Rachel Aroesti 

Panic! at the Disco: Pray for the Wicked review – a parade of emo-pop pizzazz

Now comprised of sole member Brendon Urie, PATD’s new album sounds very much like a musical on the theme of the trials of success
  
  

Hammy … Panic! at the Disco’s Brendon Urie.
Hammy … Panic! at the Disco’s Brendon Urie. Photograph: Burak Cingi/Redferns

In the mid-00s, Las Vegas outfit Panic! at the Disco made their name with a series of infectious if slightly overwrought emo-pop tunes, many of which sported memorably unwieldy titles (their Chuck Palahniuk-referencing debut single was called The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is Press Coverage). Like their similarly huge peers (Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance), PATD retained emo’s interior melodrama but crunched its sound into something more brashly melodic and overtly theatrical. PATD, in particular, put an air of jazz-handed camp front and centre – so much so that when vocalist Brendon Urie took the lead role in the musical Kinky Boots on Broadway last year, it didn’t feel like a career left-turn in the slightest. Urie used to be the group’s frontman – now he’s the only member.

Despite having shed five bodies over the past decade, PATD have retained their most distinctive features: namely, Urie’s hammy, vaguely reedy voice and dense lyricism (any trace of their rock roots have been expunged, however – this material is strictly pop). On their sixth album, he puts the latter to the service of a single theme: wildest-dreams success. He toasts his huge achievements on Hey Look Ma, I Made It, explains the logic behind his outlandish ambitions on High Hopes and feels entitled to the very best from life on (Fuck a) Silver Lining. The tone of Pray for the Wicked is hard to gauge. Its wordiness and high-octane maximalism mean it tends to resemble a musical – but whether this is a satirical portrait of an endlessly optimistic egotist or simply self-indulgent autobiography is unclear. Later songs touch on the malaise and self-destructive tendencies that can accompany wealth and fame, but since each track comes with the same onslaught of peppy brass, screwed-up vocal samples and showtune choruses, a narrative arc isn’t wholly obvious. Closing string ballad Dying in LA provides some respite from this parade of pizzazz, but ultimately it feels as glossy and one-dimensional as the rest. Urie undoubtedly knows how to put on an entertaining show, but this is a production that lacks the kind of intelligibility and depth necessary for real emotional engagement.

 

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