January 14, 2007Dreaming I'm Alive (Part 4)
Lights and blurs and colours and music pounding and scorched brain.
The hands take mine and lead me again. They stop and move to my cheeks. I feel something wet on my lips. And then the kiss deepens. The hands stroke my face and my neck and my back. They move round to my stomach and tease the hem of my shirt. My own somehow entangle in hair, long curly hair… I open my eyes. Hayley. What?! The alcohol pulsing in my veins slows my otherwise speedy reactions. I stop the kiss and the hands. The girl looks at me and smiles. Lips against mine. The kiss deepens again… Stop. I get up and stumble out of the room. Tangles of limbs and bottles again. Pulsing blood and pulsing music and pulsing brains. I find another door. Chilling air hits me as I open it. I stagger over the threshold and taste sick. Cold floor against cold face. Darkness. ……………………………… “Erin?” a muffled voice is calling me. “Wake up…Erin? Erin, please…wake up!!” the voice is closer. I open my eyes. Blurs and light. Painful head. A face blurs in and out of focus. Ryan. “Erin! Oh my god, you scared me so much!” He strokes my face. “Can you sit up? How do you feel?” “Uh…ok I guess…” I feel his arms behind me, helping me into a sitting position. He looks at me, concern painted on his pretty face. I look up and notice that a fair few people are stood close, looking at me too. I can still here music inside. I can’t have been out for too long. “What happened?…Where’s Hayley?” “Um…I found you a few minutes ago, but I don’t know how long you were out before then…and I don’t know where Hayley is, she must be somewhere inside…” He turns to look at the door, as if expecting her to come bounding round the corner. Nothing. Typical. Why did I even come to this stupid party? I knew it was a bad idea… And Hayley wonders why I hate plastics and preps and their stupid parties?! And where the fuck is she, anyway? Ryan looks concerned again, mistaking my silence for a relapse. “I’m fine.” I say shortly. I make to get up and Ryan jumps up to help me. “So…what happened before you collapsed?” Guilt is evident in his eyes and I remember how I had stormed off earlier. “Oh…I just drank too much I guess, it’s not your fault!” He hugs me awkwardly, not the most tactile of people. “Well, as long as you’re sure you’re ok now?” I nod. “Look, I think I’m gonna get a taxi home or something…I really don’t wanna stay here.” He simply nods in response, knowing there’s no point in arguing. “well, I’ll at least wait with you ‘til your cab gets here, that k?” We walk together to the front of the house and I call a cab. We wait and shiver together in a potentially awkward silence, though I don’t really notice. Numbness eats at my brain, carrying on where the alcohol left off. I don’t want to think about anything that happened or could happen or will happen. The cab pulls in and I kiss Ryan goodbye on the cheek. I give my address to the driver, and watch Ryan wander up the path and disappear into the house with his beautiful stranger as the cab pulls away. Minutes later I pay the cabby and drag my feet to the door. I fumble with my keys in the lock, open the door and turn on the hall light. I grab some water in the kitchen before I creep to my room. Despite the filth and sick and beer on me, I collapse on my bed fully clothed, and on top of my duvet and fall into an uneasy sleep.
Posted on 01/14/2007 2:37 PM Comments (2)
January 3, 2007Dreaming I'm Alive (Part 3)Rated: 15 (?)
