Twenty years ago, My Chemical Romance decided that two albums of emotional turmoil weren’t nearly enough, so they threw on marching band uniforms, invented a dying protagonist and made everyone’s existential crisis considerably more theatrical. Released on October 23rd 2006, The Black Parade was the New Jersey band’s third studio album, following 2004’s Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge. Produced by Rob Cavallo, it was an ambitious fourteen track spectacle that bought together punk, glam rock, theatrical excess and enough emotional damage to keep an entire generation occupied for the next two decades. No one could have predicted the mark that the album would leave on the world.
Do you remember the first time you heard The Black Parade? I do. I was twelve, discovering my love for everything emo and like a lot of preteens of the time, developing an unhealthy attachment to the internet. Most evenings and weekends involved commandeering the family computer, leaving Kerrang! TV playing in the background, swapping music recommendations with complete strangers online. Internet safety? Never heard of her. But like all teenagers, I was in search for that one band that would make me feel alive, not that I could have articulated that back then.
When the music video for “Welcome To The Black Parade” first appeared on Kerrang! TV, I was hooked from the very first G note. I actually have a friend’s older brother to thank for turning my growing interest into a decades long love. Two weeks after the album released, he got me a copy which I still have, for my thirteenth birthday, an unexpectedly thoughtful gesture that still makes my eyes water two decades later.
Being a British My Chemical Romance fan in the mid to late 2000s was an experience in itself. There were the questionable “jokes” about wrist checks, the general assumption that wearing black meant there was something terribly wrong with you, and eventually the Daily Mail launching scare articles, telling parents all about “The War On Emo”. God forbid teenagers find comfort in music instead of developing an enthusiasm for whatever respectable hobby tabloids deemed socially acceptable that week. But while the outside world were busy misunderstanding us, we were building something of our own. Writing fanfiction (RIP Quizilla and Mibba), creating increasingly elaborate fan websites on Piczo, teaching ourselves enough HTML to customise our MySpace profiles and discovering what it truly meant to belong to a fandom long before that word became part of everyday vocabulary.
That’s what makes revisiting The Black Parade twenty years later feel a little different. This wasn’t just an album that I played until my CD player begged for mercy; it became tangled up in friendships, growing pains, questionable internet decisions and some of the happiest memories of being an awkward little emo kid. The songs haven’t changed, but the person listening to them has. So, two decades after that first piano note set me down a lifetime of fandom and a little emotional instability, I’m revisiting The Black Parade track by track to find out what still hits, what hits differently and whether any of us have actually learned a bloody thing.
The End
“The End” beings with a faint heart monitor and a delicate piano, creating something suspiciously pretty for an album so obsessed with death. Gerard Way arrives with “Now, come one, come all to this tragic affair” delivering his invitation with wonderful theatrics, almost playful against the restrained instrumentation. There’s something considerably uglier lurking beneath those polite introductions. “You might wake up and notice you’re something you’re not” introduces the uncomfortable prospect of becoming somebody you no longer recognise. The instruction to wipe off the makeup feels particularly pointed on an album so fond of costumes and elaborate performances. Beneath all that dressing up is somebody struggling with their own identity.
Of course, My Chemical Romance were never going to let anybody die quietly. The acoustic strumming gets swallowed by crashing drums and distorted guitars while the thick bass adds some much needed weight beneath all the theatrics. The song keeps climbing, gathering momentum, only to drop back down and start the whole process over again, each time losing a little bit more control. Then “When I grow up, I want to be nothing at all!” takes a perfectly innocent childhood question and gives it the sort of answer that would have your teachers reaching for safeguarding paperwork. Way delivers it with such confidence that you almost overlook how miserable it truly is. But by the desperate cries of “Save me!” the guitars are roaring and all that earlier confidence has gone straight out the window. Our Patient isn’t quite as ready to die as he’d like us to believe. Then the heart monitor flatlines and “Dead!” takes over.
Dead!
Picking up exactly where “The End” left us, “Dead!” wastes no time turning a flatlining heart monitor into a full-blown celebration. Ray Toro’s blistering opening guitar work leads the charge, with punchy drums, a bouncing bassline and layers of harmonised guitars giving the whole thing an almost offensively cheerful energy. Way sounds equally delighted to deliver the bad news, opening with “And if your heart stops beating, I’ll be here wondering, Did you get what you deserve?” It’s a particularly vicious question to throw at somebody who’s just died, suggesting that death might be less of a tragedy and more of a punishment for how they’ve lived. Even the promise of heaven comes with somebody waiting to demand answers, as through the Patient’s final moments weren’t already unpleasant enough. There’s something wonderfully nasty about making mortality sound like a moral judgement, especially when the music suggests everyone’s having the time of their lives celebrating.
