In April of 2016, the LAPD got a call about a burglary near the house of Puddle of Mudd frontman Wes Scantlin.

A car that was parked in Scantlin's driveway had allegedly been broken into. When police arrived, a panicked Scantlin ran into his house and refused to come outside.

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This Haunts Me: 2000's Cringe Rock

Remember these bad boys? Of course you do

This is War 30 Seconds to Mars

We all remember those 2000s rock songs that were strangely beloved, but at the same time incredibly dated.

There remain a handful of truly awkward sentimental rock songs from the 2000s rock revival that we'd all love to forget. But, just for the sheer entertainment of it, we've compiled a list of some of the revival's most painful efforts.

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THEORY's Tyler Connolly Discusses the #MeToo Movement and Going Pop on New Album

Frontman Tyler Connolly spoke with Popdust in an exclusive interview.

Jimmy Fontaine

Theory of a Deadman's first album feels like it was released a lifetime ago.

In 2002, the band's debut was soaked in the heavy guitars and post-grunge workings of the early aughts. Tyler Connolly's gravelly growl was notable, his jet black hair, tattoos, and all-black attire signifying the arrival of a new bad boy in rock and roll. The band's hit project, Gasoline, expanded on the post-grunge fixings of its predecessor but dipped into a previously untapped commercial sensibility. "No Surprise" was filled with the angst of a relationship turned sour, but the band's unique fusion of country and rock, combined with an ear worm of a chorus, made for commercial success. Meanwhile, tracks like "Santa Monica" and "Since You've Been Gone" showed the versatility of Connolly's range: at one moment coarse and abrasive, the next open and cathartic.

Over the next 20 years, the band would slowly shed their post-grunge skin and lean more into these radio-friendly sensibilities. Now, after six albums, Theory of a Deadman isn't even the same band anymore. They've even shortened their name. "The darkness is definitely still there," said frontman Tyler Connolly, "but what inspired the change? I think I had written every riff there was on the guitar!" After 30 years playing guitar, Connolly has transitioned over to the piano. "It awakened this creativity," he said. "It also allowed the kind of room for us to be a band where we all have our effects." The frontman sat down with Popdust to talk about the band's new album, Say Nothing, their drastic change in sound, and the effects of the #MeToo movement.

THEORY - History Of Violence [OFFICIAL VIDEO]

What transpired between Wake Up Call and Say Nothing? It seems like you guys got back into the studio pretty quickly.

"I think it was just a lack of time off. We weren't allowed to decompress from Wake Up Call, so a lack of sleep, and [going back into the studio] is where a lot of the inspiration came from. The creative process was very similar outside of having time off."

Sonically, the two sound similar. Who produced them?

"Martin Terefe produced Wake Up Call as well as Say Nothing, and I think he was much more timid on the earlier record, not really knowing us. [On Say Nothing] the only difference was that he really went gangbusters! He really spent a lot of time with the songs he was sent. We were so blown away by how much input he had. It was really amazing."

What inspired your lead single "History of Violence." What's the story behind its creation? Why did you choose this song as the lead single?

"The #MeToo Movement inspired it. I think the #MeToo movement is so large and powerful, and it's fantastic that women are gaining strength and [fighting for] equality. Being an all-male band, I think for us to support that is what we're looking to do with "History of Violence." There was no story behind it other than the fact that we wanted to create something to help women. The label chose the song as the lead single, and we're very happy they did; we love the song and it's great that it's out there."

Jimmy Fontaine

What should listeners take away from it?

"Empathy for the character, but, also, I think it's going to help people, help women, come forward. Like "Rx," we hope it gives people strength to talk to somebody and say, "Hey, you know what? This has happened to me." Sometimes people need a lighthouse, something to direct them, and, for us, hopefully this is something we can do to start that."

Tell me about "Strangers," your latest single. It seems to be a similar sort of rallying cry.

"That's exactly what it is—it's a cry for help, a cry for unity, a cry for everyone to get together. It's not about necessarily who you vote for or which side you're on, but it's really just about trying to get to the middle and agree that we're all human beings and we can all have our own opinion. It's just gross how biased the news is. So [the song] is me trying to process how I can say something without sounding like I'm complaining or picking sides. You have to be very careful not to pick sides [and] try to get everyone to come to the middle."

THEORY - Strangers [Official Visualizer]

Tell me about your tour. How's life on the road?

