My Chemical SHOWmance!

So. Concert.

Someone was trying to make sure I didn't get to see Muse last night. First, having the show amidst finals week. Then PayPal and the post office. Then finding a ride. Top it all off with the horrible suspense of food poisoning incident. So when the three of us hopped in the PT Cruiser (a good-for-nothing car if ever there was), proceeded to miss our exit on the Mass Pike of Doom (which must have been Sartre's inspiration -- the exits are 15 miles apart!), parked in the gip parking lot,and stuffed down some takeout deep dish with crust like quiche (disconcerting), we arrived. And there was a little sign on the door: "Muse will not be performing tonight. Circa Survive will open instead."

We were crushed. Absolutely furious, then saddened, and finally resigned. Apparently I would've known last night if I'd friended them on MySpace. Oops, sorry, loyal Facebooker here. Luckily we had a rather long line to wait in while the disappointment stopped stinging. We were still really excited to see MCR, but Muse was half the reason we were there -- more than half in Guy's case. I wouldn't have planned this whole mess at such a bad time of the year to see either of the bands on their own.

But I'm glad I did. Because MCR was worth it.

I liked Circa Survive, though I'd never heard them, and Guy knew them a little, which made the lack of Muse easier to take. But the acoustics of DCU were not friendly to Circa, at least not the way their mics and amps were coordinated. The guy had an incredible voice, but it was just too hard to hear him. Still, worth seeing. Actually, they reminded me a little of Muse, which made me wish even more that Muse were there. Someday, though, they'll be a big deal and I'll be able to say I've seen them live.

We waited a long time for MCR to come out. Some people were still trickling in. The floor was sold out, but the seats were not -- most highschoolers, we joked, aren't allowed go to concerts on Tuesday nights. But in a way, the 14-year old rock fan is the most important, the most real fan of all. And to be fair, there were a lot of twentysomethings there too.

It sounds wrong to say that the first song, “The End” was possibly the best part. But it was impossible to describe. The set began with a lone man in a hospital bed, black curtain drawn behind him: The Patient, the young doomed protagonist of the Black Parade concept album. "Now come one, come all to this tragic affair," sang a pitch-perfect Gerard Way, rising from the bed as girls squealed and we stood entranced with bated breath -- until the loud part thundered in and the curtain flew back, and there they were, framed in dazzling light as we saw how much more stage there was. It was breathtaking, even when you know it's coming, like the sudden tripling of presents beneath the tree on Christmas morning. And seeing them all there, after having at last triumphed over illness, made the whole thing one step more affecting. The irony of the deathbed theme was lost on no one.

Throughout the first set they performed as their alter egos, a "band" called The Black Parade. Clad in in black Sgt. Pepper-esque uniforms, the Parade hammered through their entire "debut" album (MCR's third, released last fall) from start to finish like the rock opera it really is. Gerard was in character the whole time, and pulled it off splendidly. “My Chemical Romance is coming on after us,” he quipped towards the end of the set in a slightly otherworldy accent. "I don't know if you like those guys." The crowd cheers, and he frowns with a haughty sidelong glance: “Personally, I think their language is atrocious, and they don’t know how to dress.”

Nothing if not theatrical, MCR/TBP pulled out all the stops and then some. Gerard was meant for the stage, flailing and dancing and doing all sorts of queer little turns, and the guitarists were fiercely spastic as well. That opening energy carried right through the suite of early fast songs, "Dead!", "This is How I Disappear," and "The Sharpest Lives" -- probably my favorite section of the album. Of course when they tried to hush the crowd for the quiet piano-backed intro to the single “Welcome to the Black Parade,” everyone kept singing. They did the radio-ubiquitous anthem justice, even if Gerard opted out of a couple high notes, and they showered us with confetti through purple lights at the climax. The ballad “Cancer” was actually more powerful live than on record, and I wasn’t sure how they were going to pull the very weird “Mama” off onstage, but they did, with FIRE. It got really hot in there. I think the song I had the most pure fun during was "Teenagers," which in all its surface banality has grown into one of my favorite tracks. By the time they got to the closing hit “Famous Last Words,” though, they were getting tired. I could tell, because Gerard let us do most of the singing in the middle. We were happy to oblige, and by the song's life-affirming climax they had found their finishing kick, and the curtain fell on The Black Parade.

But not on My Chemical Romance, who returned after a seven-minute interlude, stripped of their alter egos and clad in their "normal" black clothing and and magically reenergized for a six-song set from their previous breakthrough album Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge. They kicked off the MCR set with the hit “I’m Not Okay” which I have never, ever enjoyed more. "Give 'em Hell Kid" got the moshing started, right on the edge of where we were standing, and our efforts to avoid the chaos distracted us a bit from the beautiful "Cemetery Drive." I was really glad they played “Thank You For the Venom” which I had heard they cut it from earlier setlists, and I bet they brought it back because it’s so deliciously ironic. “Give me all your poison, give me all your pills /give me all your hopeless hearts and make me ill / You're running after something that you'll never kill.” What resonance, those words today! You can effing poison us, but you’ll never make us stop! <3

As expected, the closed with everyone's favorite, "Helena," which for me was the only slightly disappointing part of the concert -- partly because the crowd (including us) was singing too loudly for the power of the performance to come through, and partly because I remembered it was all going to end and I would have to finish my term paper. But it was a moment of sweet solidarity, and with a last chorus of "So long and goodnight," they were gone.

I knew I loved this music, but I didn't expect them to be quite this great live. Sometimes punkish bands can get muddied in mediocre venues, and something like The Black Parade, with its generous portions of pomp and circumstance, seemed like a polished studio creation. But in fact, the night revealed, this is what the album was made for. The theatrics and effects were not there to mask sloppy musicianship in the least: these guys are drama queens, but they can play. And darling Gerard, looking not the least bit menacing in his ghoulish getup, was a rock star in the fullest sense of the word. The world needs more of those.