When you’re listening to an album, obviously the last thing you want to be doing is bleeding on the bathroom floor. Sadly, some albums these days are so bad and cliché that such on occurrence is unavoidable. A lot of bands use silly catchphrases just for the attention, which is just ridiculous, as having originality is a far superior tactic, as evidenced by recent up and comers such as
The Fall of Troy or stand-bys like the
Red Hot Chili Peppers. One band, though, has made sure you’re going to get it, and that is
Panic! At the Disco. They’re all over the teen and fashion mags, I mean, how could they be very good? Well, they line the wall with bullet holes when it comes to their very, very poppy brand of psuedo-pop punk.
Now, imagine you were pacing the pews in a church corridor? What would you want to be listening to? Undoubtedly
A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out by that very artist. I first discovered them through an exchanging of words; two of my best friends, one a bridesmaid and one a waiter at the time. They were discussing the merits of Panic!, as there are obviously two very diametric sides to the opinion on this album. What a shame, then, what a shame the album is actually an excellent romp through slightly experimental pop.
After listening to this album, there is no way you’d want to give up the ghost this album places on you. Everything is so absolutely catchy, that you’ll assuredly lose your poise after only a few listens. There are at least 20 lines on the album that are mind numbingly memorable; you need to take this album a day at a time if you want to ever get it out of your head. Lines like
”Prescribed pills to offset the shakes, To offset the pills you know you should take it a day at a time” are infectious, and you’ll be hard pressed to get them out of your head without some support on the line.
Of course, there is a faux-affliction when it comes to Panic!: the lyrics themselves. Admittedly, they may have to ask for forgiveness to their sins, as the lyrics themselves are easily the weakest part of the album, sans the punch they provide when sung. However, the lyrics aren’t nearly as bad as they are continually stated to be by detractors: you share are in for a show when it comes to Panic!’s lyrics.
”Because I am a new wave gospel sharp, and you'll be thy witness, so gentlemen, if, you are going to preach, Then for God sakes preach with conviction!”” may not be any lyrical revolution, but showcases what Panic! does; psuedo-clever lyrics that while a times relying on clichés, are generally solid and enjoyable, if they are inane extraordinaire.
Well, I feel we’ve gotten to the point of consenting age, so how’s the music itself? Well I’m afraid I may have faked it, and normally I wouldn’t be caught dead in this place of pop. Normally, I’m a heavy metal and progressive kind of person, but in between my dignified sips of those genres I do enjoy a good tryst in pop, and this is exactly that. You wont find any truly amazing musicianship, with the drummer being the only traditional rock musician to ever show any real talent. However, they all combine to make some kind of beastly and tremendously grandiose pop extravaganza. All the more, the music is strongly accentuated by the synth lines, which are at once unique and impossibly catchy. One of the strongest points is the variety Panic! Have packed on the album; while the first few tracks have a pop punk feel to them, by the end you have a western-themed pop ballad, followed by a rockin’ tune complete with its own string section. Panic! Knows when to throw in strange little arrangements and atypical instruments, and its all for the better.
To throw in a sense of uniqueness to the review, I’d like to briefly mention a strange occurrence I found, at least to this reviewer. It seems that the album is divided into two rather distinct parts, the first half being a wet dream for the webzines, and the second being veritably a wonderful caricature of intimacy. The first half slowly builds up to the pop masterpiece that is time
Time to Dance, while the second builds up to the overall masterpiece of the album,
Build God, Then We’ll Talk. It’s all accentuated by
Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have….
Far from being a substandard motel on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street, the album houses many solid individual tracks, while it does have a few disappointments. The albums beginning has a habit of decomposing right before your very eyes:
The Only Difference… and
London Beckoned… are veritably the virgin and the lawyer and virgin of our story, as the former seems to be a rather boring pop punk number without much imagination, and the latter too patronizing of the music industry to be fun. Sans that, however, nearly any song on this album could be a hit single, and the two previously mentioned standouts are only raindrops on the rose.
These Tables Are Numbered… is a great piano driven track, with line after line being something you just wish you had the absolute wit to come up with yourself.
I Write Sins, Not Tragedies, the second single off the album (they sure didn’t have to ask the sleeping roaches on bed sheets for that one), is a nifty if repetitive tryst through the one small concept/story Panic! Attempt. Truly an album of highlights.
Panic! At the Disco have truly made an album to leave your overcoats, canes and top hats to the doorman with. Far from wrecking any evening of mine, they’ve mad quite a few far more enjoyable with their just plain fun attitude. They are the perfect examples of when you are a professional, dressed in black slacks with accentuating off white pin stripes, everything goes according to plan.
A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out is truly the new cancer, and after a few listens, you just won’t be able to get it out of your head for weeks. Or maybe even…your life. DUN DUN DUN.
