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Thursday, June 28, 2018
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com ARTS
Pray For The
Wicked
Panic! at the Disco
Fueled By Ramen
I would like to preface this review
by stating I am the person at Daily
Arts least expected to write it. I am by
no means a Panic! fan; it wasn’t until
recently that I finally put together
that the “closing the goddamn door”
song was their “I Write Sins Not
Tragedies.” For the longest while,
the band was nothing more than
word association for me: If someone
said “Panic! At The Disco,” I thought
Brendon Urie. Besides his name and
his Broadway stint performing in
“Kinky Boots,” I knew nothing about
the man. I always assumed there was
at least two or three other bandmates
to round out Panic, but it looks like
now that’s not even true.
I would say I took on this review
to write out of my musical comfort
zone, write about something that
doesn’t have its roots in hip hop or
R&B, but I won’t beat around the
bush with this review’s little secret: I
decided to sign up for it because my
wonderful girlfriend is a huge Panic!
At The Disco fan. So, without further
ado, I present the thoughts of a Panic!
neophyte (happily blinded by love)
on their latest release, Pray For The
Wicked.
From an initial listen of the album,
it’s clear Mr. Urie was inspired by his
time under the spotlight and his love
for musicals in general. The sound of
Pray For The Wicked is grounded in
peppy horns, backed by unobtrusive
basslines and drum patterns, the sort
of triumphant live instrumentation
commonly
heard
in
Broadway
recordings. At times, it seems like
the album could be easily adapted to
a stage production. The question is,
would the overarching story of that
musical be any good?
It seems like the only thing Urie has
to say on Pray For The Wicked is that
he’s made it; he’s overcome adversity
and avoided pitfalls that stop most
starving artists dead in their tracks.
While some tracks contain slight
musings on his religious roots, past
relationships and the wasteful nature
of drugs and alcohol, most refer back
to Urie’s rise to stardom.
Brendon Urie has basically become
a one-man show, so it’s no denying
that the lyrical content was written
by him and was majorly influenced
by his life up to this point. That’s not
to say Urie comes off as self-centered
with a Father John Misty-sized ego,
though. Pray For The Wicked seeks
to be inspirational, with most of the
songs functioning as celebrations of
following your dreams and finding
success, and reminding the listener
to never be complacent and always
aim higher. This is immediately
made clear, as Urie shouts “Fuck a
silver lining / ‘cause only gold is hot
enough” just 12 seconds into the
opening track.
Urie incorporates his life story into
this symphony of encouragement: He
was “shooting for the stars when [he]
couldn’t make a killing” on the chorus
of the insanely upbeat “High Hopes,”
the mania of his “Roaring 20s”
eventually resulted in him finding
an accepting new home on Broadway
and he even named on one of the
songs “Hey Look Ma, I Made It.” The
one song not grounded in some form
of positivity is album closer “Dying
In LA,” which explores a different
side of following your dreams, the
one that only results in lost hope and
breaking under pressure. In ending
the album with this hackneyed a
maxim — fame is not all it’s cracked
up to be — one realizes that Urie
does not have much original to say
throughout the whole of the album.
It’s the same motivating shindig
that’s been thrown thousands of
times before.
Yet music doesn’t have to be
complex
and
embellished
with
original meaning to be good. Pray
For The Wicked lacks real cohesion
and comes off as more a collection
of songs than an album, but it isn’t
supposed to be some profound
narrative that lands it a top spot on
multiple end-of-the-year lists. Panic’s
music has always been designed to
be sung along — individual verses
are often whispery, slower and not
terribly indicative of Urie’s incredible
vocal talent, while the high notes and
riffing are reserved for the choruses.
It’s almost like Urie knows his fans
are going to want to belt out the
catchy chorus and match his cadence,
so he rewards those who know all the
words a chance to rest their voices
with the intermediary verses.
