Panic at The Disco ! (The exclamation mark is becasue I'm excited)

Pop music isn’t really a place where the phrase ‘Blessing disguised at a curse’ is often applicable. No matter how much things may seem like they’re unfair, if you’re a pop star then you still probably have it better than the rest of us underpant wearing schmucks.

Take Panic at the Disco for example. Their blessing/ curse came when Myspace, the perennial hangout of 13 years and men-wishing-they-were-13-year-olds, and Fallout Boy (a bunch of men acting like 13 year olds) launched the band to relative fame. Assuming that teenage bedroom walls are a valid form of communication, then you couldn’t walk (or surreptitiously hide under any beds) without equating their synth heavy music and pseudo-androgyny to some kind of zeitgeist forming scream (or whine...)

After reflecting on Pretty Odd, it’s unfortunate that their first effort A Fever You Can't Sweat Out, had all the artistic integrity of a super group that comprises of the members from Milli Vannelli and early Monkees. But if there was ever a curse that involved large bagfuls of money and legions of screaming (although sadly not legal…) teenage girls, then Panic at the Disco must have been smited by every Witch North of…wherever witches don’t live.

A record inspired by the (sometimes) convention blind pop music of the 1960’s, their 2007 effort, Pretty Odd opens with Do You Know What I’m Seeing?; at song that feels like as much a nihilist take on Why Does It Always Rain On Me? as it is a homage to Sgt Peppers and Pet Sounds.

The Wilson/Lennon love continues throughout the CD, blending them with more modern baroque elements.

Not all the songs sound owe their genesis to those two bands. She’s A Handsome Woman sounds like a Kinks track from way back, and I Have Friends In Holy Space feels a little like Sinatra (a little...). Folkin’ Around- a detour that it’s as unexpected as it is a misnomer (that is Country, thank you very much…)-has an intricate –and sweet- feel that belies the bands inexperience in song writing.. The confessional lyrics are at their most piercing, and the Nashville theme suits the mood, as Brandon Urie reminisces over lost summer loves.

If anything, it feels like Panic at the Disco are trying to stuff a cacophony of ideas into a CD that’s too early in their career. It’s obvious that the band loves the Beatles opus’ Sgt Peppers (although the drummer isn’t writing any surprisingly good songs), but that was one of the original fab fours final records. They had been together for over half a dozen albums when they released that.

In contrast, the members of Panic are only 20 years old- almost too young to grow the beard that they ponder cutting off in the long winded The Piano Knows Something That I Don’t.
Occasionally it feels like the band puts more work into song titles than songwritingy, which is certainly decent (and a vast improvement over Fever. Lyrics range from musing on the effects of fame (The Green Gentleman) to the landlocked and plainspoken Northern Downpour.

It’s easy to accuse Panic of doing a ‘Mayer’; getting into the public zeitgeist –and creating a formidable fan base- with a radio friendly album, then reverting to what they originally wanted to do.

Unlike Mayer, they may not be able to find a new audience, as it’s feasible that this CD is going to be as appealing as being Judas Iscariot with Leprosy. Anybody who endured passing snippets of their first album (or worse, didn’t endure anything and just jumped onto the already careening bandwagon) is going to automatically disregard this CD. The spate of emotion shadowing the band belies their true strength; their ability to write catchy, melodically pleasing pop songs.