although whether this was originally true or not isn’t really of consequence. The striking flame letters and definitive title are not proclaiming this release to be the most pure and authentic AFI expression, as the band’s continuing evolution with every couple of albums, particularly at this point, would make such a guarantee impossible. Rather, this is a short release with a couple of fantastic ideas, rounded off with some nicely obscure choices of influential cover songs that integrate perfectly into the band’s sound. The interior artwork is rather nice, featuring flames behind the lyrics and similar Medieval wood carving motifs to the previous album, but this is essentially a very basic set, and one that is more often than not often over-priced.

Along with the later ‘All Hallows E.P.,’ an even better collection of four completely original AFI songs produced between albums in the band’s most productive and creative period, this is an essential stepping stone between the major albums, and something that shouldn’t be ignored in the way that the ‘Black Sails E.P.’ and ‘Days of the Phoenix E.P.’ can be avoided by all but the most die-hard collectors for containing material from the longer albums. ‘3½’/‘Over Exposure’ deserves the attention of an AFI best-of collection more than anything released in their earlier, more derivative years, and the ever-fading presence of this release is doubtless a regrettable consequence of its small-fry label, which only adds to the price.

Half essential and half frivolous enjoyment, ‘A Fire Inside E.P.’ should be the first port of call for newer fans exploring backwards through the catalogue past ‘Black Sails in the Sunset.’

Summary: Released on Adeline Records (1998).