"I'm not OKAAAY" screams Gerard Way (lead singer with My Chemical Romance) and about a zillion overexcited fans. And you know what, he's right. I'm not okay. In-fact I'm the polar opposite of ok, with no way of ever leaving and I feel depressed, sorry for myself and rejected by everyone around me. Hmmm. Maybe this is what it feels like to be an Emo kid.
It was plain to see as soon as we walked into the venue that it was going to be an interesting night. Literally days after going on sale, tickets for MCR had sold out, and were selling on e-bay for thousands of pounds (a slight exaggeration perhaps, but one pair did go for about 50 quid, way more than their original street value), and the Academy was heaving with emotionally charged 14 year old kids. Never before have a felt so old (at the grand old age of 20), so tall and so mature. The boy I was with had hairs on his chest, and I could stay out as long as I wanted to. Man, I was smug.
After taking a closer look at the audience though, I felt apprehensive. These weren't just any teenagers, these were emo-kids. Dressed in the uniform of straightened black hair with a fringe swept across the face (did you know that the latest thing for the boys to have are peroxide hair extensions on one side of the head?), Converse trainers, black (or stripy) tops(preferably with a band with 'die' or 'death' in their name) and more piercings than you can shake a stick at (ideally one lip ring or stud, a nose ring, two plugs (one in each ear)and an undisclosed piercing hidden somewhere else on the body), these looked like people who would steal your dinner money without a second thought. The Punk rockers of their generation.
Ah, but how image isn't everything. When imaginatively titled N.Y.C support band EVERY TIME I DIE arrive on stage to ear-drum damaging screams of adoration, the crowd surges forward taking us with them. Hardcore music starts from the stage, with the lead singer sounding like he's being sick down the microphone (a good thing) and around us a circle forms. We get out of the way, experience telling us that people (normally fat and wearing
steal toe-capped boots) will start vigorously slamming into each other (sometimes with knives)- appropriate enough dancing for this kind of music.
Instead, two girls and a guy get into the ring and start pacing up and down, swinging their arms around like windmills and shaking their hair, looking like skinny sumo wrestlers warming up before a fight. It isn't scary, its farcical but from the look of awe on the faces of the teenagers around me it looks like I'm the only one who doesn't get it.
Every Time I Die [are this band assuming that humans are like cats harbouring more than one life? Or are they talking more metaphorically, with the "it was so embarrassing I thought I was going to die" kind of death that teenagers like talking about?] finish half an hour later with the bassist spitting up in the air and then catching it in his mouth. Nice- but man how everybody loves it. It seems like I'm the only person there who thought the band were a bit rubbish. Where was the tune? and the singing? and what on earth had happened to the band to make them so angry? Then it hits me, I've turned into my Dad. Radio 2 membership is only a whisker away and there's nothing I can do to escape.
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By the time MCR burst on stage, the screaming from the fans defying all science by being even louder than before, I'm sunk into deep depression. The band have the audience eating out of the palm of their hand; guitarist Toro Frank spits up into the air, and then catches it in his mouth and all the boys cheer in admiration, Mr Way smiles and all the girls wet their knickers.
"Clap your motherf***ing hands" he shouts, and everyone obeys.
"Form a moderately sized mosh-pit at the back" [to stop people getting crushed at the front] he screams, and hey presto, there's one right behind us. This isn't what I'm used to. Around me (drunken) casualties from the audience are being whisked away and every single person in the venue is singing along with the band to former single 'Helena', eyes tightly shut, devil horn hands punching the air with emotion. I feel unloved, left out and I want to go home.
But then the (dare I say it) 'music' stops. Gerard stands at the front of the stage (the drummer on his elevated platform presiding rather menacingly behind) and gets all serious for a second. He tells us that we are "not alone anymore" (I kid you not!), that "everyone is as fucked up as you" and "not to worry about a goddammed thing" (presumably their music will solve all worries).
His words, though, hit a chord with the audience and as the band start slow song 'Ghost Of You'the inevitable lighters start waving and everyone shares in a massive group hug as images of war are projected on screens behind the band.
It was an interesting night to say the least. An experience totally different to what my delicate indie self was used to, but lessons were learnt. Firstly I've decided that although hardcore music is not for me- I can (sort of) understand why others like it. It's passionate, angry and helps vent your emotions. It's also completely different from everything in the charts, and a great way to alienate your parents/ people older than you.
Secondly, image is everything. If you look good then people will think that you're cool, buy you drinks and let you stand in front of them. Lastly, to be a true Emo-kid you need to have lots of emotions but not of the cheerful kind. Smiling is social suicide and jokes should only ever be made in an 'ironic' way. They may only be (Emo) kids, but man it still hurts to be thought of as 'past it' in their presence.
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