Yes, I know it was Valentine’s day about a week ago, in which St ‘Clinton’s Cards’ rewards all those who have embarrassed themselves by opening their hearts, but I feel obliged to offer you some frank advice. It’s never a good idea to go to concerts with your other half. While you’re there to drool over the lead guitarist’s fretwork or to see what the lead singer has done to his hair, they will happily pretend they know the words to the band’s first singles’ B-side so you don’t get too friendly with any of the other fans. Or the relationship will have finished before the date of the concert has arrived and a crowd full of hyper teenagers is never a good place to be standing next to someone you’ve taken to avoiding eye contact with.
Last night, I learnt this lesson. Not first hand, but I suffered as a result of it. After my friend’s girlfriend broke up with him, I reluctantly agreed to take said girlfriend’s ticket and go and watch My Chemical Romance with him.
This was to be one of the first gigs I attended as a neutral fan. I don’t mind MCR. If one of their, admittedly quite good, music videos pops up on the music channels, I’ll keep watching, but I wouldn’t go as far as walking round Shrewsbury donning a jet black hoody with ‘DEATH’ emblazoned on the front.
However many would, it appears. I have never seen fans this excitable before. Before the band came on, what was effectively a PowerPoint with images of the band in their ‘Fabulous Killjoys’ attire, flashed up on the big screen and even a picture of an ear and a red sideburn was enough to trigger thousands of teenage girls to holler uncontrollably. Such was the level of rising frenzy, Gerard Way could have probably just put up an Excel document showing his tax returns, but as long as the font was the same colour red as Way’s freshly dyed hair, the crowd would have still let out the same painfully shrill reaction.
After the first support group, who were composed of three men that looked like Barney Rubble had he found Noel Fielding’s dressing up box, the Blackout swaggered on. Not in the fashion of ‘a lovable-rogue’ but more of an ‘I just knocked on your Nanas door and ran away’ sort of swagger. The clichés followed by the barrel load. First there was the obligatory, cringe-worthy ‘I honestly mean this, but you lot are so much better than London’, then we had a bit of an attempt at a Mexican wave, only to be informed it was not of sufficient consistency and there was even time for them to tell us how much MCR means to the band.
It certainly was a relief to hear Dr Death Defying’s voice ring out. As the opening chimes of ‘Na Na Na’ played, the curtain came down and there he was. Way was dressed like he had had a quick rifle through the bucket for those who have forgotten to bring their PE kit to school with them. His eyes were a haunting shade of red and he was dripping with hair dye, as he bound round the stage with a menacing sort of intent. While many lead singers are volatile and unpredictable, Way paces round the stage in a restrained manner, like a predator waiting to leap on his prey. His speaking voice is just bizarre as well; a cross between Michael Jackson and ET. It makes his requests to hang out with them at the upcoming summer’s festivals seem more like a creepy threat. Way plays the misfit card to an absolute tee.
Not that it matters to the band. They positively beam with enthusiasm and sheer joy, which is reassuring as they race through the bombast of songs like ‘Our Lady Sorrow’ and’ ‘Vampire Money’, which sounds like Arcade Fire’s ‘Month of May’ had they been born on the Nevada Strip, rather than some dull Canadian suburbs.
By the time ‘Famous Last Words’ comes on, I’m starting to feel guilty about the fact I know so few of their lyrics, when every mouth in sight was yelling back every word to Way in unison. I start the sheepish journey back to the side and make it there just in time to see Way warning his fans against the effects of Cocaine, before the surly opening to ‘Teenagers’ buzzes out. By the chorus, the LG Arena was shaking, as one collective mass of black-clad fans bounced.
For the borderline obsessive fans that had been looking forward to this gig for months, I can imagine it was well worth the wait. But even for your regular schmuck, like myself, it was clear that MCR nailed it. Despite playing in such a large venue, the band was anything but daunted. They managed to retain dignity whilst also pulling off a loud, raucous performance; something that doesn’t often go hand in hand.
So while I’m not actually hoping for my friend to have to regularly endure emotional trauma and self esteem issues for me be to pleasantly surprised by a gig I would never pay to see, I wouldn’t mind it happening more frequently. Sorry Brad.