Technically, Scott Ritcher’s voice is awful. But when he stepped on that Ibanez Tube Screamer and let his cracked, bleating delivery fly, he nailed the awkward teenager paradigm to the wall, giving every zit-riddled 14-year-old a roadmap to self-esteem. Dry wit, sardonic punch, treatises on confusion, women, protest and boredom — it was all there to help you make it through homeroom. His exploits via Slamdek were well documented by K. Composite magazine (let’s be honest, the guy’s a marketing genius), yet it’s Ritcher’s lyrical gifts, the ones he would carry through to his later group, Metroschifter, that are timeless: Elevate everyday life, then show people what it means and how to change it.
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