“Have you heard the news that you’re dead?” arrives with catchy, a toe-tapping chorus despite the lyrics not offering much in the way of sympathy. “No one ever had much nice to say” rather than offering comfort, the lyric seems determined to remind the Patient that he wasn’t the most popular person while alive, “I think they never liked you anyway” suggesting his absence won’t exactly leave a gaping hole in anybody’s life. “Wouldn’t it be grand? It ain’t exactly what you planned” makes a complete mockery of the Patient’s situation, as though dying is just a minor inconvenience in an otherwise normal day. But “And wouldn’t it be great if we were dead?” takes that sarcasm somewhere darker, almost romanticising death as an escape from everything that makes being alive so bloody difficult.
The wonderfully theatrical “And in my honest observation, during this operation” takes us back to the hospital where the Patient is left with perhaps two weeks to live. Suddenly, the earlier questions about whether he got what he deserved feel more uncomfortable because we’re watching somebody being judged before they’ve even had a chance to finish living. A flamboyant guitar solo cuts through before the band launches into a gloriously ridiculous sing along, complete with gang vocals and enough la-la-las to suggest the seriousness of the situation is lost. “If life ain’t just a joke, then why are we laughing?” turns the song’s own twisted sense of humour against itself. Are they laughing because death is absurd, because they’re frightened or because taking it seriously would make it all unbearable. By the final “Why am I dead?” that distinction hardly matters. The laughter hasn’t made death any easier to understand, and the Patient is still left facing an ending no one seems sympathetic about.
This Is How I Disappear
Some people take their secrets to the grave, My Chemical Romance intend to dig them right back up. “This Is How I Disappear” trades the gleeful cruelty of “Dead!” for something more personal, where guilt, obsession and an inability to let go are about to become everybody else’s problem. An explosive “Go!” sends guitars charging forward, with thick bass and sharp, pounding drums that give the song an almost claustrophobic urgency. Way’s increasingly strained delivery brings us to “By streetlight this dark night, a séance down below” conjuring up the possibility of reaching someone beyond the grave. There’s something wonderfully unsettling about using the supernatural to explore such a painfully human need for connection, especially when “there’s things that I have done, you should ever know” suggests that guilt might have just as much to do with this desperation as grief.
The enormous chorus sees Way insist “And without you, is how I disappear and live my life alone, forever now.” making the loss sound like the complete destruction of his own identity. The guitars shift between jagged riffs and broader, more melodic guitar lines, while the bass and drums keep everything moving with relentless urgency. “Who walks among the famous living dead” blurs the distinction between dying and simply existing without much of a life, while “All good girls go to heaven” brings morality and judgement back to the table.
The instruments briefly pull back around “Can you hear me cry out to you?” leaving Way’s vocals exposed before “I’m just a ghost, so I can’t hurt you anymore” suggests that his absence might actually be kinder than his presence. There’s quite the admission from somebody who’s spent most of the song insisting he can’t live without them. That restraint quickly collapses as the guitars become heavier, the drums more aggressive and Way practically tears his throat apart through “And no, you wanna see how far down I can sink? Let’s me go, fuck!” The final repetitions of the chorus pile on the distorted guitars and desperate vocals until “forever now” makes the separation sound painfully permanent. For somebody supposedly accepting that they’re better off apart, he’s making an awful lot of noise about it.
The Sharpest Lives
“The Sharpest Lives” opens with a twitchy, almost mechanical bass line and Way sounding like he’s several drinks past making sensible decisions. “Well, it rains and it pours when you’re out on your own” establishes somebody having a rubbish time of it, while the request to crash on someone’s couch suggests even getting home has become an ambitious prospect. The drums and guitar settle into a tight, infectious groove, giving Way’s rapid delivery a restless momentum. But “If it looks like I’m laughing, I’m really just asking to leave this alone” reveals that the apparent good time is for show. He’s surrounded by people but desperate to be left alone.