“When your shirt came off It was all in time When an m m m minute Turned into a mile” Eyes shut. Breathing Heavy. “And I broke that grin And I cut it out And you got all turned on By the taste of your sin” Nostalgia clouding my brain. Me and Her. “When I mentioned blue; All you thought was colour When you mentioned drugs; All I thought was sober When your pants came off; And I turned you over When I mentioned blue…” ***knock*** ***knock*** Fuck. I quickly button my fly and straighten my clothes; checking my hair in the mirror as I pass it. I silently thank God for the lock on my door as I unbolt it. A gasp escapes my lips as I see Ryan standing there. “Oh, it’s you.” I say shortly. He just stands there with a goofy grin spread across his face. I raise an eyebrow and he pouts. I try to stay annoyed at the interruption by this hopeless boy, but can’t resist the smile creeping across my lips; replacing my frown. “Are you gonna come in? Or did you just come over to decorate my doorway?” I try and keep my voice stern, but the whole angry thing is failing dismally; why was this inept and slightly nerdy boy so goddamn adorable? He chuckles as he bounds into my room, knocking into the desk in his clumsy haste to get to my beanbag first. I go to automatically pick up my fallen possessions, as I am so used to doing, and laugh at the genuine concern on his face. I brush away the accident as always, and instead look quizzically at him. “Why did you come over?” He looks sheepish and starts to pick at a loose thread in his Dresden Dolls T-shirt. I wait, knowing he will spill eventually. He opens his mouth to speak, but simultaneously a vibration in my pocket signals a phone call, and I raise a finger to silence the poor boy. ***Phone Conversation Begins*** “Hello?” “Erin, it’s Hayley?!” I pause, puzzled, then notice the time on my Buzz Lightyear alarm clock: 5:30pm. “Shit! Sorry Hun, I completely lost track of time…Ryan came over…” I turn away from the indignant boy mouthing, “Don’t bring me into it!” “Whatever…are you coming now then?” “Yeh sure Hay, I’ll be over as soon as possible. I’ll get my mum to drop me round. I’ll see you in 10, k?” Oww!!! I rub my belly and look down to see the disgruntled look of a rejected boy; his guilty finger raised. “Oh, and can Ryan come?” I sigh. “Umm…I guess” “Thanks, right see you in a sec!” ***phone conversation ends*** The frown below me turns to a grin, and he flounces from my bean bag and disappears round my door. I roll my eyes and quickly stuff my drainpipes, studded belt and eyeliner into a bag, grabbing my toothbrush as I follow Ryan’s path from my room and down the stairs into the kitchen. After minutes of car keys, whines and exhaust fumes, we arrive at Hayley’s house. Predictably she is waiting outside, sat on the path fidgeting and playing with her hair. When she sees the car pulling in she jumps up and opens the door so I practically fall onto the pavement, then I am dragged by my elbow up the path before I can even say goodbye to my mum. I wave pathetically and Ryan thanks her before making his way from the car. Once we are all congregated in the hallway we trudge up the stairway into Hayley’s room. She opens the door and a faint smell of vanilla and candy fills my nostrils. The room is laced with colour. Vibrant and quirky objects line shelves and furniture. Equally interesting clothing line the floorboards. I pause unconsciously at a poster of The Dresden Dolls and turn, eyebrow raised (a regular habit of mine), to question her; but instead am faced with her pretty face and her hands pulling at my hair as she whines, “Ooh…Can I pleeeeeeeeese straighten your hair?! It looks so perty all straight!” She pouts, and how can I resist that face? Seriously, I’m such a push-over, and her and Ryan obviously know how to manipulate me…curse the pouting!! Hehe Hayley just looks at me, still pouting, with her big brown eyes… “Ok!! Whatever…just let me change first.” Erin, you seriously need to get a grip, that girl has you wrapped around her little finger! Half an hour later, we are all ready. Hayley is wearing denim drainpipes and a sparkly top, her hair in perfect golden curls and her eyes framed in blue. Ryan is still in his Dresden Dolls shirt but is now sporting eyeliner and an artistic use of straighteners on his pretty hair. They both look beautiful. I look in the mirror at my own petite frame clothed in drainpipes (what else) and a few layered tops. I buckle my studded belt and look into my own green eyes as I smother them in eyeliner. My mind threatens to wander, to a hot place of sand and sea and perfection, but once again I am dragged back to reality by persistent friends. “Come on!! Your eyes are black enough…” After more minutes of car keys whines and exhaust fumes, though