This is my fourteen year-old daugter’s (Spanky’s) review of the last two bands that played at Project Revolution 2007 (Dallas):
It seems that every time I see My Chemical Romance they get better, and this was no exception. It was a flawless performance. Well, not entirely, but the flaws had nothing to do with the music and more to do with the… interesting behavior.
I’ll chalk it all up to the possibility that Gerard was simply feeling… rambunctious yesterday, and entirely ignore a possibility that he’s totally gay.
Because those dance movements made me bury my head and say softly to myself, “No, noo, nooooo.”
Ray, the lead guitarist, was, as always, almost stoic in that all he did was stand there and play. I like that about him, he’s a no-nonsense and no-pretending-to-be-gay sort of guy, he just straight up rocks out. I could see him smiling, though, and I also like it when I can see someone truly enjoying themselves performing.
In truth, Ray Toro does not get the attention he deserves.
This, of course, was ended when Gerard told him to take off his shirt.
Well, he also told Frank to take off his shirt, and he complied, so he then got Ray to take off his shirt, too. The fangirls were drooling, and anticipating the possibility of Gerard taking off his shirt as well. Luckily he didn’t, because if he had he probably would’ve gotten attacked by one of those aforementioned rabid fangirls.
Of course, I’m sure it was a relief to be taking off all of that hot, black clothing, because they must have been absolutely roasting under the pressure of the Texas heat, as well as the spotlights, not to mention the pyrotechnics.
At first they scared me, then they fascinated me.
Because honestly, who can resist fire?
There were great columns of it shooting up from the machines whose purpose I now knew. Alternatively, they shot out firework-like things, and there was a point during “Welcome to the Black Parade” where another great machine rained sparks upon them.
And I, standing comfortably by my seat, hot and sweaty in a way but not as hot and sweaty as they were surely getting, could not help but think that this all seemed very dangerous.
I also felt a great wave of sheer pity for Bob, the drummer.
He was, after all, right next to the fire-machines, wearing a long-sleeved button-up black shirt, the sleeve of which he’d rolled up to his elbows. It must have been like an inferno, not to mention that he really, really pounds on those drums with all he’s got.
Also, Bob was the one who got a second-degree burn from some unruly pyrotechnics in one of their videos, so one could imagine that he was at least a little afraid of getting burned a second time.
It was when Gerard told the crowd to mosh and named a man in a Wrestlemania shirt the, “dance commander,” that I realized something about this crowd.
Simply put, they were not exactly overly enthusiastic.
This saddened me greatly.
I couldn’t even see Sir Dance Commander doing anything, much less the rest of the pit.
Sure, they would pump their fists in the air at times, but I didn’t really see any moshing or crowd-surfing.
Well, there went my entertainment for the night.
My Chemical Romance’s show was, I think, designed with the specific purpose of energizing the crowd. All of the songs they played were upbeat, with the exception of the song they played for closing, “Cancer.”
While I do very much love their fast-paced songs, I like seeing the maturity projected in their slower songs, the world-wariness and the wisdom.
There was one thing, though, that I missed dearly.
To make what would be a tedious, drawn-out paragraph full of adjectives commonly used whilst one is mourning, I missed Gerard acting all grown-up. I know we can’t act mature all the time, and maybe he just wanted to let loose and have fun, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Much.
Actually, there were two things I missed.
The second was Mikey, bassist and very cute brother of Gerard. Where are you, man? Your absence is being grieved right about now by about fifty thousand fangirls (myself included), you know. Well, I can’t blame you for needing time off to deal with stuff, but still. Poo.
I love watching “Cancer” live. I can feel the emotion in the air, heavy and heady, hanging around and building with each word and each chord struck on the piano until it’s nearly crushing. You can taste the sorrow, because a lot of the people there know what it’s like to lose someone. Every sadness is different, but they mix and mingle together, creating an atmosphere that’s been unrivaled at every single concert I’ve been to.
Gerard stands in the spotlight, singing along softly with the piano, the air vibrating with the emotion he’s able to convey through that amazing voice.
All too soon (and this time I really mean it), it’s over and the backdrop is gone and the instruments are being transported off by the roadies and people are starting to collect inside the auditorium-like thing, waiting.
Waiting for Linkin Park.
To be honest and not a kiss-up, I don’t really like Linkin Park. More like I really don’t like Linkin Park. They’ve got a few good songs, sure, but they’re not my type.
They set up, but I hadn’t really been paying attention.
In front of the stage were two very large expanses of thin, white material, veiling the stage.
And, of course, when the band got on stage we saw their silhouettes.
Leave it to musicians to have a thing for being melodramatic.
Instead of just having fun being silhouettes, they also had to have tons of colorful, flashing lights in the background.
There were enough strobe lights to make a horse epileptic.
Men around me were screaming like little girls and I was extremely disturbed.
Even if I don’t like Linkin Park too much and I wasn’t paying attention, really, I must admit that they played extraordinarily.
And, of course, the crowd actually got responsive. There were tons of crowd surfers, even if I couldn’t really see any mosh pits. Everyone was singing along and pumping their fists. People who had been lounging around outside of the auditorium-thing rushed in to watch and hear.
This influx of human life made for one very hot place.
And one smelly crowd.
I could feel the heat radiating off of all of the crazed fans, taste the sweat (which isn’t exactly delicious). All manifestations of the indescribable amount of heat were tangible at that time.
The band was also feeling this heat, which wasn’t surprising, seeing how many lights they had up. Originally, Bennington (because Chester is an awkward name) was wearing a black leather jacket, but he stripped down to a white tank top sort of shirt that ended up being totally drenched in sweat. You could see the sweat trickling off their faces on the big screens.
Personally, I think Bennington has a voice that is much more proper for something like opera. Don’t ask me why, I don’t really know. It’s a strange, strange thing.
We left before the actual end of the show, seeing as we didn’t really want to get stuck in post-concert traffic as we usually were and they’d played all of the songs we actually knew.
When I got home, all I really wanted to do was wash off all the sweat and go to sleep. I could feel its gritty presence on my skin, and that’s never pleasant.
Concerts are always so exhausting. -Spanky
If you missed Part One, check it out here.
For some shirtless shots of MCR, see MCR Unwrapped.
Edited Note: If you are a Linkin Park fan headed to Projekt Revolution, make sure to check out the booths where you can buy a live recording of Linkin Park’s performance for that night. How? You buy the code to download the audio off the internet the next day. Take it as a promise the show is going to be stellar if they are preselling live recordings. Linkin Park is one of the best live performances we’ve ever been. Chester Bennington’s voice is as close to perfect as it gets. He doesn’t even need a mic. LP’s performance makes good on their promise in terms of music, vocals, performance, energy, crowd interaction…It’s got it all. -Kitty