[Hometown]
Panic at the Disco
Pretty. Odd.
*** 1/2
Having lost an exclamation point, replaced a member and amassed legions of both fans and haters since their smash debut—a pop-punk-cabaret ode to all things Pro Tools—Panic at the Disco’s three Vegas sons (and Chicago-based bassist Jon Walker) have a lot riding on their second album. Eyebrows were raised once they scrapped their original tracks, recorded in a Mount Charleston cabin with A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out producer Matt Squire one year ago. Was turning instead to noted arranger Rob Mathes and holing up in the Studio at the Palms the right decision? Did they miraculously withstand the crushing pressure? Very surprisingly, Panic not only avoids a sophomore slump, but also delivers a classic-rock-informed, mature-beyond-their-years follow-up that wildly surpasses expectations.
Where 2005’s Fever featured all-frills bombast, lyrics seemingly written with a dictionary at hand and an awful lot of pretension for high schoolers whose discography consisted of a few message-board demos, Pretty. Odd. signs out of MySpace, ditches the eyeliner and regresses. It’s just as over-the-top as its predecessor (and those notoriously theatrical live shows), but instead of varying hues of black, the colors shift to a swirling rainbow of ’70s psychedelia.
Guitarist/primary lyricist Ryan Ross has curbed his penchant for cynical, laboriously detailed short stories, instead penning abstract poetry concerning clouds, moons, stars, sugarcane and weather vanes. Vocalist Brendon Urie follows suit, replacing his subtle facetiousness with a mellow warmth that permeates the cascading, multi-tracked harmonies of heavenly hookup “When the Day Met the Night” and head-bobbing first single “Nine in the Afternoon.” Even when such lyrics as “But who could love me?/I am out of my mind” (from “She Had the World”) convey regret, the vibe remains sun-kissed and dewdrop-fresh.
Just as My Chemical Romance delved into Queen, Panic recently immersed itself in Beatle-ology. The quartet takes a more collaborative approach to songwriting this time around, introducing all manner of horns, strings, keys, woodwinds and the odd harmonica and mandolin in the process. While Urie’s phonographic interlude “I Have Friends in Holy Spaces” and backwoods stomp “Folkin’ Around” are the jauntiest, most eclectic of the bunch, more interesting are the flurry of chimes that is “The Piano Knows Something I Don’t Know” and acid-soaked closer “Mad as Rabbits,” which boasts a Wurlitzer. It’s no shock the venerable Abbey Road Studios hosted mixing sessions; at times it appears the band stopped just short of sprinkling in a little sitar for good measure.
The album’s title borrows from the opening lines to “That Green Gentleman (Things Have Changed)”: “Things are shaping up to be pretty odd/Little deaths in musical beds/So it seems I’m someone I’ve never met.” Cryptic stuff, yet there seem to be allusions to that pesky pressure, the dehumanizing nature of fame and an optimistic outlook on success. Panic’s has been a story mighty trippy in its own right; a fairy-tale beginning that by any statistical measure shouldn’t have a happy ending, let alone a second chapter. Nevertheless, the band proves that though the odds certainly aren’t pretty, it’s well on its way to beating them.