If you spend much time reading about music on the Internet, there’s a good chance you’ve learned about a supposed revival of the “butt rock” genre. It’s a slippery and loosely defined term—one thrown around in both derogatory and affectionate ways, depending on the source. But these days, it’s widely used to describe the crop of guitar-heavy bands, including Creed and Nickelback, that emerged during the post-grunge bloom of the late ’90s and early 2000s. Now that this millennial-friendly music has reached a certain vintage, it’s officially entering “classic rock” territory—a depressing reminder of mortality for anyone who may have owned a pair of JNCO jeans or browsed the CD-singles section at FYE.
But let’s back up for a second. Where did this whole label even come from? One widely circulated theory claims that it originated as a spin on the tag lines of certain alternative radio stations from this era—the ones that specialized in “nothing but rock.” Others say the phrase dates back further: Stephen Kallao, a contributing host of World Cafe, the syndicated radio show from Philadelphia station WXPN, says “butt rock” refers to the “very machismo, hyper-sexualized cousin of glam rock” that emerged in the late ’70s and early ’80s. No one has concrete answers, but there does seem to be a clear consensus, at least by 2025 standards, on the definitive bands.
As highlighted by deep dives from Rolling Stone and CBC, we’re currently experiencing a butt-rock resurgence fueled by nostalgia. (No single event illustrates this movement better than the Summer of ’99 & Beyond Cruise, a floating festival headlined by Creed and Daughtry.) So we’re at an interesting point in the evolution of this “genre”: In certain circles, these bands have long been deemed deeply, painfully uncool—particularly Nickelback, who have become a an almost meme-like symbol for bad reviews. But let’s strip away all the butt-rock baggage—the years of negative press, the politics and belief systems of the musicians, a genre name that could easily scan as an insult—and focus on the songs themselves. Even if you consider yourself a high-brow music fan who hopped right over Puddle of Mudd and side-stepped Staind, you should do your cultural duty and revisit this widely reviled era with fresh ears. If you’re fully honest with yourself, you may just love these six tracks.
6. Nickelback – “How You Remind Me” (2001)
It’s hard to remember now, but people weren’t primed to hate Nickelback when they landed this breakout hit in 2001. “How You Remind Me” has all the hallmarks of classic “butt rock”: a gravely vocal, plenty of broad lyrical angst, and a quiet-loud dynamic that moves from clean verses to distorted refrains. These days, it’s been so overplayed that you may assume you hate this song. Yes, it’s a little corny. And no, this doesn’t mean you should soften your stance on “Photograph.” But as a piece of pop-rock songwriting, “How You Remind Me” is pretty impeccable—the vocal melody is basically one enormous hook, to the point that “how you remind me” isn’t even the chorus!
5. Finger Eleven – “One Thing” (2003)
These shapeshifting Canadians are probably most recognized these days for their heavy dance-rock mega-hit “Paralyzer.” But their best song from the prime butt-rock era is—once again—another turn that defies the genre’s obvious moves. If you happen to catch “One Thing” on the radio, you might find yourself taken aback by its simple, startling beauty. There’s no massive wash of distortion, no full-throttle rasp, no palpable rage. The track opens with acoustic strums and a heartbeat kick drum, and it stays in that droning, borderline psychedelic space, carried by Scott Anderson’s powerful vocal and somewhat mysterious imagery.
4. Papa Roach – “Last Resort” (2000)
Often lumped in as part of the equally divisive “nu-metal” wave (another genre that, not coincidentally, is experiencing its own critical reassessment), Papa Roach remain best known for their spiky debut single, “Last Resort,” which blares out of the speakers with an unrelenting, almost classical-styled guitar hook. (Seriously—just think about that melody played by strings.) But it reaches another level through the intensity of rapper-singer Jacoby Shaddix, who taps into raw-nerve themes of hopelessness and alienation.
3. Creed – “My Sacrifice” (2001)
America first came down with a widespread Stapp infection back in 1997, and Creed achieved arena-rock status with 1999’s hit-stuffed Human Clay. But take a moment to revisit “My Sacrifice,” the lead single from their 2001 follow-up LP, Weathered. For many, it’s impossible to forgive the inherent campiness of Scott Stapp’s pseudo-righteous vocal delivery, but few singers of his era have such command of their instrument. Plus, Mark Tremonti is the rare rock guitarists who can move gracefully from detuned capital-R Rawk riffs to the ornate fingerpicking that glimmers through the intro.
1 (tied). Fuel – “Shimmer” / “Hemorrhage (In My Hands)”
They may have never reached household-name status on the level of Creed, but Fuel wrote two of the most perfect radio-rock tunes of their era, both expertly blending post-grunge adrenaline with the kind of melodic craftsmanship you only achieve through studying the pop-song form. “Shimmer,” their breakout hit, is an outlier for this genre: There’s an unexpected funkiness to the drum groove and a real tear-jerking quality in the vocal, only amplified by the sparseness and fragility of the first verse and chorus. They really put a lot of detail into the arrangements: the chromatic cello line that circles in the atmospheric bridge, the juicy bass melody that pops up halfway through the choruses, the way singer Brett Scallions ascends to a higher variation on the vocal melody in the climax. And Fuel’s only competition in this category is themselves: “Hemorrhage (In My Hands),” released two years later, is another perfect track—a dramatic power ballad laced with clean-to-dirty riffs, lyrics that explore a profound sense of grief, and tasteful orchestrations that swoop in to elevate the darkness.