“You’re the one that I need, I’m the one that you loathe” suggests a relationship where affection has become one sided, although Way doesn’t sound like he’s taking that hint. The guitars become more abrasive, pressing against a thick bassline and restless drums as “You can watch me corrode” makes his downward spiral sound like something he’s inviting an audience to watch. At least “I’ve really been on a bender and it shows” suggests he hasn’t completely lost his powers of observation. The chorus throws everything wide open with layered vocals, punchy drums and bright guitar lines making the whole sorry situation sound appealing. “Give me a shot to remember” muddles alcohol, affection and the desperate need for something worth holding onto, while “The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead” acknowledges the consequences of living recklessly without showing the slightest intention of slowing down. Unfortunately awareness and doing something about it are two very different things.
Things become considerably stranger with “There’s a place in the dark where the animals go” introducing a world where inhibition and good judgement are optional. “You can take off your skin the cannibal glows” suggests shedding whatever identity of restraints remains before, “Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands” brings Shakespearean romance into the debauchery. “Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo” makes that romance considerably more murderous. Subtly has clearly left the building. Musically, the guitars dart around the driving bassline as the drums maintain their pulse through another enormous chorus. By the final layered whoa ohs, the song sounds almost euphoric despite the narrator’s determination to destroy himself. It’s quite the achievement, making a complete personal collapse sound like something you’d dance along to.
Welcome To The Black Parade
Twenty years later, the opening of “Welcome To The Black Parade” remains one of the most recognisable introductions in rock music which is quite the achievement for a singular note. The piano plays out its simple, melancholy melody as the narrator begins recalling a childhood trip to see a matching band with his father. But “Would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?” transforms an ordinary memory into an enormous expectation to live up to. The marching snare gradually joins the piano, followed by swelling orchestration and guitars that give the introduction a growing sense of ceremony. When his father promises to leave him a phantom to join the Black Parade, the album’s central idea finally comes into focus; death arriving through one the Patient’s most treasured memories. Suddenly, all the theatrics we’ve encountered have somewhere to go.
The arrangement grows increasingly grand before changing gears completely as the drums pick up pace, the bass digs in that guitars bust into a much faster, more defiant rhythm turning the stately procession into a full blown anthem. “Sometimes I get the feeling she’s watching over me” introduces grief and the uneasy comfort of believing that a person can still be present even after death. Then comes the enormous “We’ll carry on” with layered vocals and guitars making it sound less like a chorus and more like an army refusing to shut up. There’s genuine purpose beneath the spectacle, “Though you’re dead and gone” insists that losing somebody doesn’t mean losing everything they meant to you. After four tracks wrestling with mortality, guilt and self destruction, The Black Parade finally offers something resembling hope.
Of course My Chemical Romance aren’t about to make that hope easy to hold onto. “A world that sends you reeling from decimated dreams” acknowledges how thoroughly life can knock you sideways while “Defiant to the end” turns the chorus into a refusal to surrender. The guitars and drums keep pushing the song forward as the vocal harmonies grow larger, before the arrangement shifts again around “Do or die, you’ll never make me.” Way’s vocal delivery becomes fiercer, the guitars bite harder and the rhythm section gives every declaration an almost confrontational force. “I’m unashamed, I’m gonna show my scars” is particularly important, replacing the urge to hide painful experiences with a determination to own them. “I’m just a man, I’m not a hero” brings all those grand expectations back down to somebody painfully human. For all the enormous promises made at the beginning, maybe just being able to carry on is enough.
By the final chorus, practically every element is fighting for attention marching rhythms, layered guitars, bass, enormous harmonies and Way delivering the whole thing like his life depends on it. Yet somehow none of it feels wasted. “Welcome To The Black Parade” is where the album’s sprawling ideas finally come together, turning a story about dying into something equally concerned with what we leave behind. It’s excessive, theatrical, emotionally exhausting and completely unapologetic.
I Don’t Love You
After convincing an entire generation to carry on, My Chemical Romance reckon it’s time to discuss why some relationships shouldn’t be. “I Don’t Love You” brings The Black Parade back down to earth with gently picked electric guitars, a steady drumbeat and a bassline that gives the opening a quiet sense of weight. There’s more space around Way’s vocals, allowing “when you go don’t ever think I’ll make you try to stay” to sound almost convincing. Almost. His supposed indifference starts looking suspicious when “Maybe when you get back, I’ll be off to find another way” reveals somebody already rehearsing how they’ll cope with being abandoned. Then “After all this time you still owe” introduces resentment, suggesting there’s plenty of unresolved bitterness behind this goodbye.
