First off, you will have to grant me permission to gush, as it were, because I have quite literally fallen in love with this album all over again – and not just for the reasons that 13 year old me did either! Yes, Gerard Way still sounds as distinctive and soul-achingly lovely as I remember, yet I feel now that the attraction within the music comes more from his American accent, the Southern brogue that flavours his words, than just the desperation of his lyrics that tore at my heartstrings. Yet even that comes second only to just how epic I realised the guitars were in most of these songs, as I will gradually relate.
Right from the start, you have ‘The End’ (what is it with me picking albums that start at ‘the end’?), a song which suitably introduces the album with gothic flair: heart monitor, piano, dramatic guitars and what sounds like the beginning of a barbershop quartet chiming in in the background. Actually, that last element might just be what adds to the dated feel of the album, those little hints at the story behind it being several decades in the past. ‘Mama’ shows this off best with its theatricality, Tim Burton-esque macabre, and perfect use of acoustics alongside the soaring electrics which tell the sorry tale of young World War 1 soldiers. There’s even a hint of the hysteria invoked in songs like Avenged Sevenfold’s ‘A Little Piece of Heaven’ that makes this such a provoking track. And then, of course, there’s the screaming.
Yes, I seem to [still] be a fan of artists who love to scream. But Gerard seems to be able to vary his enough to make it an appreciated feature, especially when it merges into the wall of noise stirred up in ‘Sleep’. An unassuming song, in my opinion, about the nightmares of PTSD, which seems to feel as much like a lullaby as if you were violently rocking the cradle, yet its soaring melody and the occasional quiet refrains (before it descends into the aforementioned wall of noise) has something of a soothing quality. And this is paralleled by the equally melodic agony of ‘This is How I Disappear’ with its semi-distorted vocals, harsh guitar riffs, and yes, more screaming. ‘Dead!’ deserves a brief mention here for its theatrical fanfare and wonderfully sculpted guitar solos but tracks like ‘House of Wolves’ and ‘Teenagers’ seem to stand out far better for their speed and attitude than this. The former is driving and sinister, Gerard’s vocals caustic yet honeyed, while the latter is a classically loved stomper, reminiscent of Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge’s
‘I’m Not Okay (I Promise)’ from two years prior, full of swagger and rebellion.
However, there is one particularly dark alley you may find yourself wandering into by the fourth song on this album, and that is ‘The Sharpest Lives’, preluded by a sinister single guitar note, Gerard’s low pitched vocals and an eerie whispered echo which bounces between your ears. This launches progressively into that familiar surge of guitars which I cannot get enough of and seems to swirl around inside your brain like a flask of chemicals. As such, the avid listener should also be in need of some respite and safety which thankfully comes in the form of the gentle ‘I Don’t Love You’, a tearstained track that’s slower on the tempo without forsaking volume, and beautifully laced with organ and synth notes and Gerard’s gorgeous Southern tone. Again, this is paralleled with ‘Disenchanted’, another almost-lullaby like ‘Sleep’ that feels somewhat nostalgic for its despair and rich guitar licks, and calming for its acoustic guitar intro/outro. I dare to include ‘Cancer’ in this bracket of ‘gentle’ songs, even though it’s so poignantly sad, especially for someone whose life has been touched by cancer, that I can’t always listen to it. But there’s something simultaneously comforting and affecting in its stately build up, from piano to drums, violin to guitars, pierced by Gerard’s bittersweet lyrics. A build up which the final two songs manage so beautifully, that they’re as iconic as it comes.
‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ – need I say more? Andrew Lloyd Webber even remarked on how one note, just that single G chord, can be so recognisable. The album’s title track couldn’t be more beloved, and with good reason. It is an anthem, it is a song of hope, and it never sticks to the same beat for long, full of marching drums, stratospheric guitars, and that emboldening chant to ‘carry on!’ Yet somehow those boys from New Jersey manage to smash this album’s constituent parts into something equal if not greater. Where ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ takes theatricality and tenderness, ‘Famous Last Words’ is an amalgam of the aggression, speed, and menace of ‘House of Wolves’ and ‘The Sharpest Lives’. For my first taste of this band, I couldn’t have been offered a better song, a track shot through with heavy guitars riffs, lashings of rolling drums, softer refrains pregnant with energy, and even an echo of the Black Parade’s chant, this time that ‘I am not afraid to keep on living’. As the second longest song on the album, I almost wish it were longer!
Oh and I almost forgot the ‘hidden’ track ‘Blood’, a cheeky little loudspeaker-style theatrical ditty with what I learnt to be the drummer Bob Bryar’s bizarre ghostly wailing in the background. Certainly worth the minute and half’s wait in silence for a giggle, but also worth the nerves I swallowed to ask my Dad to buy the album for me when I was a teenager. And what a beauty it is!
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