now with an extra whiner, we arrive two streets away from Gemma’s house (the venue of the party). “Why have we stopped? “ I ask. Hayley just pulls me unceremoniously out of the car, yelling back to her mum to pick us up tomorrow at 9am from the same spot. Ryan exit’s the car by himself (why is it always me that is dragged everywhere?!), and joins us as we walk round the corner into the next street. I stop walking and look at Hayley, “Why did we stop streets away?!” She just looks determinedly at me, preparing to argue. “Well?” I wait, “Please don’t tell me that you made us walk two streets just so that you didn’t have to be seen dropped of by your mum at this stupid excuse for an orgy disguised as a party!?! Since when have you cared what these preps and plastics think???” “Why do you have such a problem with the people you call ‘preps’ and ‘plastics’? what is so wrong with them? And what makes you so goddamn superior?!” I don’t know what I was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. I can do nothing but stare, stunned, into her beautiful eyes now burning with fire and moist with tears. I look helplessly at Ryan, pleading silently, but he just looks awkwardly at his feet. Silence. Then Hayley suddenly wakes from her fiery stupor to storm past both me and Ryan, heading for Gemma’s house at the end of the street. Mine and Ryan’s eyes meet and me both make after her, though neither of us are big runners. By the time we get to the front door Hayley has already disappeared in the midst of the colourful people. Ryan and I clamber through them, climbing over the occasional fallen drunk. The stench of alcohol and sweat engulfing our foreign nostrils and, combined with the overpowering beat of dance music, makes me feel slightly dizzy. I touch Ryan’s arm and signal that I want to sit down. We find a sofa and clear it of empty beer cans. We sit together for minutes or maybe hours. Occasionally one of us would attempt to make conversation but the music would drown us out so in the end we just gave up, and resorted to crude sign language. After a while of seeing nothing of Hayley and only ridiculous teens stumbling about and exchanging saliva, an attractive boy with dark hair and tight trousers approached our sanctuary. I looked sideways to see Ryan beaming up at the stranger, and noticed how the stranger smiled back. I try and speak or get Ryan’s attention but they are both enchanted by each other. After a few minutes I give up and storm off, leaving my seat to be filled by the small frame of the new boy. I roll my eyes and make a sound of frustration as I try and make my way through the tangle of limbs until I reach a door. Opening it, a rush of cold air hits my face and I sit down hard against the outside wall of the house. I feel the burn of tears behind my closed eyelids and don’t resist as the water flows down my cheeks. I never cry. I feel so stupid and hopeless. Ever since I got back I’ve been a complete bitch to my only friends. I’ve completely upset Hayley and now she could be anywhere at this stupid place, probably getting completely trashed on whatever she’s offered, legal or otherwise, and then doing god knows what with some sleazy guy. And Ryan, who can really blame him for wanting alternative company? I’ve hardly been what you’d call sociable all evening. I wonder what he’s doing? And what about Her? Isn’t she the reason for all of this? The thing that’s making me feel so bad and out of control… Just then, a figure stumbles out of the doorway beside me and I look up into a familiar face. Hayley looks down at me and offers a friendly hand. She pulls me into a standing position and giggles. “What were you doing down there?” She slurs her words. That’s the only reason she’s talking to me then. She’s drunk. What was I just thinking?! “Where have you been? How much have you had to drink?” She just laughs at me and offers the bottle in her hand. I take it. All my morals about anti-alcohol disappear as I just want to forget. I down the remainder of the contents of the bottle and feel a burning in my throat. I gasp and cough as the empty bottle falls to the ground. Hayley smiles and leads me back into the party. The stench now much worse and the heavy music pulsing in my brain. She leads me through the endless tangle of bodies and bottles to the kitchen where she grabs two more drinks from a table and has them opened by some girl who she appears to know. I grab the bottle from her hand and drain it. I take another and another and another until I can barely make the bottle reach my lips. Someone speaks, “I think you’ve had enough!” Then hands take mine and lead me back into the buzz of the party. My inhibitions gone, I dance and jump with the rest and see nothing but blurs and colours and lights.
