Let’s get something out of the way: this record was not my first taste of Circa Survive. My childhood best friend, Connor, shared “Get Out” in February 2010, hoping to get me hyped for the band’s then-upcoming third record (and major label debut), Blue Sky Noise. And I thought it was… fine?
But the story doesn’t end there if this 20-year retrospective indicates anything. Circa Survive ended up as one of my all-time favorite bands. My most impactful show growing up was finally seeing them with Connor on their Fall 2011 tour with Maps & Atlases. We pressed against the barricade, sang every word, and even checked the box of holding lighters up at a concert. A bit childish? Sure, but a core memory nonetheless.
The following year, I was off to college and missed what might have been their best tour: a headliner with Touché Amoré, Title Fight, and Balance and Composure. Connor went alone. I caught them a few months later with Minus the Bear and Now, Now. My friends Matt and Phil came along. I crowd-surfed for the first time, met Anthony Green in a now-demolished Burger King, and walked back for 60 minutes in the late-winter cold.
Less than 10 months later, Connor died unexpectedly in his sleep. The last memory I have together is driving around Buffalo during a Thanksgiving break, catching up while listening to their fourth record, Violent Waves. We both planned to get their “logo” tattooed, but it never happened. Instead, mine ended up being in memory of our unique brotherhood.
Consider that a prelude for a series of retrospectives I aim to create around each of Circa Survive’s records. Their discography is tangled with emotion and musical appreciation. We will get through it, but we must start with their full-length debut (and why we’re here), Juturna.
In the mid-2000s, the post-hardcore scene was at a crossroads. Bands like Thursday and Thrice were evolving beyond their aggressive roots. Coheed and Cambria started dabbling more in prog rock. The Mars Volta had blown open the doors for experimental approaches within heavier music. And yet, the allure of major labels had many bands chasing a more commercial sound. As a result, the “underground” gradually filled with formulaic acts to get signed by Victory Records.
Against this backdrop, Juturna arrived unconcerned with trends. Released on Equal Vision Records, the album didn’t sound like anything else in the label’s catalog. Where contemporaries often relied on predictable quiet-loud dynamics, Circa Survive built songs that spiraled and expanded unexpectedly. Other vocalists were either screaming themselves hoarse or adopting radio-friendly clean vocals, but Anthony Green wasn’t really doing either.
One of my all-time favorite Circa songs, “The Glorious Nosebleed”, exemplifies everything this album does brilliantly. Listen to the bass groove. Hear how those guitars work in tandem, from the rhythmic foundation to the soaring psychedelic leads. Green is as eager to take off alongside them in the bridge and chorus as he is to slow down in the verses, or take a breath and let the others cook a bit. Imagine hearing this as a first impression back in 2005. They weren’t just another post-hardcore record put out by Equal Vision; it was a band creating their sonic language from the beginning.
It’s an odd experience to listen to this album 20 years later. I try to relive that initial culture shock from Green’s Björk-esque vocals and the band’s instrumental palette; the latter adding more psych-rock and borderline jazz fusion to the 2000s post-hardcore scene. All I picture is Montauk on a bitter winter day. I credit Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, the album’s key creative reference that pops up countless times across lyrics and song titles. Given the film’s exploration of memory, it’s fitting that I’d forget my first listen and replace it with a blurry movie scene.
The truth is that this record was the most difficult for me to break into, even when I considered myself a loyal fan. Sure, I liked some songs after hearing them live. But listening to an LP in full is a different story. It took my trek to college orientation in August 2012 (when I was eagerly anticipating Violent Waves) to finally dig in. And, oh boy, I kicked myself for what I had been missing. How had I deprived myself of a song like “Holding Someone’s Hair Back” for so long?
What strikes me most about Juturna is its balance between accessibility and ambition. It’s a record that almost refuses clean categorization, landing somewhere new with a sharp contrast of post-hardcore aggression and atmospheric beauty. Producer Brian McTernan captures the young band at their best, laying a foundation he would build upon with their second album, On Letting Go.
None of the individual parts — vocals, guitars, drums, effects — are buried by the others. They all get their moments to shine. Colin Frangicetto and Brendan Ekstrom’s guitar interplay creates a mesmerizing push-and-pull throughout the album. Nick Beard, one of my biggest bass influences growing up, shifts between rhythmic support and melodic exploration. His grooves sit perfectly with Steve Clifford’s frantic, almost jazzy drumming; complementing each other as much as the dueling guitars. Of course, Green’s otherworldly vocals click with you, or they don’t.
From my experience, the sum of these parts requires an inevitable surrender from its first-time listener. The song structures, which bounce between explosive catharsis and atmospheric restraint, need you to trust the journey. Tracks like “Act Appalled” and “Oh, Hello” might hook you with their urgency, but the more delicate moments on “The Great Golden Baby” or “We’re All Thieves” best flex the band’s range.
Looking back, it’s clear why this album became a touchstone for many of us coming of age in the mid-2000s. There’s such a rawness to the energy fed by how young the band was when they wrote these songs. Even so, when I saw them perform the album’s hidden track (“House of Leaves”) live in 2013, the crowd’s reaction told me everything. Their debut had become sacred for those who found it in all the chaos and came together in that moment.
All these years later, Juturna stands as more than just Circa Survive‘s debut. It’s the work of five young musicians who knew that post-hardcore didn’t need to be limited to loud-quiet-loud dynamics and screamed choruses. They could incorporate psychedelic textures and jazz-influenced rhythms to create something entirely new. For me and many others, it became a frequent soundtrack for the best and worst days.
That’s why I still return to it when I need to feel something authentic. Like that cold walk home in March 2013, some memories become intertwined with the music that scored them. Juturna doesn’t just remind me of Connor; it brings me back to who I was when I fell in love with the band and this record.
Twenty years is a long time. Bands form and dissolve. Friends come and go. Some, like Connor, leave us far too soon. But albums like Juturna dig their hooks into you at the right moment and stay with you forever. They become more than their music; markers of who you were, who you lost, and, maybe miraculously, who you can still become.
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