"It's awesome! I recommend it. We get to go all around the world. I think people assume that every night we're playing Paris, New York, or LA, when in reality, we're actually going to every corner, every state, every province. We go to a lot of places that maybe don't have internet reception, because that's where everybody is. I think now, more than ever, we've really hit our mark. We've been doing this for almost 20 years, and I think we feel the most at home now finally up on stage in front of all our fans. It's really a blessing."

How's your chemistry as a band after all these years? You guys are veterans now, it seems like.

"Well, it's interesting because when you start a band, you get on a tour bus and there are 4 guys that you've never lived with before and now all of a sudden, you're with these people 24 hours a day. So, in the beginning, it was definitely tough. You have 4 different personalities that maybe don't mesh. I think after all these years, we're brothers now. We love each other. It couldn't be more fun. We have a blast. And yea, guess that's what we are now, we're veterans."

You called Say Nothing your most "honest" album.

"I think I'm just talking about things I really want to talk about. I used to shy away from certain topics in the past, being afraid to upset fans. On [Say Nothing], I just dove right into topics like politics and stopped thinking about what upsets people. It's just a perspective that I think people need to hear. I think sometimes that's what music is for, outside of being an art form or a creative process, it's also sometimes a voice for a generation. I grew up listening to guys like Bono and Rage Against the Machine and you wonder if you could do something like that. Maybe as you get older, you get braver."

Say Nothing is set for release on January 31st, 2020

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6 Early-2000's Bands You Love To Hate

These bands were awesome, and you know it. Stop denying it.

Reflecting on the bands we used to shamelessly bump in the early aughts can sometimes be a cringe-worthy experience.

We may even join in with our friends as they say things like, "Remember Staind? Boy were those guys terrible!" You'll nod in agreement, maybe throw a quick jab at them yourself, when you know damn well "It's Been Awhile" was the anthem to your first teenage heartbreak. As hard as you try to forget, you never really can. This is by no means a definitive list of guilty pleasure bands, and Nickelback will not make an appearance on this list. Anyone who was truly a fan of early aughts rock, knows that those guys are poser sell outs.


Lifehouse was the peak of adult contemporary radio. "You and Me" was a f*ckin smash. It brought us all to tears. It made us all think about and our two-week-long relationships and being in love with our Geometry teachers. This track made an appearance on all of our burned bootleg CD's that we would slip into the lockers of our crushes. This song was raw passion. It validated all of our hormones as real feelings. It also lied to us in the process. But it's still a f*cking amazing song, and Lifehouse is an amazing band.


Creed Frontman Scott Stapp's New Album Is Cheesy and Devoid of Meaning

Disguised as our friend, Stapp offers a nostalgic trip to the Creed days of yore, but upon closer inspection, the release is hollow and impossible to take seriously.


Remember when being melodramatic was cool?

Gerard Way had long black hair and wore amber red ties and caked-on foundation and mascara. The Used were writing lyrics like, "I broke a needle off in my skin / Pick the scabs and pick the bleeding." Teenagers would passionately make out to Hoobastank's "The Reason." It was the aughts. Everything was sensationalized, all of it was cathartic, and none of it made any logical sense in retrospect.

All the while, Creed's "Arm's Wide Open" was being sung all across the country, with only a fraction of listeners picking up on the heavy-handed religious undertones that now seem painfully obvious. It's no doubt that the song was a bop; the post-grunge wave was filled with bops. But the post-grunge fanbase grew up quickly, and the movement dissipated as quickly as it came. When the veil of puberty was lifted, listening back on those songs brought with it a potent mix of nostalgia and shame. It's hard to believe now, in 2019, that a large portion of the population considered Three Days Grace to be saccharine music rather than the soundtrack for a serial killer. Yet whenever one of these bands is replayed during a drunken galivant with "the boys," we sing along almost satirically, because it's more fun to reflect on the past in jest rather than acknowledge that every artist listed above is actually still making music. Scott Stapp, the former lead singer of Creed, is one of them.

Stapp's latest solo release, The Space Between The Shadows, is a lie. Disguised as our friend, Stapp offers a nostalgic trip to the Creed days of yore, but upon closer inspection, the release is hollow and impossible to take seriously. "It's hard to forgive, even harder to forget," Stapp sings on "Name," "I am a son without a father." In the video for "Purpose for Pain," Stapp's interpretative condemnation of child abuse makes it seem like he's got corpses buried in his backyard. "Fell into the light, thrown from the abyss, screamed so many nights, not going out like this," Stapp sings. "I fought the devil and he won." Meanwhile, "Face of the Sun," Stapp's pump-up track, is just plain cheesy. "Fight until the end, in the name of love," he calls out with great solemnity. The closing track, "The Last Hallelujah," is so engulfed in its own dramatics it almost becomes satirical.