The instruction to take their gloves and leave gives the verses a sharper edge, but the chorus exposes what all that bitterness has been attempting to hide. “Would you even turn to say “I don’t love you like I did yesterday”” makes it clear he’s wanting that confirmation. The guitars spread into broader chords, the drums hit harder and Way stretches the title into a pleading question that sounds considerably more wounded than angry. He wants them gone, but apparently not before they’ve had the decency to turn around and break his heart properly.
“Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading” strips away the earlier pretence of indifference, while “all the needless beating” suggests a relationship that’s painfully destructive, potentially in more way than one. The rhythm section maintains a measured pace as the guitars gradually add intensity, allowing the frustration to gather beneath Way’s increasingly strained delivery. “Another dollar’s just another blow” makes affection sound like a debt neither person can settle. Ray Toro’s expressive guitar solo gives all that emotion somewhere to go without another argument. When the final chorus returns, “Would you have the guts to say” turns the earlier question into a challenge, before the repeated “I don’t love you like I loved you yesterday” finally sounds like an admission neither person wanted to make. After all the grand declarations about carrying on, this is the rather less glamours business of accepting somebody wants to carry on without you.
House of Wolves
Who knew eternal damnation could be this much fun? “House of Wolves” takes everything My Chemical Romance have been telling us about sin, guilt and the afterlife, turning it into an absolute riot of a song. It swaggers in with thumping drums, a filthy, swinging guitar riff and a bassline that demands you get up and dance. It’s ridiculously fun with a rockabilly inspired bounce that makes behaving yourself feel like a waste of time. Way sounds like he’s having the time of his life opening with “I know a thing about contrition, because I got enough to spare” before launching into a sarcastic display of religious enthusiasm. The cries of “Hallelujah” and claims of having innocence to spare are particularly entertaining coming from somebody who immediately follows up with the fact he’s gonna probably burn in hell. At least he’s realistic about his prospects.
The chorus is where the fun really begins. “Tell me I’m an angel” clashes brilliantly with “Tell me I’m a bad man” suggesting he’s perfectly happy to accept either judgement so long as someone’s paying attention. The guitars snap between punchy riffs and playful flourishes, while the drums and bass maintain that irresistible, danceable rhythm. Then comes the gloriously obnoxious spelling lesson if “S-I-N” because admitting you’re a sinner isn’t enough unless everybody can join in. The references to ambulances, choirboys and “ashes to ashes” continue twisting religious imagery into something gleefully irreverent.
Things get even more unhinged as Way warns “You better run like the devil ‘cause they’re never gonna leave you alone,” his vocals becoming frantic against the pounding drums and snarling guitars. The bloody imagery and creeping through the halls theatrics make the whole thing sound like a particularly deranged sermon, delivered by someone who shouldn’t be trusted with a collection plate. By the final chants of “bad, bad, bad, bad man” the band sound like they’re having an absolute blast. “House Of Wolves” is loud, ridiculous and completely infectious, proving that even an album about death can let its hair down and have some fun.
Cancer
After all the gleeful misbehaviour of “House of Wolves” My Chemical Romance deliver one of the cruellest reminders that death doesn’t always come with a marching band. “Cancer” strips away the theatrical excess, leaving a lonely piano and Way’s painfully fragile vocals that do most of the damage. “Turn away, if you could get me a drink of water” is such an ordinary request but the mention of chapped, faded lips brings us straight to that miserable reality of terminal illness. There’s something extra heartbreaking about “Bury me in all my favorite colors,” its such a small attempt to hold onto some individuality when illness has already stripped you of so much. But “The hardest part of this is leaving you” reveals that the Patient isn’t necessarily frightened of dying, he’s frightened of who he leaves behind.
The piano remains beautifully restrained as the arrangement gradually gathers weight, with the drums gently joining in to give the song a more deliberate pulse. Rather than crashing through the sadness, each beat seems to make it that little bit harder to ignore, while the gentle orchestral touches add another layer of heartbreak without making a huge production of it. “All my hair’s abandoned all my body” is devastatingly blunt, while “I’m just soggy from the chemo” almost sounds like somebody making a rubbish joke to save their loved ones further discomfort. Then “Counting down the days to go, it just ain’t living” makes the exhaustion painfully clear. There’s no grand rebellion or clever escape from mortality here, just somebody who’s had enough of suffering but who isn’t ready for what comes next.