hope you liked it!!! please comment and stuff if u can =D xxx
Posted on 01/03/2007 3:27 PM Comments (1)
December 9, 2006'Dreaming I'm Alive' Part 2Author's Note: not much to say...just hope you guys enjoy it i guess! amd please comment with any suggestions or tell me if it sucks please...thanks =)
Golden sand and crystal sea. Waves gently lapping onto the shore. Sunlight playing across skin and reflecting in perspiration. The air tinged with salt and eased by a breeze no more than a whisper. Her. Lying in her arms, protected. The beating of her heart in my ear. That safety. Nothing in the world could hurt me. Nothing in the world mattered. Time had stopped, and all that is there in this place, beyond all human measures of time and space, is me and her. She opens her mouth, as if to speak or sing… I forget the difference… “Erin!! For goodness sake, girl.” Oh crap…I am forcefully pulled from heaven by Satan him, scratch that, herself… “Are you listening?” Yeh, sure I am, ‘cos your lessons are oh so interesting… “well?” she taps her foot impatiently. “No…” I mumble quietly, I hear a badly muffled snigger from across the room. “Well I suggest you drag yourself from your fairy world and listen to this (she points at the board), ‘the use of quadratic formulae in relation to Pythagoras’ theorem’, and you can stay behind to copy up the notes you’ve obviously been too busy to copy down now” she looks pointedly at the empty pages of my maths book and stalks back to the front of the class. I feel my cheeks blushing crimson and hear again the now not so muffled snigger, I look across and see Grace and her prep crony’s giggling childishly behind their hands and obviously looking at me. I look down into the empty pages below me as if by staring hard enough they would reach out and envelope me… Right at that moment I would have given everything and anything for those arms to wrap themselves around me. For that feeling of safety. For her breath on my neck… “ERIN PALMER!!!” I practically fall of my chair with fright at the bulbous nose now uncomfortably close to my own cute button one and the scarily pulsing veins in the hag’s temple… I make a mental note to appreciate the cuteness of my nose in future…and never let my breath get that gross… I brace myself… “ERIN PALMER, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU!!! QUIT DAYDREAMING IN MY CLASS!!!! DETENTION!!!!!” I look down at my still empty pages and ignore the now tedious sniggers… At that point the bell signalling the end of first period issues from the speaker in the corner…I know it’s the oldest cliché but I was so relieved…‘saved by the bell’ and all that… [Eugh, I just used a cliché…] Anyway, at least the attention of the class was now turned to something other than me… I wait until the rest of the class has left then brace myself in preparation to face the wrath of The Hag…a seemingly regular occurrence these days… 10 minutes later I rush into my English class panting and, with a hasty apology to a confused looking Ms Verona, I take my seat next to Hayley at the back of the class. “You survived then” she whispers under her breath “ This time…though I guess I’m used to it by now...that bitch hates me…” “Yeh, you’re not her favourite huh…” “Anyway, the party tomorrow night, you going?” “Hey! What happened to sympathising with me over the unfairness of how I am penalised [hehe that word makes me chuckle…I’m immature, get over it] by that hag at every opportunity!” I had let my voice rise absent-mindedly and now a fair few people were looking back at us… “Shhh! People are staring…” “Gees Erin, what’s up with you? Ever since you came back from Greece you’ve been really teasy…talk to me!” she pouts. I avoid her gaze….how can I tell her? “What time is it?” “The party I couldn’t shut you up about two minutes ago!” She looks at me in utter disbelief “You hate those parties” “So…that doesn’t mean I cant go”
“Whatever…so what time is it??”
“Ok, I’m coming round yours before though, ‘cus I don’t wanna go in on my own...” “Umm…k, well I’ll see u at 5 then…we’d better do something now though, or else miss’ll be over and you’ve already got enough detentions today…” “One!” I protest. She pointedly gets her pen and starts to write while I just sit there absent-mindedly chewing the top of my own… What did I just do?? Why the hell did I agree to go to that lame excuse for party, where all that happens is all the jocks and preps and plastics get stupidly trashed, make out with some pervy guy then proceed to puke up everywhere and not remember a single thing the next day when they’re unsticking their face from the side of the bath and wondering how the hell they got there and who the hell the guy is lying on the floor snoring loudly… Oh, and I forgot to mention, everyone who will be there hates me!! Great. In case you hadn’t realised, this was not going to b my idea of fun…Erin. You are a moron.
Posted on 12/09/2006 2:13 AM Comments (1)
November 29, 2006Dreaming I'm Alive (this is the promised 'fanfic' type thing...)Author's Note: um...well this is my first fanfic (i know there's no celebs but woteva) so please tell me what you think but dont b too harsh...any mistakes/improvements please tell me...any requests for more, ditto. enjoy...i guess...