For years Stapp has been assaulted by his demons, and he has somehow emerged from each near-death experience still charismatic and optimistic for the future. His journey to sobriety and beyond is no doubt admirable, but it's hard to take the testament of Scott Stapp. Any vague guise of sentimentality is overshadowed by the album's clear lack of vulnerability. The cover art, most likely meant to convey a Stapp enlightened by his experiences, just paints the singer as a self-obsessed white guy.

But maybe this is part of his journey. Maybe Stapp is just going through the motions he needs in order to find a resolution. "Gone Too Soon" may be hard to take seriously on its own, but when placed in the right context, it's clearly a well-intentioned ode to his fallen rock compatriots. The Space Between The Shadows is cheesy and lame and sounds like our dads made a rock band, but it's comforting to know that at least Stapp isn't a dick, and at least Creed fans of the past and present don't have to worry about their beloved rock singer ending up like Wes Scantlin.

California surf-rockers Waaves' fourth album Afraid of Heights Came Out, and the critical consensus has solified around two key points: 1) It's pretty freaking good, and 2) It sounds a lot like Nirvana. Does Wavves frontman Nathan Williams have aspirations of being the new Next Kurt Cobain? That's a crown that's been placed on many heads in the past 20 years, and it comes with its own set of rules. You should be a rock star, or at the very least not a pop star. You should be "real," which in this case means grungy, and kind of a rebel. You should be able to look comfortable and also slightly uncomfortable with the prospect of blogs and magazines calling you the voice of your generation. (It goes without saying that you also should probably be a white dude.)

As Wavves' Williams prepares to assume this throne, let's see what the crown has meant to the former Next Kurt Cobains of years past.


Why They Were the Next Nirvana: In the wake of Cobain's death, Gavin Rossdale and Bush weren't shy about making a grab for the same level of commercial dominance that Nirvana enjoyed—which, since this was the '90s, earned them the derisive label "bubble-grunge." Despite the critics, Bush achieved its goals, earning a no. 1 album and a handful of Top 40 singles.

What Happened Next: Bush enjoyed the same slow slide out of relevance as the acts they were emulating, but the band's commercial success ensured its legacy. The permanently nostalgic children of the '90s were too young for the authenticity debates; to them, there's no conflict in putting "Glycerine" between "Lithium" and "Jeremy" on a "Remember the '90s?" playlist.

Puddle of Mudd

Why They Were the Next Nirvana: As grunge turned into nu-metal, radio DJs began looking for a standard-bearer who could represent the genre in the same way Cobain had done for grunge. With his blonde locks and dour persona, Puddle of Mudd's Wes Scantlin seemed perfect.

What Happened Next: Puddle Of Mudd's record sales were (and continue to be) impressive for the 21st century musical landscape, but the band never approached the level of cultural import to justify the Next Nirvana tag.

The Vines

Why They Were the Next Nirvana: In the wave of retro bands that were going to save rock and roll in 2002, every one needed a historical analogue. The Strokes were the new Velvet Underground, the Hives the next Rolling Stones. That left Australia's Vines as the new Nirvana, thanks to frontman Craig Nicholls' raw vocals and reputation for being "difficult." (Again, the fact that Nicholls kind of looked like Kurt Cobain didn't hurt either.)

What Happened Next: The band changed their sound, the wave of "The" bands petered out, and soon no one was calling the Vines the next anything.

Jay Reatard

Why He Was the Next Nirvana: Jay's rollicking live shows, intense fanbase and outsider charm caught the eye of record labels, who promised the pop-punker they would make him "the next Kurt Cobain." He turned them down, which only made the title even more fitting.

What Happened Next: Reatard died in his sleep in 2010, only a few months shy of his 30th birthday. That's the downside of being the next Kurt Cobain; if the prediction comes true, you're not going to have a happy ending.

Justin Bieber

Why He Was the Next Nirvana: In the words of a probably fake image meme, because "people just don't understand me."

What Happened Next: Justin went on to break the record for the most followers in Twitter history, something Kurt Cobain never accomplished.