Way’s vocals grow increasingly strained as “I’d as you to be true” becomes one last, small request from someone running out of time. The repeated “The hardest part of this is leaving you” feels almost unbearable because wanting the pain to stop doesn’t mean he’s ready for everything else to end with it. There’s no heroic farewell or some comforting resolution, just the horrible unfairness of having so much love left to give and no time left to give it. For once, My Chemical Romance don’t need to make death dramatic, it’s doing a miserable job of that all by itself.
Mama
Somewhere between a war crime, a family argument and a spectacularly inappropriate musical number, My Chemical Romance decided they had the markings of a fucking good song. “Mama” is four minutes and forty seconds of absolute theatrical lunacy, opening with crackling, old fashioned effects before bursting into a wonderfully deranged, cabaret inspired rhythm. The guitars have a mischievous, almost drunken bounce, while the bass and stomping drums give everything the feel of a military procession that’s taken a wrong turn. Way’s repeated “Mama, we all go to hell” sounds mighty cheerful for somebody announcing their eternal damnation. But, “Stop asking me questions, I’d hate to see you cry” suggests there’s more guilt beneath the theatrics than he’s willing to admit. The enormous backing vocals turn “We’ll let the fires just bathe us” into something resembling a church choir that’s collectively decided salvation is no longer worth the paperwork.
Of course the whole thing grows uglier once the issues start spiling out. “Mama, we’re all full of lies” brings a nastier edge to the performance, before “What the war did to my legs and to my tongue” introduces the physical and emotional wreckage of conflict. “You should’ve raised a baby girl, I should’ve been a better son” is a particularly heartbreaking line, turning suffering into another reason to believe he’s disappointed his mother. The guitars grow increasingly abrasive, the drums push harder and the backing vocals become almost confrontational as the song gathers momentum. Then comes the mother’s response, “You ain’t no son of mine,” delivering the sort of rejection that considerably more than any battlefield injury. Coming home from war is no guarantee anybody wants you back. The arrangement refuses to behave itself, swinging between jaunty declarations of damnation, frantic cries of “Mama!” and enough musical drama to make the production of Wicked look positively restrained.
Just when you think My Chemical Romance have exhausted every possible opportunity for theatrical excess, Liza Minnelli turns up. Her brief appearance as Mother War, delivering “And if you would me a sweetheart, I’d maybe then sing you a song…” adds an unsettling touch of old fashioned cabaret glamour before Way’s “There’s shit that I’ve done with this fuck of a gun” drags the whole affair straight back into the horrors of war. What follows is a glorious collision of everything the band have been building towards. The guitars roar, the drums thunder and the bass holds its ground beneath layers of backing vocals that transform “We’re damned, after all” into a full blown communal confession. By the time “We all carry on” arrives, voices answering one another like an entire army singing for those who never made it home. It’s a brilliant, if considerably more battered, echo of the album’s central theme. “Mama” somehow crams religious guilt, family rejection, the brutality of war and a cabaret legend into one gloriously chaotic song without losing its emotional punch. It’s excessive, ridiculous and occasionally rather horrifying. Somehow, every last bit of that madness feels entirely necessary.
Sleep
As if dying wasn’t already enough of a nightmare, My Chemical Romance decided we’re not getting a decent night’s sleep either. “Sleep” opens with unsettling recordings of Gerard Way describing the night terrors he experienced during the making of The Black Parade. His fragmented speech sits beneath a slow, ominous instrumental build, with hazy guitars and a heavy bass presence creating an almost suffocating atmosphere. When Way finally breaks through with “Don’t you breathe for me, undeserving of your sympathy” there’s an uncomfortable bitterness to his delivery. “There ain’t no way that I’m sorry for what I did” sounds defiant, but the music suggests somebody considerably less comfortable with their conscience than they’d like us to believe.
The drums give the song a powerful, deliberate shove as the guitars open into enormous distorted chords. “How could you cry for me?” rejects any possibility of sympathy before the chorus stretches into the haunting “Sleep, just sleep.” It’s gentle compared with the surrounding noise, although “The hardest part is letting go of your dreams” makes the rest sound less like comfort and more like another form of surrender. Then “A drink for the horror that I’m in” brings a bitter toast to his circumstances, while “For the monsters that I’ve been” suggests those terrors aren’t entirely confined to his nightmares. Apparently, the worst things keeping him awake at night might be the one’s he’s responsible for.