While Pray For The Wicked
doesn’t entice me to test my singing
capabilities, that’s OK: I am not the
target audience. The album sustains
the same playful intensity most major
musicals reserve for their vigorous
bookending
numbers,
with
the
occasional sprinkle of an emotional
ballad here and there. Brendon Urie
knows his music doesn’t have to be
nuanced high art, so instead with his
latest effort as Panic! At The Disco,
he focuses on refining his fun, catchy
pop rock sound. Although it doesn’t
particularly toot my horn, hearing
it play in the car with my girlfriend
singing along from the passenger seat
certainly does bring a smile to my
face.
‘Pray For The Wicked’ is
fun, easy listening for all
MUSIC REVIEW
FUELED BY RAMEN
ROBERT MANSUETTI
Summer Senior Arts Editor
CLARA SCOTT
Daily Arts Writer
“Let’s turn off the blue lights,”
Iceage frontman Elias Bender
Rønnenfelt
muttered
at
the
beginning of their show last Friday.
Suddenly, the patient audience at
El Club was plunged into darkness.
Illuminated by the red glow of
the stage, Rønnenfelt and his
bandmates were magnetic, a sickly-
sexy collection of thin, stylish
Danes
with
serious
presence.
Packed into the small Mexicantown
venue, the crowd was hanging on to
their every move in a shifting mass
of noise and color. There are those
who say punk is dead, but really
it’s just different — now a spirit of
pure emotion, anger and joy fused
together into sound. That’s what
Iceage does best.
Formed in 2008 in Copenhagen,
the band’s first three albums were
a mix of punk rigor and rambling,
artistic soundscapes. Rønnenfelt’s
signature drawl moves through
each and every song on seemingly
only instinct. Their 2011 debut
garnered critical acclaim from
industry legends like Lester Bangs
himself, setting them onto a path of
success and earning them a devoted
following. In early May, Iceage
released a fourth studio record
titled Beyondless, and the growth
was clear. A perfect mesh of discord
and atmosphere, the album is a
high point for the group, and this
was all but obvious at their show
supporting it.
After an opening act comprised
of Detroit noise collective Wolf Eyes
and the soothing, looped beauty of
harpist Mary Lattimore, Iceage
brought down the house one song
after another. It was as if each tune
from Beyondless had been reduced
down to an essence, the expansive
scale of their studio production
boiled down into a series of
thumping beats, thick basslines and
eerie, yet moving guitar riffs. That
isn’t to say their live performance
isn’t just as striking. If anything, it is
a perfect translation of the intensity
their recordings evoke.
Rønnenfelt was born to be
a frontman. Dressed in a beige
twill suit and thin linen shirt, his
eyes light behind a veil of sweat-
laced hair. The singer staggered
around the stage for the duration
of their show, his trademark vocals
somewhat drowned out by a wall
of instrumental sound, but it didn’t
matter — his stage presence, along
with bandmates Jakob Tvilling
Pless, Johan Surrballe Wieth and
Dan Kjær Nielsen was incredible.
On album favorites like “Hurrah”
and “Painkiller,” audience members
yelled the lyrics just as he uttered
them, creating a dissonant choir set
against the music.
Those nearest to the stage
reached up to clutch at the vocalist’s
clothes as he came closer to the
edge, in reverence to his uncanny
hypnotic quality and the dazed
melodies accompanying him. In
another world, the 26-year old
could easily be a cult leader — his
performance has a sense of intense
gravitas that is strangely accessible.
After you realize he’s real, you want
to sit and have a drink with him.
Before the show, the band roved
around El Club’s small bar and exited
to the patio to smoke, accompanied
by Rønnenfelt’s girlfriend, and
powerhouse musician in her own
right, Sky Ferreira. Despite their
power onstage, for the venue’s
patrons Iceage was just four guys in
a band, mixing with their audience
in a communal appreciation of their
music.
It’s this balance between comfort
and edge that makes Iceage’s music
and performances so memorable.
The band’s greatest strength lies
in their ability to produce a sort of
dynamic tug between the melodic
and harsh elements of the post-
punk sound to create detailed
soundscapes which ebb and flow.
On Beyondless, they have refined
this skill to a point. On stage, they
are electric, meshing passion and
movement into ecstatic cacophony.
Iceage at El Club
prove themselves
SHOW REVIEW