Dreaming I'm Alive... I felt the sunlight on my face before I even opened my eyes. I could hear the lark singing her lament to the dawn… This morning was so perfect, yet there was something missing… My mind, still scorched with sleep, felt strangely numb… Then it hit me. In icy waves. Slowly washing over me. Suffocating me. The feathers of comfort now incarcerating me, pulling me downwards.
Her. The smell of her hair, the taste of her skin. Those eyes. The doorways to her soul. They would melt me, persuade me, bury me and consume me. Her chiselled features radiating perfection. The beauty in her body, like her beloved sea had carved her from stone. The warmth of her breath still playing across my cheek and her blazing fire creating my safety. Slender and elegant fingers accentuating her gestures, the soft jingle of her bangles somehow tuneful. Her olive skin, soft and radiant, complementing her sleek black hair. My Juliet. My Aphrodite. She is mine and I am her’s.
Shall I abide in this dull world? Which in her absence, is no better than a sty?… Numb.
Stop. Just stop. The poetry, the romantic lies. It was for one week. That is all. You cannot fall in love with someone in a week. Romeo and Juliet did. That is not real! I think you’ll find it is based on fact Yeah, so its not strictly true. And Shakespeare was a sensationalist. You have no argument. Cant you just except that there was something in it…. Jees, you should seriously quit with the Shakespeare obsession. You like him too! Yeah, not for the same reasons….I’m not a hopeless romantic… Look, you were on holiday, you met a girl, your body induced feelings of euphoria that deluded your ‘heart’ into thinking you were in love…get over it.
Maybe I am being ridiculous…maybe there is no sense in the way I’m feeling…she probably can’t even remember me anyway… I desperately try and force all thoughts of her from my brain, falling from my bed into my clothes; manipulating my hair into some kind of halfway acceptable style and grabbing some toast as I head for the door. …and you might say it's self-indulgent Fills my ears as I reluctantly return to my reality. The school bus pulls in and the usual bustle follows, as to who gets to sit by the window and the hissy fits when friends are separated; I resume my usual seat, near the back on my own. …& pens and penknives take the blame As I stare out the window at passers-by, going about their usual business, collecting milk and papers from their doorsteps, cursing at the prat trying to get to work that few minutes faster and causing miles of backlog from his insensitivity… I wonder how can the world be so normal? …when I jab a sharpened object in The bus pulls into its bay but I make no inclination to suggest that I wish to vacate my seat. I wait, as usual, until the last first year whines from my presence before I casually sweep down the aisle out into the frosty air. My breath appearing in clouds before my face, ironically reminding me of how warm it was there…with her… “Fuck! Did you want to creep up on me??? God Hayley!” “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but you really shouldn’t have both earphones in, you’re just asking to be abused…” “whatever” I make for a sudden gap in the colourful crowd. Following me, “A week part from me, and all I get on your return is ‘whatever’? Gee, thanks. I m glad my friendship is worth so much to you!” She pouts and pulls ‘her face’. “Look, I’m sorry…I’ve just…got things on my mind…” I smile reluctantly at the mock-hurt expression lying on her face, “anyway, have you missed me??” “ Of course not…(she laughs) anyhoo, you haven’t told me about your holiday?? How was it?? I hear Greece is beautiful this time of year, you look all golden! Hahahaha… Meet anyone?” I reply sarcastically, “No, I spent the entire week with my head in a paper bag with no human contact…” “You know what I mean…any boys???” “Um…not exactly…”
hope it was ok... i will only carry on if i get some comments so i guess its up to you... =D thanks for reading =D
Posted on 11/29/2006 1:07 PM Comments (1)
November 26, 2006Potential 'FanFic'....opinions please...well....i have been reading a lot of fanfics lately and i want to write my own.... but can i write one about non-famous people?? will u guys still read it? please tell me what u think...thanks xxx
Posted on 11/26/2006 10:01 AM Comments (0)
November 23, 2006um....i was in a random journal posting mood??....I am despondently happy I am coherently ineloquent I am emotionally phlegmatic I am predictably impetuous I am an outgoing introvert I am loyally treacherous I am socially antagonistic I am lovingly rejected I am explicitly equivocal I am lucidly derranged I am an oxymoron, yet I make perfect sense
Posted on 11/23/2006 12:14 PM Comments (0)
November 17, 2006NME interviewum...i no that theres quite a lot of ppl that wanted to read this interview but couldnt find it so here u go....
