“Self-Destruct” by Origami Angel
I'm afraid that everything may never change
I caught Origami Angel open for The Wonder Years during their 10-year anniversary tour for Upsides and Suburbia. Unfortunately, it didn’t make a lasting impression. We’d arrived late1 and spent most of their set searching for a good view. I caught their last few songs from the far side balcony, drums overpowering the guitar and vocals.
But an endorsement from TWY means something. So when Origami Angel announced they were playing DC’s Warped Tour, I added them to my playlist of bands to revisit. Man, I’m glad I did, cause this song rules.
“Self-Destruct” encapsulates this powerful, unresolved anxiety, only tempered by fleeting relief. I love how it explores this tension in both the structure and lyrics.
The intro debuts the song’s dynamic riff before shifting into a verse that wouldn’t feel out of place in Relient K or Mae’s catalog. We’re then thrust into a building pre-chorus; I love how it hangs on a delightfully unexpected, unresolved chord, playing off of the lyric, “Do you know what I’m about to tell you?” The band hesitates before jolting us with the head-nod-inducing opening riff again, this time grounding the frantic, confessional lyrics pushing the song forward.
After each round of the refrain, I expect the song to transition. But I smile each time it doesn’t. Instead, the waves of anxiety continue crashing against us for forty-five seconds (as a data nerd, I’m obligated to point out it’s a whopping 25% of the song). The intensity builds with shouted vocals mixed in, the urgency palpable, but not overpowering the focal melody.
Here, we get my favorite lyrics, everything the song’s ramped towards.
This poignant simplicity, contrasting his overwhelming, ambiguous fears with a hyper-specific memory of love—
These days I’m afraid of everything
I’m afraid that everything may never change
So I lay down on the floor
And think about you and how you say my name
The last words soar, bursting out of the cyclical hook. They're repeated again over the instrumental bridge full of vibrant synth textures and swelling pads, a final catharsis.
But the chords devolve to a minor voicing. The central riff circles back again, proving the sense of relief fleeting and ephemeral. Proving the song’s mounting tension isn’t something to be overcome, but rather an oscillating, constant presence. Proving familiar comforts may assuage the anxiety, but only for a moment.
And now I can’t wait to sing along at Warped this summer.
They’d understand. They’re from D.C. and know how much the Beltway sucks.