It was an adjective back then, rather than a noun. It didn't have a capital letter.

It described a kind of music – wired guitars, shredded larynx, generally originating in Washington DC – which, for a brief moment in my teens, I found myself enamoured with.
It was a short love affair.

American men in their late twenties singing about how really rubbish girls were said nothing to me about my life. I found The Smiths instead. And then I was given a box of tapes filled with The Kinks and The Doors. And then I forgot about Emo.

That is, until the last couple of years.

Suddenly it seems a mutated form of this once-sub culture is everywhere.

Emo looks out from magazines, it shoots out of MTV, it stands around in bars looking kind of hot, it even gets discussed in newspaper columns.
It's moved on a little since I was little.

These days, apparently, it's all about girls with eyeliner and fringes, and boys in tee-shirts and jeans so tight they're probably damaging internal organs. It's about bands called things like My Chemical Fall Out or Panic At The Academy.

Most worryingly, it's about suicide.

I know this because I read it in the tabloids.

Their evidence was undeniable.

Two teenagers who liked this kind of music have killed themselves in the last couple of months. Some of the songs reference death. Some of the singers are kind of pale.

Obviously, it's a cult. Seems I got out just in time – with my wrists intact.

And, even more clearly, parents need to act now to stamp out this menace.

A rock 'n' roll band is in town? Lock up your wives and daughters.
An Emo band is in town? Lock up your sons and daughters – but don't leave the bedsheets in the same room. Forget hanging around street corners, these kids just want to hang.

It said it all in the tabloids.

Strange, though, because from what I understand, music occasionally referred to death long before the last couple of years. I think The Beatles back-catalogue might even have a couple. And haven't stage actors worn ghostly white make-up since Billy Shakespeare was chewing on his quill?

Perhaps I'm being naive but I'm sure being depressed and suicidal might be caused by factors outside the music you listen to, magazines you read or friends you keep.

Similarly, from what I understand, not all punks snorted heroin for breakfast, not all Teddy Boys were knife-flicking racists and not all mods were thugs who wanted to riot on Brighton beach.

Culture moves on, scapegoats and moral panics never do.

So, should parents of Emo kids be worried? Sure, but only because their offspring have appalling taste in music.

Solution? Give them a box of Kinks tapes.