Panic! At The Disco - the new radiohead? Don't bet against these cerebral, stylish, nu -Vegas showmen, who prove once and for all that the Reading bottler got the wrong man. It's Friday night in Manhattan and New York's lit up like a Christmas tree. The view from Panic! At The Disco bassist Jon Walker's suite at the ultra-upmarket W hotel takes in Times Square in all its grizzly, gaudy glory. The window frames an advertising hoarding comprising a 30-ft high bottle of Corona beer. The bassist jokes that he woke up that morning with an irrestible urge to buy a six-pack. The gag here is that anyone in Panic! At The Disco would buy beer at all. At a shade over 21, Walker is the only member of the band legally eligible to drink in their home country; not that the others are unduly bothered, mind. Guitarist Ryan Ross and drummer Spencer Smith claim never to have touched a drop, while singer Brendon Urie got drunk twice on the band's European tour earlier this year and has, he proclaims with the misplaced certainty of youth, "done drinking". "We have seen too many episodes of [muck-raking VH1 documentary series] Behind The Music and so many bands just get destroyed by doing stupid things", offers Ryan by way of explanation, although it's also worth noting that his father, who passed away two months ago, was an alcoholic. "And we've been on tour with bands where one member's onstage drunk and it just affects their performance a lot", adds Smith. Panic! find themselves in the Big Apple for Las Vegas compatriots The Killers, who are playing a low-key comeback show across town. However, having got wind that NME were in town, and fearing some sort of stitch-up (as if!), panic at the Killers show ensued. Perhaps mindful of his press-fuelled feud with Fall Out By, Brandon Flowers wilted, and the 10 tickets Panic!'s management had bought suddenly disappeared. The band, genuinely disappointed, are all fans of The Killers and instead try to hatch plans to gatecrash the aftershow, although there's some debate as to whether Panic! will even be able to get in (Brendon will later be asked for ID and refused entry to his own hotel bar) and the notion is nixed in favour of watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle cartoons on the suite's wall-mounted 40-inch plasma screen. "The whole feud thing was odd because we've never even met them," says Spencer in between games of C-Lo, a dice-gambling game that represents Panic!'s sole vice (well, they are from Vegas after all). "A year ago they were the big hot band from Vegas and a year later we're the big hot band, and I think he said in his apology that he was jealous. I still like The Killers and would like to meet anyone in the band, but this might be the little thing our bands have." Taking a slug from his second beer of the night, Jon Walker reflects on the situation in somewhat less charitable fashion: "Brandon Flowers? That fucking guy can rot in hell!" We reconvene at a photo studio in New York's more-fashionable-than-it-sounds-meat-packing district the next morning. Walker, a recent replacement for sacked bassist Brent Wilson, and, as a Chicagoan, the only member of the band who didn't grow up in Vegas suburbs, looks somewhat the worse for wear. He says that the rest of Panic! don't have a problem with his drinking ("It's not as if I'm an alcoholic..."), but the wisdom of their abstinence is writ large. As Ryan, Brendon and Spencer select their outfits from the racks of designer garments in one corner of the room, Jon lies flat out on a sofa, sweating out a late night. That aside, the band, it has to be said, look fantastic. Dressed in clothes seemingly collated from Marc Jacobs, Yves Saint Laurent and Dolce & Gabbana's 'dandy fop' collections, and wearing thick swathes of slap, they look like they could be the house band from a Tim Burton remake of Dangerous Liasons. It's astonishing to think that four years previously Ryan and Spencer were playing Blink 182 covers in a Las Vegas hotdog joint called - what else? - Doggystyle. As the boys entered their teenage years the boys began to take on board new influences - Queen's 'A Night At The Opera', the movie scores of Danny Elfman, the distinctive droog aesthetic of A Clockwork Orange - which they bought to the fledgling Panic! At The Disco. "We reaslised that this is not a 'jeans and t-shirt band', it's something bigger," explains Ryan. "Just the way the record sounded - it's a little pretentious, a little bit theatrical - it seemed like we'd be faking it if we weren't doing this." Cherub cute and as pale and thin as the Marlboro Lights he doesn't smoke, Ryan is very much Panic!s pulse. He originally fronted the band with school friend Spencer, only relinquishing the mic when they