Album Review: My Chemical Romance - Welcome to the Black Parade
July 13th 2008 09:43
My Chemical Romance's third studio release is an epic concept album that toys with the idea of mortality but the first single off the album confirms that the only thing that's flat lining is their creativity.
Back when My Chemical Romance were as emo as they came – all eyeliner and black skinny leg jeans – I was loathe to admit that they were my one guilty listening pleasure. Their appeal lay in the fact they knew they were the musical equivalent of navel lint and were unashamedly proud of it. The music was histrionic, the vocals were tortured and the lead singer was pretty – requisite qualities which launched many an emo band into the seething musical quagmire of carbon copies and superfluous tunes. That was until they went and complicated things by changing both image and sound.
The dark, exaggerated emo ballads have now been replaced by a pompous hybrid of arena rock and an upbeat pop/punk contrivance. The intro of the first single Welcome to the Black Parade contains the most pretentious string and horn arrangements and a guitar treatment, ripped straight from Queen’s oeuvre. It leads into a chorus which is so saccharinely pop punk its incongruity is grating. There’s a close parallel to Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody with the guitars from Bicycle Race thrown in for good measure – just in case you didn’t get the reference points the first time they hammered them in. The theatrical rock opera influence just doesn’t ring true and comes across as a substandard Queen rip off but without the bravado of Freddy Mercury or the warm tones of Brian May’s Red Special.
Frontman Gerard Way still continues with images of blood and scars in his writing and rather than just hinting at his discontent he opens himself right up; he surrenders viscera and all, like some pagan offering. It used to work well when the music was as melodramatic as the lyrics but now it just sounds hackneyed and self indulgent. “I’m just a boy, who’s meant to sing this song. I’m just a man, I’m not a hero” Way erroneously shrieks.
Some form of credit must be given to them for trying to do something different from the typically stagnant emo bands out there but they need to recognise the difference between drawing from influences and brazenly imitating them. There are scores of prepubescent pop/punk scenesters and manicured poseurs who are just tingling with anticipation at the thought of parting with their money and tearing the shrink wrapping off this CD. That’s okay though, because there are countless others out there who want to invest more than just money, a reason for social legitimacy or a fashion credo into their music and I heart each and every one of you. I really do.
Back when My Chemical Romance were as emo as they came – all eyeliner and black skinny leg jeans – I was loathe to admit that they were my one guilty listening pleasure. Their appeal lay in the fact they knew they were the musical equivalent of navel lint and were unashamedly proud of it. The music was histrionic, the vocals were tortured and the lead singer was pretty – requisite qualities which launched many an emo band into the seething musical quagmire of carbon copies and superfluous tunes. That was until they went and complicated things by changing both image and sound.
The dark, exaggerated emo ballads have now been replaced by a pompous hybrid of arena rock and an upbeat pop/punk contrivance. The intro of the first single Welcome to the Black Parade contains the most pretentious string and horn arrangements and a guitar treatment, ripped straight from Queen’s oeuvre. It leads into a chorus which is so saccharinely pop punk its incongruity is grating. There’s a close parallel to Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody with the guitars from Bicycle Race thrown in for good measure – just in case you didn’t get the reference points the first time they hammered them in. The theatrical rock opera influence just doesn’t ring true and comes across as a substandard Queen rip off but without the bravado of Freddy Mercury or the warm tones of Brian May’s Red Special.
Frontman Gerard Way still continues with images of blood and scars in his writing and rather than just hinting at his discontent he opens himself right up; he surrenders viscera and all, like some pagan offering. It used to work well when the music was as melodramatic as the lyrics but now it just sounds hackneyed and self indulgent. “I’m just a boy, who’s meant to sing this song. I’m just a man, I’m not a hero” Way erroneously shrieks.
Some form of credit must be given to them for trying to do something different from the typically stagnant emo bands out there but they need to recognise the difference between drawing from influences and brazenly imitating them. There are scores of prepubescent pop/punk scenesters and manicured poseurs who are just tingling with anticipation at the thought of parting with their money and tearing the shrink wrapping off this CD. That’s okay though, because there are countless others out there who want to invest more than just money, a reason for social legitimacy or a fashion credo into their music and I heart each and every one of you. I really do.
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