The guitars grow increasingly overwhelming as the recorded voices return, describing visions of flames and loved ones dying. What began as a slow, creeping nightmare becomes an absolute wall of sound, with pounding drums, thick bass and layers of guitars almost swallowing Way’s desperate vocals. The repeated “Just sleep!” collides with increasingly frantic cries of “Wake up!” creating a horrible contradiction between wanting everything to stop and being terrified of what happens when it does. The backing vocals add to the chaos, making the ending feel less like one person struggling through a nightmare and more like an entire room screaming alongside them. By the final recording admits “I can’t ever wake up”, the song has become something genuinely unsettling. For an album so preoccupied with dying, “Sleep” finds something almost as frightening in the possibility of never escaping your own head.
Teenagers
My Chemical Romance give us one of The Black Parade’s most infectious songs, opening with a stomping, glam rock inspired guitar riff, handclaps and a bassline that struts alongside it. Way’s delivery is deliciously sarcastic as “They’re gonna clean up your looks” introduces a society determined to turn rebellious young people into obedient citizens. “Another cog in the murder machine” takes that criticism somewhere nastier, suggesting that conformity isn’t necessarily about making people better, just easier to control. God forbid anybody develops a personality without approval.
Then comes that gloriously obnoxious chorus. “Teenagers scare the living shit out of me” comes crashing in with crunch guitars, punchy drums and enough attitude to make a school assembly go spectacularly wrong. There’s something amusing about adults being terrified of the very generation they’re so determined to control. Dark clothes, loud music and a questionable attitude apparently constitutes a national emergency. The irony, of course, is that treating teenagers like dangerous little monsters probably isn’t the best way to convince them otherwise.
Beneath all the fun, “The boys and girls in the clique, the awful names that they stick” reminds us that being young isn’t exactly all rainbows and sunshine either. The suggestion that someone who’s been hurt might retaliate violently gives the song a darker edge, questioning what happens when alienation and resentment are allowed to fester. The band resister the temptation to complicate things musically, letting that swaggering riff, driving rhythm section and increasingly rowdy backing vocals do the heavy lifting. Twenty years later, “Teenagers” remains cheeky, catchy and rather good at exposing how adults of every generation misunderstand young people. That said, I’ve encountered enough teenagers to understand why some adults cross the road when they see a group of them coming.
Disenchanted
Spending most of The Black Parade wrestling with death, guilt and the occasional spectacularly poor life decision, My Chemical Romance turn their attention to the crushing disappointment of realising the world isn’t quite what you were promised. “Disenchanted” begins with gently picked guitars, building a wistful little melody that feels almost too innocent after everything we’ve been through. Way opens with “I was there on the day they sold the cause of the queen,” immediately introducing the bitterness of watching something you believed in become something else entirely. “I hate the ending myself, but it started with an alright scene” is a wonderfully miserable way of summing up a life that perhaps hasn’t turned out quite like advertised. The bass and drums gradually join the arrangement, giving the song a fuller, more deliberate pulse without losing that underlying sadness.
“It was the roar of the crowd that gave me heartache to sing” complicates the relationship between performer and the audience, while “You won’t feel a thing” sounds like yet another promise that hasn’t aged well. As the guitars widen and Way’s delivery becomes more forceful, “If I’m so wrong, how can you listen all night long?” turns frustration outwards. There’s something cutting about questioning whether anybody’s understood the things you’ve spent years trying to say. The chorus then arrives with huge guitars, steady drums and layered backing vocals as “You’re just a sad song with nothing to say” spits back the criticism. For all its melodic warmth, there’s a surprising amount of resentment packed into this one. Being misunderstood is annoying enough without having to provide the soundtrack to it.
Then “I spent my high school career spit on and shoved to agree” brings that disillusionment back to the humiliation of growing up, before “All my heroes sell a car on tv” takes a particularly nasty swipe at watching your idols become advertisements. The arrangement grows increasingly powerful as Way’s vocals lose their earlier restrainer, eventually releasing the bitter “So go, go away”. There’s a beautiful contradiction in how the song sounds increasingly uplifting while its narrator seems to have lost faith in practically everything. By the final repetitions of “This never meant nothing to you,” the backing vocals and guitars have built something almost triumphant out of all that disappoint. Twenty years later, “Disenchanted” still understands the horrible business of growing older only to discover the world is full of compromises, your heroes are human and occasionally the things you love the most end up letting you down.
