Vanilla_Flavour (Panic_At_The_Disco) все записи автора
В колонках играет - PANIC!!!!!!!!Настроение сейчас - goodEveryone!” Brendon Urie bellows. “Look at my crack!”
With this, the Panic! at the Disco frontman yanks his jeans down to
half-moon position and struts around his band’s dressing room at New York’s
sold-out Nokia Theatre, imitating a chicken’s gait. The room’s occupants —
security guys, management types and dancers — respond with tired chuckles
that suggest this is not the first time pre-show that Urie has made
entertainment out of his ass crack. Everyone laughs, that is, except
guitarist Ryan Ross, who has been hunched in the corner for the last hour,
painstakingly applying pre-show makeup while his bandmates have been off
playing videogames.
Ross and Urie, both 19, are Panic’s creative brain trust. Introvert Ross
writes the lyrics, extrovert Urie sings them, and both collaborate on
music. They’re an odd couple who work exceptionally well together: Witness
the group’s breakthrough single, “I Write Sins Not Tragedies,” in which
Urie miraculously turns a Dickensian phrase — “poise and rationality” —
into an unexpected Top 40 refrain. The group’s histrionic, danceable punk
debut, A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out, has sold north of 900,000 copies; Jimmy
Page and Ashlee Simpson have shown up at their concerts; and like their
friends in Fall Out Boy, Panic have crossed over from the rock underground
to TRL-anointed, mainstream stardom.
“Behold my crack!” Urie yells one more time, sashaying out the door and
heading for the PlayStation2. Ross carefully draws a spider leg under his
right eye. “Brendon’s not as committed to the makeup as I am,” he sighs.
No band better epitomizes Internet-age rock than Panic! At the Disco. In
2004, frustrated by the lack of opportunities for young bands in their
native Las Vegas, Ross, Urie, drummer Spencer Smith and then-bassist Brent
Wilson posted links to their demos on Fall Out Boy mainman Pete Wentz’s
blog. Acting as an A&R rep for the emo-punk label Fueled By Ramen, Wentz
IM’ed Ross to sign the group. “My benchmark for whether I really love a
band is if they make me jealous,” Wentz says. “The moment I heard Panic, I
was like, Wow! I wish we’d done this!”
Then, before Panic had even finished their debut, the backlash began.
MySpace comment sections flared up with rants about cronyism and how four
Las Vegas kids fresh out of twelfth grade had skipped years of hard work.
So Ross decided to do what any self-respecting geek would: “Rather than
going to all these boards and writing what I thought,” he says, “I just put
it in the songs.” Ross’s wordy, thesaurus.com-trolling lyrics constantly
break the fourth wall, addressing haters and lapsing into self-deprecating
asides. Call it meta-emo, a perfect writing style for a generation of
self-conscious online diarists. Or, as Urie sings, “We’re just a wet dream
for the webzines.”
It’s also a perfect way for Ross to remain armored and vulnerable at the
same time. His writing on Fever is inspired by experiences that embarrass
him — a nasty breakup with a longtime girlfriend and his father’s struggles
with alcohol — but he installs trapdoors of ironic detachment throughout
his confessionals.
This helps explain Panic’s division of labor: Urie belts out words Ross
would if only (a) he weren’t so cripplingly shy and (b) such a weak singer.
In Panic! At the Disco, the prized emo singer-spilling-heart-to-audience
dynamic takes a backseat to showmanship. So much so that, for Ross, “emo”
has become a dirty word. “It’s almost an insult,” he says. “We’ve totally
exceeded emo, which is so stagnant. Not to be cocky, but those bands aren’t
thinking outside the box.”
This past spring, Panic became message-board darlings again after the
departure of bassist Wilson, who was provisionally replaced by Jon Walker,
a former roadie the group met on tour. Panic described the decision as
unanimous — but Wilson told MTV that it had been a surprise, and that he
suspected the group had canned him to keep a bigger chunk of touring
profits. “The reasons we didn’t want him in the band anymore were
completely musical,” Smith counters. “We take this so seriously,” Urie
adds. “And Brent wasn’t bringing the same seriousness.”
That seriousness is on display at the Nokia Theatre show, which plays more
like musical theater than a rock gig. If the group’s Vegas roots show
through anywhere, it’s here: There are cabaret dancers and top hats —
unfortunately, the stage is too small for the group’s custom-built
windmill. What Scarface is to Jay-Z, Moulin Rouge is to PATD.
“I grew up watching a lot of musicals,” Urie says the next morning, eating
vegan pancakes at a downtown Manhattan restaurant. That pedigree is evident
from his precisely articulated, aiming-for-the-cheap-seats singing style —
it’s the sound of a high school misfit who decided to combat bullies with
fabulousness. “I’d get made fun of just because I’d put myself out there,”
he says.
This makes for one of the band’s happiest ironies: They’ve grown so big
that onetime tormentors have transformed into front-row shriekers.
“Sometimes it’s weird to see those people in the crowd,” Ross says,
“because if I saw them on the street they’d call me a fag.” For Smith, it’s
just sweet, sweet revenge. “When we go home, we see a bunch of kids that
used to pick on us,” he laughs. “And they end up buying our T-shirts!”
Evielangel (Panic_At_The_Disco) все записи автора
Я как увидела..... *ржОт*... все.. не могу больше говорить
! Мне понравилось, короче)) 
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