A self-crowned champion of teenage girl’s hearts, ex-My Chemical Romance front-man, Gerard Way, kicked off his solo tour at the atmospheric Ritz last night.
The New Jersey singer’s offering of ecstatic pop punk, filled with glisteningly crispy sing-alongs and toe-tapping rhythms buzzed with frenetic energy.
A man in his element, with a sultry voice of charisma and a devilish set of dance moves. Way moved with the crowd, his vocals seeping through them as they embraced him with open arms.
Just a few songs in, he preaches about his passion of people, of who they are and of what you can do. Not a man of politics but an orator who understands the politics of youth, thanks to his former band’s gigantic influence on the legions of teenagers that marched to his beat and sang his songs.
To them, he is their idol, a man that knew their hearts better than they knew themselves. So when he speaks to his disciples, every single word is championed, praised, rejoiced and most of all, embraced.
The songs come thick and fast, with his debut offering, Hesitant Alien played out in its entirety, songs barrelled off Way’s tongue and he truly held the crowd in the palm of his hands.
Action Cat was by far the highlight, a punk-fuelled stomp of aggression that echoes elements of his My Chemical Romance past, a hot-headed taste of teenage adrenaline, the lyrics ‘and we don’t care we just pretend/with our faces on the mend’ shouted loud and proud in the night.
The Ritz played host to a revolution, the rising of the masses that watched My Chemical Romance die in a sea of colourful, punkish dust.
But last night, they saw their leader reborn.
Way’s songs mashed Britpop with swaggering punk offering something different in a genre that has arguably already peaked as the former theatre played home to a wave of emotions on its stage.
Millions swept through the bodies, as they writhed to the drums and connected with their leader in orchestral unison.
The hands never stopped wavering in the purple illuminated haze of lights that surrounded the crowd and the fists refused to stop punching the abyss and the roars never died out.
It is Way’s symphony, he was Manchester’s director, its maker last night and he bowed down in a rousing, rapturous fashion.
His preaching, whilst at times, verged on the nauseatingly awkward, it seemed to connect with his core fan base, whilst those that were simply curious to see how’d he adapt in a solo setting, were quite unimpressed.
It was a performance that was dedicated to the legions that follow him, packed with emotionally weighted delivery but lacking that true crowd-winning edge that stands him apart from just the teenage heartthrobs.
Image courtest of BBC, via Youtube, with thanks.
