Fifteen years in the past, a mysterious top-hatted determine and a parade of circus performers interrupted a marriage in a music video with an unconventional soundtrack: an lively pop-punk track with a bouncy, carnivalesque cello opening.
That is how Panic! on the Disco introduced itself within the “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” video, the primary from its 2005 debut album, “A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out.” Although the band has undergone many reinventions within the years since, it’s carefully related to its unique aesthetic: a particular theatrical sensibility that drew on the sound of early 2000s pop-punk whereas additionally referencing classic efficiency kinds — burlesque, vaudeville, outdated Broadway musicals — as an instance themes of duplicity, habit and damaged relationships.
The throwback theatrics had been tried earlier than by artists within the alt-cabaret house (the Dresden Dolls and the World/Inferno Friendship Society, for instance), however by no means this efficiently on a mainstream stage: The album went triple platinum and is the best-selling LP within the Panic! catalog. On its 15th anniversary, it stays a singular feat on the earth of pop — a industrial success constructed on a basis of melodrama and spectacle that concurrently satirized and celebrated it.
Panic! on the Disco shaped in 2004 in an appropriately over-the-top metropolis, Las Vegas, and was the primary act signed to Decaydance, an imprint of the label Fueled by Ramen, that was run by Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy. Fueled by Ramen’s aesthetic valued dramatics — not fairly the full-blown bombast of screamo and indulgent melancholy of emo, however music that was playfully ornate, stylishly calculated in its cynicism and sorrow, in all of the ways in which 2000s tradition was.
Even in 2005, a second remembered for its artfully swept hair and heavy eye make-up, the members of Panic! stood out. In photograph shoots, they wore outfits with a Baroque flounce: blazers and ruffled shirts, ascots and sleeve garters. Even their title got here with a showy burst of punctuation. And of their movies, they leaned into the form of storytelling that may unfurl on a Broadway stage.
The “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” video, directed by Shane Drake, introduces its setting piece by piece, in interrupted photographs: a white wedding ceremony ebook propped up subsequent to a white feather pen on a desk; a pastor holding a Bible. The narrative is offered like a three-act play: A pair plans to marry, however when the ceremony is interrupted by the arrival of the groom’s aspect — clowns, a person on stilts, a bearded girl — chaos ensues and the bride’s infidelity is revealed.
The band’s charismatic frontman, Brendon Urie, is the ringleader and grasp of ceremonies, possessing all of the omniscience and energy (although with markedly extra pizazz) of the Stage Supervisor, Thornton Wilder’s fourth-wall-breaking narrator in “Our City.” Urie is mesmerizingly hammy: His eyes pop and his mouth shapes every phrase with ferocious emphasis, then simply as rapidly breaks out right into a maniacal grin or a vicious sneer. He’s pointed in each gesture, sweeping out the tail of his jacket or showcasing a fluid choreography carried out by simply his left hand: It rides the rim of his hat again to entrance, clamps over his mouth, strikes out to the digicam, palm-first, then withdraws right into a fist. Every minute pose is struck in time with the beat.
The band’s subsequent single, “However It’s Higher if You Do,” a few man who ignores his girlfriend’s warnings to not go sing at an unlawful strip membership, begins in black and white earlier than dipping into coloration, “Wizard of Oz”-style, to indicate us the showgirls and lascivious patrons. It’s a very stage-worthy set and costume change, from the conservative home scene to the risqué outlawed joint. The person falls for a mysterious masked lady on the membership who’s revealed to be his girlfriend simply because the authorities arrive and haul them each off behind a police automobile. It’s a miniature efficiency with all the trimmings of an outdated Broadway song-and-dance manufacturing like “Chicago”: vaudeville numbers, infidelity, intrigue.
The identical is true of “Construct God, Then We’ll Discuss,” which launched the concept of a “pornomime” (a mime that acts out sexual eventualities). Within the video for this accordian-heavy track, a relationship between a lady and a pornomime sours when she confronts him for dishonest with an imaginary lover; she retaliates by having a mimed affair of her personal. It’s one other, extra exaggerated instance of the band’s obsession with performative gestures: As Urie sings a few “fantastic caricature of intimacy,” the mime crudely thrusts and snakes his tongue out and round. The video makes use of mimicry to poke enjoyable of the artifice of efficiency, how all of us willingly put money into one thing we all know is fiction, whereas concurrently asserting how even performances, although “pretend,” might reveal our true selves, and thus have actual penalties.
Movies apart, “A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out” is full of stagy interruptions and interludes. Its 37-second “Introduction” ends with an announcer’s voice proclaiming the album’s ethos: “Girls and gents, we proudly current a picturesque rating of passing fancy.” The jarring electro-dance “Intermission,” is interrupted but once more: “Girls and gents, as a result of circumstances past our management, we’re unable to proceed our broadcast of dance music.” The instrumental monitor then turns right into a gallant waltz on piano that may befit an outdated silent movie. Intrusions strike no less than twice extra, on “I Consistently Thank God for Esteban” and “London Beckoned Songs About Cash Written by Machines” — every of the band’s elaborate track titles its personal petit present of drama.
In a musical, a personality might get his personal theme or a track might reprise all through the manufacturing, serving as a reminder of the themes and tones which might be at work. Every repetition is an assertion, drawing the viewers’s consideration to a determine or characteristic. “A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out” makes use of this similar tactic, with the circus trope serving as virtually a set piece or perhaps a principal character, inseparable from the remainder of the album, even when it’s not middle stage.
Urie’s rambunctious tenor is dramaturgical in its personal proper. Armed with an exuberantly boyish timbre, his vocals rollick by means of the album’s melodies with exaggerated leaps and dips. It ought to come as little shock that the singer and songwriter has grow to be a theatrical star-figure — he had a stint on Broadway in “Kinky Boots” and wrote a song for the “SpongeBob SquarePants” musical.
Occasionally, the band’s thespian flourishes are winkingly self-referential. On the chorus to “Build God, Then We’ll Talk,” the band parodies the melody and lyrics to “My Favorite Things” from the beloved Rodgers and Hammerstein musical “The Sound of Music.” “There are no raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses/It’s sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses,” Urie sings. This grim take, however, is not an appraisal of the merits of this musical itself; it’s a cheeky editorial on all forms of pageantry, from the stage to the lies we tell in real life. And what better way to approach an extravaganza than with a beautiful spectacle of one’s own?