Famous Last Words
After spending most of The Black Parade making death everybody else’s problem, My Chemical Romance have decided that staying alive might just be worth the inconvenience. “Famous Last Words” comes charging in with a vicious guitar riff, dramatic drums and a bassline that gives the whole thing some serious backbone. Nobody’s tiptoeing towards the finish line here. Way’s opening “Now I know that I can’t make you stay” acknowledges a loss he can absolutely do nothing about, while the repeated “Where’s your heart?” sounds increasingly frustrated b y that helplessness. There’s something almost exhausting about the way her delivers “I’m incomplete,” as though admitting how badly he’s struggling has become another chore to tick off a list. The guitars tighter around the vocals, building towards chorus that has no intention of behaving itself.
Then comes “I am not afraid to keep on living” which is quite the turnaround for an album that’s spent so much time enthusiastically preparing for death. The chorus is enormous, with soaring guitars, restless drums and layered vocals turning something deeply personal into a declaration that sounds increasingly convincing the louder everybody gets. “I am not afraid to walk this world alone” doesn’t necessarily mean the fear has vanished, just that he’s determined not to let it make his decisions anymore. There’s something comforting about how little he promises beyond that. No miraculous recovery, not sudden understanding of life’s mysteries just the determination to give the whole miserable business another go.
The guitars continue building around “These bright lights have always blinded me” before the song starts preparing one last spectacular assault on our emotional stability. “I see you lying next to me” introduces something painful intimate amid all the noise, while “Awake and unafraid, asleep or dead” suggests he’s still caught somewhere between wanting to live and being utterly terrified of what that might involve. Then everything collides. The drummers hammer, the bass refuses to budge and the overlapping vocals pit “I am not afraid to keep on living” against the repeated “Or dead”. It’s messy, overwhelming and magnificent. After an entire album of dressing death up in its Sunday best, “Famous Last Words” makes one last, loud argument for being alive.
Blood
My Chemical Romance couldn’t let us leave on an emotionally satisfying note without being complete little shits about it. Hidden at the end of the original album, “Blood” makes us sit through over a minute of complete silence before revealing one last gloriously inappropriate surprise. After the enormous emotional finale of “Famous Last Words” we’re suddenly treated to a jaunty, old fashioned cabaret inspired number. A bouncing piano, playful rhythm and Way’s exaggerated theatrical delivery make the whole thing sound like something you’d hear in in an old B-movie. “They encourage your complete cooperation” brings us straight back to the hospital, where the Patient’s treatment sounds suspiciously more like an obligation than an attempt to help him. The comes the wonderfully grotesque “Give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff!” turning the very thing keeping him alive into something that others seem rather desperate to get their hands on. Even dying doesn’t excuse you from meeting everybody else’s demands.
The cheerful instrumentation makes the whole thing increasingly ridiculous as “A celebrated man amongst the gurneys” paints the Patient as something of a medical celebrity, although “They can fix me proper with a bit of luck” suggests that his prospects aren’t quite as promising as the doctors might like him to believe. Way practically grins his way through “The doctors and the nurses they adore me so” before closing “I’m the kind of human wreckage that you love” takes one final swipe at the uncomfortable fascination people have with suffering. It’s sarcastic, horribly catchy and completely inappropriate after everything we’ve just been through. As a hidden epilogue rather than the album’s grand conclusion, “Blood” feels like My Chemical Romance popping back out from behind the curtain to make one final joke at our expense.
Twenty years ago, My Chemical Romance introduced us to a dying man with an impressive flair for the dramatic and absolutely no idea how to process his feelings like a functioning adult. Across The Black Parade, we’ve watched him pick fights with death, make a complete dog’s dinner of his relationships, question his own existence and occasionally seem far too enthusiastic about eternal damnation. Musically, it’s just as gloriously unreasonable, swinging between delicate piano melodies, snarling guitars and enormous harmonies and the sort of theatrical excess that really ought to require planning permission. The older I get though, the less ridiculous his desperation seems. Turns out, life has a nasty habit of making you understand things you’d much rather have continued singing about without personal experience. After all the noise about funerals, forgiveness and what happens when the light goes out, its the stubborn refusal to give up what gets me the most. Whether the Patient gets another chance is left frustratingly unresolved, but perhaps that’s the whole point. Life rarely bothers to tell us how things are going to turn out before expecting us to get on with it. Twenty years later, I’m still singing along, still finding new reasons to get emotional and still amused over the fact an album about a dying man has so much to say about being alive.