Sean Padilla wasn’t the only Baylor student to walk away with a Bachelor of Business Administration in 2004, but he’s the only person who could’ve emerged from the Texas Baptist university with a record as playfully reflective of his experiences there as Withstand the Whatnot. When he was in his early teens, Padilla began piecing together DIY recordings under the name The Cocker Spaniels, inspired by both the scrappy, economical approach to songcraft of Guided by Voices’s Bob Pollard as well as Prince’s swagger and re-definition of Black masculinity within American rock music. Padilla’s push-and-pull between humbleness and quiet fury makes Withstand the Whatnot a kind yet frustrated document of being othered during the formative years of young adulthood.
Baylor University isn’t known for its diversity—white students outnumber Black students 10-to-1—but when Padilla began attending in 1999, it was even worse, at a ratio of nearly 14-to-1. That kind of disparity breeds a sense of isolation as much as it pressures a sort of instinctual survivalist bond with people who are going through the same thing. “Little Africa,” one of Withstand the Whatnot’s bounciest tracks, celebrates the comfort and camaraderie found in his fellow Black students as they clump together in their “personal section of the student center.” But there’s sadness in his voice as he refers to the irrational fear to which his white peers cling.
“The Only Black Guy at the Indie-Rock Show”—an anthem that later netted Padilla offers to open the Texas dates of TV on the Radio’s Return to Cookie Mountain tour—spotlights the absurdity of racial preconceptions. Here he is, having made music for nearly a decade, while people who probably don’t know how to tune a guitar gawk at him like an anomaly. He wonders in the song if white people who like rap feel as alone as he does. There’s a justified anger here, but also an uncommon sense of empathy.
Other songs solidify the album as “college rock” in the most literal sense, such as the dizzying spiral of “Finals Season” or the sardonic commentary on Baylor’s sexual culture on “Freshman Girls.” Others flesh out his life more broadly: the disorienting synthesizers on “Your Things Are in the Yard” mirror the confusion of witnessing a domestic dispute, and “My Blessing” hints at his mother’s new relationship. Both reflect romanticism and also inform the skepticism in his own relationships. Elsewhere, he whips out an acoustic jaunt about his sporty brother, lays down a stomp-and-clap rhythm for a song about a step show, and bemoans the shitty tips he gets as a pizza delivery guy over a charmingly minimalist keyboard melody.
After talking to the listener for nearly an album, Padilla talks to God on album closer “Hold Me Accountable.” He pleads for the relief of being checked spiritually, understanding that he’s probably not been right 100% of the time. Though the album is out of print, Padilla reposted it to Bandcamp in 2011 for both longtime fans and a new generation of angsty young indie rockers. The move was a brave one—as embarrassing as it can be to look back on the mistakes of our youth and the hardships that informed them, they’re valuable markers that help us realize just how far we’ve come.
