Let me just start off by saying I don't hate My Chemical Romance. Don't get me wrong. I don't own any of their music, and I think they're pretty laughably ridiculous, but I don't HATE them. They play their instruments and write their own stuff and at least they try to write big demanding songs. Sure their efforts to fly in the rock god stratosphere fail when they feel the harsh snap of a cold chain, tethered to a steel ball, super-glued to earthbound mediocrity, but, hey, they're not Fall Out Boy or Good Charlotte.
But frontman Gerard Way is making it REALLY hard for me to maintain my generous non-hatred stance. For one, he felt the need to let reporters know that sometimes on the road he battles depression with literature
:
'I usually bring a copy of Catcher In The Rye around with me on the road and if I get depressed. I have moments in my life where I feel kind of strained and it's a really good book for that because it kind of clears your head.'
Wow. That's awkward. I went through an embarrassing period in High School where I slicked my hair back, tried not to talk to anyone, and carried Notes From Underground around with me. In my defense: I was 17, it lasted one week, and, perhaps most importantly, it was Dostoevsky. But a grown man walking around with junior high school fodder? Ouch.
It's the kind of thing an over-dramatic thirteen year old girl would do. Oh, and speaking of that, Way recently told reporters
some exciting stuff about recording at the Paramour Mansion:
'A lot of crazy stuff happened.... were in the kitchen making coffee and this door slammed in front of us. It was this door to the basement that nobody ever went into and we just ran like girls.'
Yeah. That's kid of a deal-breaker. I can't help you, Gerard. At this point, I think Brandon Flowers could probably take you in a slap fight.
Let me just start off by saying I don't hate My Chemical Romance. Don't get me wrong. I don't own any of their music, and I think they're pretty laughably ridiculous, but I don't HATE them. They play their instruments and write their own stuff and at least they try to write big demanding songs. Sure their efforts to fly in the rock god stratosphere fail when they feel the harsh snap of a cold chain, tethered to a steel ball, super-glued to earthbound mediocrity, but, hey, they're not Fall Out Boy or Good Charlotte.
But frontman Gerard Way is making it REALLY hard for me to maintain my generous non-hatred stance. For one, he felt the need to let reporters know that sometimes on the road he battles depression with literature