Sarahindie

I always think of shows in this venue (what we lovingly refer to as The Crack Den) as being kind of high school-y, and I assumed that it was because I’ve only ever seen teenaged bands here, but nope. It’s because it looks a junior high multipurpose room. It’s a little ratty and the stage is small. Somehow, they make the stage settings that looked professional and impressive yesterday now look like the theater department is putting on a show. That or we’re about to witness the world’s most depressing prom.

There’s a point in this show where Brendon runs to the back of the room and plays an acoustic song. Since this venue has no balcony or anything, they’ve blocked off a little slice of the bar that I’m pretty sure is for that purpose. But because it’s the bar, it’s currently surrounded by tri-state area moms drinking beer. This is gonna be great.

Foxy Shazam: Whoa, the teenagers of Connecticut love this band. There is a higher percentage of people excited about this band than there were last night, including three adorable tweenaged girls right in front of me. Since Foxy is a band that just feeds on a crowd, this will be special.

To be shallow for a minute, last night, when we were front row, we realized that with his glasses off, Daisy, their guitarist, is a stone fox. Tonight, Aaron, their drummer, has taken off his shirt, and under his buttonups? Nothing but muscles and ink. Yum.

Last night, Eric didn’t try his famous cigarette trick (simultaneously smoking a handful, then eating them while lit). I opined that it was probably because Panic’s still-magically-teenaged fans don’t have cigarettes to give. Tonight, he tried it and we all watched as one cigarette was carefully passed forward hand to hand. Sad.

During the last song of the set, the knuckle of baby bros up front attempt to start a mosh pit. It’s kind of adorable.

fun.: You can tell that their frontman, Nate, isn’t hip to the idea of opening. He was previously the lead singer for The Format, a band with a ridiculously rabid fanbase (I regularly saw The Format open and then take a quarter of the room with them when they were done) and fun. was headlining the week they formed, so this, playing for people who haven’t memorized his lyrics, is clearly new. Not that there’s not a fair number of fun. fans here, but asking us to sing along to the first song?

Also worth noting that the teen girls behind me, who were swayed into the cult of Foxy, find Nate’s antics kind of embarrassing. He then leads the world’s failiest moment of silence for the Oprah Winfrey Show.

They are very good and rapturous if you’re into them, but they’re not my favorite and this is the exact moment when the heat gets to me, so mostly this set feels unending. As soon as it’s done, I sit down and am soon joined by another dozen people sitting. I’m a trendsetter!

Panic! At the Disco: First, an aside for the teenaged boys dancing like dumbasses and rolling up their sleeves. I love them. I will only have kids if they are promised to turn out like those boys or the tween girls.

The lighting is terrible. I can’t see the band, but I can see everyone in the crowd. The hell?

One of the most interesting things about this stage setup (a sort of Frankenstein-meets-Phantom courtesy of The League of Steam) is lost on a stage this small. Brendon’s keyboard and Spencer’s drums are built into setpieces at the back of the stage. That encourages the “temporary” band members Ian and Dallon to take full range and run around and the audience to really appreciate them. But this is a high school multipurpose room, so the keyboard is free of its setpiece and Brendon is centerstage always. (Oh, I lie. The organ is still in the setpiece, he just needs … more keys.)

The thing I really like about this lineup, Panic 3.0, is the energy, the fact that they all run around, seem to like each other and like us and love playing and it just drips off the stage.

Brendon manages to make it back to the bar for the interlude in the middle of this show where he plays “Always” acoustic. It manages to manufacture what feels like a truly unique, intimate moment even in a huge room.

They break into “Your Body is a Wonderland” and Brendon alters a line to be about copulating with his bass player. To introduce Brendon, Dallon then cribs a couple of lines of Les Miserables. How did Brendon find this boy? (They also treat us to a chunk of “Careless Whisper” and The Smiths’ “Panic,” then most of the encore is “Carry On My Wayward Son.” I love boys who love music and I love love boys who are talented enough to show it off.) Oh, then Brendon sings half of the first verse of “I Write Sins” with his face pressed against Dallon’s. Dallon seems slightly more tolerant of the gay than Ryan Ross was and the fangirls eat it up equally.

The Verdict: This is one of the few shows in the last few years where I haven’t thought once about the time, about getting home to sleep, about the way my feet hurt or anything. I would stay in this room forever. And the best part is that this is the first week of the tour, so if you don’t have tickets, you still have time! Do it!

The first thing I notice is the hordes of beardy, bro-y Brooklyn men, confirming Rae’s suspicion that this show was largely industry.  

Panic has … boys, I thought we’d changed. For the better. I thought we’d grown. But there are white carnation wreaths. And dancers? Or something. Like ten or fifteen girls and one dude in headdresses and fake steampunk. It’s like a Regretsy fever dream. ( <– Not a compliment.) 

They spent tons of label money on dancers, wreaths, tablecloths and candelabras, but didn’t pick between sets music, so the guys at the soundboard are playing their favorite, the entire Electric 6 oeuvre.  

There are nine roadies/crew/etc on stage. Jess points out that there weren’t that many when we saw the Scissors here.  

They have just unveiled a six foot high white carnation funeral wreath on the stage. I hope that shit is rented.  I realize now that the dancers are not dancers. They can’t get to the stage. They are merely decorative. This is why the industry is dying.   The four piece they’ve been playing as since the “divorce” (lead singer/etc Brendon Urie, drummer Spencer Smith, former The Cab guitarist Ian Crawford and The Brobecks’ Dallon Weekes on bass) is tight and, most importantly, they look like they’re having fun.

During “Northern Downpour,” a sort of anthem of Panic v2.1, Brendon admits to crying a little. There’s one of our number who says the same, but I won’t say which. 

Brendon does his cover of “Science Fiction Double Feature” alone. He keeps giggling when people from the audience shout out the appropriate live theater response and this feels more intimate than anything I’ve ever seen Panic do. Bands like this, ones that seem to spring fully formed from a cloud of hype, going from their garage to arenas in a matter of months, often lose the ability to be able to connect with a crowd in a small space, as anything but idols. I can’t vouch for the other half of Panic v2.1 (the half that was briefly The Young Veins), as they felt disconnected during their shows, but this half is a wonderful small venue band.

From the new album, they played the two singles (“The Ballad of Mona Lisa” and “New Perspective”), dancerock wonder “Let’s Kill Tonight” (to which I couldn’t help dancing. Mom, you’re gonna love it), and the full version of the previously hinted at “Nearly Witches,” the only extant song from Panic’s never released second album (it was a musical and deemed irreproduceable on stage). For the new songs, they made awesome use of their violinist, who plucked and tapped and made her violin produce all sorts of sounds I didn’t expect. 

Verdict: I fell in love all over again. If you were previously put off by this band, try ‘em again. 

Note: Bowery Ballroom’s “you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here” album is apparently Elvis live in Vegas.