drafted in keyboardist Brendon Urie and realised that he had the better voice. Ross retained lyric-writing duties however, and drives the band's aesthetic ambitions, even going as far as to have an outlined manifesto. "A lot of bands think that it's good enough to just write songs and that's it. I feel like their's three really important factors: the music should be just as important as the shows, and the shows should be just as important as the videos. I feel like you need to have control of that kinda stuff and a vision for everything. A lot of bands will just write their songs and then roll out if bed and play them exactly as they are on the CD, and they'll do a performance video where there's some real sweet slow motion close ups of them playing their songs. We put a lot more effort into things." Ryan divulges this over lunch in an Italian resturant adjoining the photo studio. He's since changed back into civvies but has chosen to keep the thick strip of electric blue make-up that covers his eyes. "I was watching TV and someone said that the most masculine thing you can do is to be feminine," he continues, "I think that's very interesting, because there's so many tough guys out there that seem like they're not having any fun and it's like, we're maybe more challenging than they are, doing these strange things that we're doing." Such sentiments might hold water in the relatively metrosexual metropolises of New York and London, but they could just as easily get you a beating - or indeed, a bottling - in the suburbs. The band have yet to be attacked in the street, but they have had plenty of comments ("You know, like homosexual references," whispers Ryan). "But the thing is," says Spencer, "there are people who would say things like that and then hear our song on the radio and be like, 'Oh - that's my song!', and have no idea." Increasingly, more and more people are doing that. The video for Panic!'s big single, 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies', an acerbic account of a doomed wedding, has been viewed a staggering five million times on YouTube, and in the 12 months since its release, their debut album 'A Fever You Can't Sweat Out' has sold a million copies in the States (the milestone coincided with Ryan's 20th birthday back in August and they celebrated, typically, with cake and Capri-Suns). Of course, for every fan of the band that wouldn't recognise them walking down the street, there are thousands that would. At last count Panic! had 1.2 million friends on MySpace, and they've recently had to hire Zach, a full-time assistant-come-security guard, for protection not from the haters, but rather the more obsessive elements of their own fanbase. "There was a girl on the first tour in Florida that was apparently reading Ryan's live online journel, " says Spencer. "I came out after the show and she was like, 'Is Ryan OK? 'Cos I know him and his girlfriend broke up and he seems a little depressed online.' These people know everything. That's insane." As Jon Walker notes sagely, "the internet's been a son of a bitch lately". Recently Brendon discovered an online community dedicated to posting pictures of his arse and another solely interested in the Adam's apples of himself and Ryan. ("It actually frightens me that kids are concentrating more on our Adam's apples than our music. Or their homework."). And then there's the bandslash fiction, which has fuelled gossip that Brendon and Ryan are actually dating (they're not). It's led to levels of fan freakiness not seen since The Libertines first captured hearts and minds wholesale. By now you may be wondering why you've heard so little from Brendon Urie. In truth, the frontman is a hard man to get a handle on. A near-musical savant who can reportedly master a new instrument as soon as looking at it, he's happy to let his bandmates take the spotlight. He has a sharp wit, but a quick temper to match. At one point during our interview he actually throws what can only be described as a tantrum. The exchange went like this: Spencer: "Didn't some fans try to follow your mum home?" Brendon: "Yeah! Somebody tried to follow my mum home 'cos she had a Panic! sticker - 'My son's the singer of Panic!, or whatever." NME: She had that sticker on her car? Surely that's asking for trouble? Spencer: "(laughing) You're kinda asking for that!" Brendon: "I told her to..." Jon: "(interrupting) Who made it?" Ryan: "(laughing) Your parents made this." Brendon: "(testily) I know." Jon: "Didn't they give one to Spencer's mum too?" NME: (to general laughter) So let me get this straight, your mum had a sticker on her car? Brendon: "(rising from his seat) Alright, go fuck yourselves. Later." Ryan: "Come on, you asked for that." Brendon: "Suck my dick. Dude, I was about to explain it, but then you guys started talking..." NME: Come on - sit down and explain it. Brendon: "(retaking his seat) No, I don't want to explain anymore." NME: Please - it's a good story. Brendon: "It's a bad story. No it's fine." Jon: "(trying to lighten the mood) The first version of the sticker had their home address on it too, which is the funny part of the story. Then they reprinted them." Brendon: "(sarcastically) Yeah, totally, totally. Anyways..." And with that the singer lowers his gaze to his Sidekick mobile phone and refuses to speak for almost a full 10 minutes. How, like, totally emo. Ah, yes. Emo. In Panic! At The Disco's company, it's if not a dirty word, then at the very least it's a slightly soiled one. In recent months they've graduated from being the genre's poster boys to its targets - literally so at Reading - solely on the basis of their relationship with Fall Out Boy's Pete Wentz. If nobody can quite define what emo is, everybody seems to know what it sounds like - Panic! At The Disco. "I think one writer started that," says Ryan. "We don't even listen to emo - whatever that is. But all our lyrics are angry and sarcastic, which is not what emo bands write about." Do they find the emo stereotype insulting? "It's ignorant. The stereotype is guys that are weak and have failing relationships write about how sad they are. If you listen to our songs, not one of them has that tone." "Emo is bullshit!" exclaims Brendon, looking up from his phone. "If people want to take it for the literal sense of the word, yes we're an emotional band, we put a lot into what we do. People always try and stereotype us, but we don't fit the emo stereotype." Why do you think so many people dislike your band? " think it's because we're a love-it-or-leave-it kind of band," answers Ryan thoughtfully. "I think that if you're not drawing attention completely, if people either don't absolutely adore you or absolutely hate you, you're not actually doing enough. You're just playing it too safe, which is what I feel 99 per cent of music is right now - it's just safe. Nobody wants to take a chance." You cover Radiohead's 'Karma Police' in your live set. As an act who have acheived commercial success on a global scale, but also managed to retain their artistic integrity, are they the benchmark? "Yeah," says Ryan with a mischevious grin. "Pretty much Radiohead and The Beatles are the only bands to have done it." Later that night Panic! play a show that's anything but safe. Ostensibly a benefit gig, the Boost Mobile RockCorps jamboree is actually a flamboyant filmed-for-television showcase in which several thousand local kids who have performed at least four hours of voluntary community service are entertained at New York's legendary Radio City Hall by a bill including Nelly, Kelis, TI and, er, Panic! At The Disco and fellow rockers Taking Back Sunday. Given that this is effectively a marketing exercise in which a new mobile phone company is buying an acceptable brand image by bribing kids into social action, and then offering a load of bands a seriuos wedge to play (Panic! are reportedly earning five figure sums each to turn up and play three songs), it's perhaps understandable that genuine altruism is rather thin on the ground. There are metal detectors and body searches on each door, and every time the music stops, scuffles break out among the overwhelmingly urban crowd. It's safe to assume that they're not over whether Painc! or Taking Back Sunday are the better band. Taking Back Sunday are the first of the rock acts to face the braying mob, and their reaction could be charitably described ad indifferent. Backstage there's a genuine fear that, following the widely worshipped hip-hop star Young Jeezy, Panic! could be in for an evening that will make their Main Stage stint at Reading look like a picnic in the park. And yet...they walk it. It would be an overly romantic exaggeration to say that 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies' is the catalyst for the audience's warring tribes to temporarily forget their differences and unite as one, but it also wounldn't be far from the truth. As Brendon sashays through the song's climax, he's all but drowned-out by high-pitched promises of undying love from both the rock chicks and the fly girls. It's a reaction that suggests what we are dealing with is a genuine phenomenon. Can Panic! really become the new Radiohead, though? As you might expect from kids raised in the shadow of Vegas' boulevard of broken dreams, the odds are long. But you also might want to think twice before betting against them.
Posted on 11/17/2006 12:38 PM Comments (4)
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