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 When
you’re signed to the label of Pete Wentz, bassist of sprightly
superstars Fall Out Boy, it should come as no surprise to find yourself
branded with the ‘Emo’ tag. Yet although ‘A Fever you Can’t Sweat Out’,
the debut album from Las Vegas lads Panic! At The Disco, does pack
plenty of the genre’s nasal whining and grandiose hollering, to simply
class this fantastic effort as an ‘Emo’ album would be to do both band
and album a great injustice.
Though all the elements that would normally build up your average
Emo-by-numbers album do lay the foundations of this grand musical
architecture, they are build upon by layers of electro-pop, furnished by
synth-pop and decorated in an old-fashioned, burlesque fashion.
However, just when this colossal mission has reached it’s completion,
the party going inside threatens to rock it to rubble with it’s grand,
majestic noise. Indeed, everything about this album seems
larger-than-life, forceful and with a sense of maturity that far
surpasses the band’s tender years.
Taking the old fashioned and futuristic and moulding them into something
quintessentially now, 'A‘ Fever You Can't’ Sweat Out' ’s a record that
commands you to dance whilst getting your head around some awesome
lyrics and tongue-twisting titles.
Tracks like the infectious ‘London Beckoned Songs About Money Written By
Machines’ bounce like a head-bopping, foot-stomping carnival of rhythm,
whilst ‘Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Off Her
Clothes’ swoops you along and leaves you enraptured by the fantasy world
inhabited by Panic!.
However, as good as most of the songs here are, nothing on this album,
nor any other emo-influenced album for that matter, could ever match the
brilliance of lead single ‘I Write Sins Not Tragedies’.
With it’s eerie, gothic-esque verses and driving, take-no-prisoners
chorus, this blinding tracks finds you wholly absorbed by it’s every
word and beat, so much so that every time the ticked off line ‘Havn’t
you people ever heard of/closing the god-damn door?” whelps through your
stereo, not only do you know that it’s gonna be stuck in your head for
an extra day, but you also feel the urge to chip in with your support.
Yeah, dagnamit, it’s bloody cold in here, stop letting a draft in!
Calling all Emo Kids. Wipe your tears and pull your pants up. There’s a
panic at the disco, and you are required to dance.
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