Welcome To The Black Parade

If I was in Las Vegas I would put $100 on black, and another hundred on MCR’s fourth record being released self-titled. But for their third, forget the matching costumes, trendy haircuts and pushups in drag; My Chemical Romance have created nothing other than a shiny true rock record. And even though their inner punk snarl emerges from time to time, black t-shirts under their funeral-marching-band uniforms peaking through—as does an ode, or, admirable Iron Maiden chase during “The Sharpest Lives” the likes of which has rarely been seen in something so radio friendly—they play closely to the blueprint Harold Benson helped them create, but tweak it with soaring solos and falsetto shimmer.

But the unfortunately titled songs DO NOT compose a concept record, as the cohesion that was present on Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge has gone completely out the window, in favor of a twin taunt guitar crunch, focusing on the band’s individual talent pool as opposed to drowning their performances like a jettisoned anchor.

The talent pool runs deep. In “Cancer” The Gerard Way Band ambles through soaring “Bohemian”-like vocals and somber picking amid tambourine jangles to the tune of Saturday-Night-Live-levels of confidence.

There are flaws though. Although 2005 saw their grimy and sweaty live show up in smoke and financed with light shows and video screens, its all good, but what happens when people expect to see “Mama” performed live? Awash in glory of interviews, Way’s only choice of instrument is still his wail, and although peers and the band itself presumably see themselves as the Nirvana to their Candlebox counterparts, it will be hard for them to prove their plight when their stage presense is virtually the same as the others. And although his band members sound extremely taut, Way's growth as a singer is virtually non-existent.

MCR have done nothing wrong, and they rarely, if ever, miss the mark on their goals. There isn’t a throwaway; even the introspective introduction fires like a starting pistol. The sound is big and round, the hooks are perfected, and as most bands with staying power could attest, its all about its centerpiece. The bottom line is that Way’s melodies can cover strawberry fields, and his band is in it for the long haul. And although his voice shrieks teenage leather jacket punk, that is something he will grow out of. I can’t wait for that album.