Forget revenge or the bad hair-job: The Black Parade is an unabashed roll-call of bombast!

God, what a bad dye-job it is.

It makes Gerard Way, lead singer of My Chemical Romance, look like a cross between an albino and a lighthouse. Which, considering they’re something of the poster boys of the genre, isn’t a good image to be promoting to the youth of America (or wherever else they’re popular).

But, music over image, as everything goes, so it’s without doubt a good thing that, here in 2006, we sit with the follow-up to the album that’s buzz was still building late last year. It wasn’t a difficult guess in the short wait in between projects that MCR might prioritize changing their sound to keep up with all the mainstream success their previous venture Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge garnered, or to meet the typical ‘record company constraints.’ And change their sound they do, on The Black Parade - nothing drastically different; a bit of softening around the edges, a less dark outlook on life in general… but none of this should distract from the fact that every single member, in his heart, is shooting for the epic on this release.

Picture this: a teenager is on his deathbed, when death comes to him in the form of a black parade, while his life flashes before his eyes in his last moments. Don’t deny it, no matter what your pre-dispositions may be against red eye make-up or gothic music – it’s an interesting concept. This is the story that The Black Parade follows, or attempts to follow. The album itself, on the other hand, is a step down from their outstanding work Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge or even overlooked debut I Bought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, because the fourpiece get tangled in the kaleidoscope of ambitions and experimentation. Half the tracks on the disc are piano-driven, for example (and several more of them contain voiceovers), though not in the way aching afterburner ‘Helena’ was. Even Way himself seems to have lost some of his bite or loser’s charm. My Chemical Romance, previously, were always about sound – the sonic assault fitted the bitter pace. Well, on this outing, we’re left with the assault, but not with the hooks or melodies that were required to fill the boots. It lacks the calculated fury of tourmates Green Day’s rock opera American Idiot, doesn’t have enough bile or guts to tantalize the underground, and is still too quirky to feel like it belongs on radio.

One exception is first single ‘Welcome to the Black Parade.’ For the first minute or so, it’s a down-to-earth and mellow affair – and Way sounds like he’s about to burst into tears when he cries ‘When I was a young boy! / My father took me into the city / To see a marching band!’ – but then it stabilizes itself into a more familiar pop-punk mold. Once it gets going, it’s one of the best and most self-aware rock songs of the year: it’s got the heart, it’s got anguish, and it’s got the melody. As far as the parade metaphor goes, drummer Bob Bryar throws a marching beat in to keep up the guise until all five minutes of it (five minutes!) are over.

Gerard’s ‘clean’ singing, unsurprisingly, makes the band rub off as whiney, particularly when he’s handling weak substances such as opening track ‘The End,’ a piano jazz that tries to get a faux-punk thing going as well (three fist chords anyone?)… liable to happen when you’re more concerned about setting the story than writing a song. One thing particularly noticeable about The Black Parade is the introduction of soloing for the first time – you’ll find the proof in decent numbers like ‘Dead!,’ which strives, after heavy experimentation has taken its toll, to get back down to the frenzy of old (something that reoccurs in leap-frog motions through the rest of the album), plus a touch of syncopation and anthemic upbringing. Way goes into dark imagery (‘And without you is how I disappear’) on ‘This Is How I Disappear,’ and while it shouldn’t affect you the way it does, a combination of doom-and-gloom, excellent execution, and just the whole scape in general… it all just works. Simple four-four meter beats keep rhythm on many of these tracks, while rollicking licks in ‘The Sharpest Lives’ strikes with urgency too often missing.

After high point ‘The Black Parade,’ the rest of the album either becomes surplus or pathetic – ‘I Don’t Love You,’ recited in one death-whisper with accompanying power chords, leaves no impact of any sort, and ‘House Of Wolves,’ though with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, sounds like it wants to be something with a pulse. In fact, it’s uncannily like a White Stripes song, dammit; only Jack White himself could never find it in him to rock as hard as this.

Unluckily, routine tearjerker ‘Cancer’ can’t decide whether it just wants to be another blues-tinged vent, as so many on The Black Parade are, or this year’s ‘The Ghost of You’ (I’m talking vast, I’m talking uplifting, and I’m talking vivid). Though Way on many occasions threatens weeping to beat the band (literally), there’s a certain Lennon-esque pervasion slipped quietly into it which can’t be ignored, despite the over-produced ‘oohs’ which flick it into self-parody. Either way, perhaps it’s good short – any track torn between two such very different grounds is best condensed.

‘Mama’ and ‘Teenager’ are comedic wastes of time; over-produced and not abrasive. It’s insulting to see My Chemical Romance play themselves down to such mundane rocking, when they clearly displayed on their last effort there was something very deep bubbling below the surface; we forget we’re even listening to any storybook values when it becomes as bland and faceless as this. It isn’t true that they have an AFI likeness: Gerard Way doesn’t sound as hollow or as tinny as Davey Havok, and he definitely has the extra snarl on him when he’s not attempting, painfully, to sing in falsetto. Something in his voice reminds you intensely of another influence throughout most of the record, yet you just can’t place your finger on it. Fortunately, ‘Disenchanted’ is acoustic and unplugged, with a raw and sentimental feeling about the main character, who at this stage has become disillusioned with life.

‘You're just a sad song, with nothing to say
About a life-long, wait for a hospital stay
And if you think that I'm wrong
This never meant nothing to you’

Charming fare, perhaps, but this makes it all the more distressing to find that closing and hidden track after it ‘Famous Last Words’ follows the same gothic path of ones before it – sneering, on-the-outside-looking-in singing, blasts of distorted guitar and bass, and pattering rolls from percussion. It needs to be something more than average to impress or disgust.

And that’s the way one can easily feel about The Black Parade as a whole. They’ve broadened their influences, granted, but this seems like too big a step, and, alternately, too faceless a move to make genre-defining waves like Three Cheers did. Tear-stained it may be, though wholly not as suicidal, but it’s a real departure from the sharp, unexpected element and funereal choruses that really propelled them before. Outside of ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ and a few other pre-destined singles, this tracklist will appeal to fans who’ve joined the MCR bandwagon along the way, or anyone with a hearty affection for the emo/pop-punk scene, yet it’s not as crucial or essential listening as the one before it, simply because of that and the aggravating lack of momentum.

(members in bold may be of some interest to you)
1. The End
2. Dead!
3. This Is How I Disappear
4. The Sharpest Lives
5. Welcome to the Black Parade
6. I Don’t Love You
7. House of Wolves
8. Cancer
9. Mama
10. Sleep
11. Teenagers
12. Disenchanted
13. Famous Last Words
(Hidden Track)

FURTHER READING

Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge