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alexisnotstraight · 2 months

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My Chemical Romance for Blender, april 2005 by Dorian Lymskey

"We're here to fight evil"

If death rockers My Chemical Romance say they're superheroes, then who is Blender to argue? we just don't remember Spider-Man having so many problems with drink, drugs and swearing in front of kids.

One day last august, Gerard Way boarded a plane to Japan with the grawing conviction that the might not be coming back. Over the past past year, the old singer for the rock group My Chemical Romance had got it into his head that he had to be drunk to perform, and then needed Xanax to switch off his brain afterwards, and the cumbination was making him suicidally depressed. Way didn't like being suicidally depressed, so he'd often add cocaine to the mix. That's when his mood really got black. He spent the days before the flight saying goodbye to friends in New Jersey, just in case

In Japan, Way spent all his time drunk. Before the final Tokyo show, he got so trashed on Heinekens and vodka tonics that he realized, even as he was performing, that he wouldn't be a able to remember anything about it the next day. After he came off stage he spent half an hour throwing up in a garbage can, until there was nothing coming up except bile. Tonight, be thought to himself, his hair caked with womit, I've drunk my last drink.

"It was a vicious circle," he says matter-of-factly. "I needed it to function but it made me want to kill myself. It made me extremely unpredictable and dangerous to myself. I didn't want it to get to the point where it became like a VHi Behind the Music where they show this seally had picture of me 30 pounds overweight, throwing up on the floor in Berlin. I didn't want that to happen to this band".

Way's cold-turkey fight back to the band's home of Belleville. New Jersey, was escruciating-almost 7.000 miles of skin-crawling, sweat-soaked willies. "I got really emotional outside the airport when we landed. I didn't know if I was going to see these guys again." He went straight to his therapist and booked into Alcoholics Anonymous, knowing that in the same week My Chemical Romance had to replace their drummer, fiim a video and start their tour. And you thought you'd had a hard week at work.

"We got through the hard shit," says Way. "This is the easy part".

Any fears last summer that My Chemical Romance were going to implode into obscurity were knocked flat by their swaggering teen-dysfunction anthem "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)."

Inspired by the high school experiences of Way and his friends, it delivers angst-rock verities with a knowing wink, not to mention the kind of melody that ignites careers. The tongue-in-cheek video, filmed in the same L.A. high school as Donnie Darko, depicted MCR as proudly geeky misfits. It was a role that didn't require much rehearsal.

Way calls My Chemical Romance's music "death rock." Others have tagged it goth punk or emo. Some endearing individuals have overcome genre confusion by simply calling MCR faggots. "Our guitarist Frank met somebody who said, 'How do you feel when people stop liking your band because they find out you're gay?" says Way, curling his lip with pointed amusement.

To the more meat-headed members of the Warped tour fraternity, some eyeliner and the occasional ambivalent lyric (in "You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison, Gerard sings "I'll kiss your lips again" to a male character) are too much to process, but Way hopes MCR can change a few minds.

"We've always tried to switch the way people think about rock bands," he says. "That [lyric] puts a dividing line between people. Are you on our side and you want to be different or are you on that side and you want to throw a football at my head?".

Only a morbid former comic-book artist from blue-collar New Jersey could have hatched a band as toughly unorthodox as My Chemical Romance. Gerard Way writes the songs with his bandmates -his bassist brother Mikey Way, guitarists Ray Toro and Frank lero, and new drummer Bob Bryar-but the vision is all his. He illustrates the record sleeves and defines their image. Recently he chose matching shirts, ties and armbands for the band to wear in the video for "Helena." taking enormous care not to resemble (a) the Hives or (b) the Nazis.

Most important, he's the one who assembled the band back in late 2001. when September 11 jolted him out of his rut as a struggling illustrator. On their 2002 debut album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, and last year's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, MCR yoke the thunder of punk to the black humor of Morrissey, Nick Cave and Tom Waits, and blaze with purpose.

"There are bands that are in it for the wrong reason, polluting the airwaves and filling their own pockets," Gerard growls. "Or just saying. Oh I wanna be a rockstar. Right. You've got a lot of kids following you. What are you saying to them?"

So what are MCR saying?

He's ready for this one. "We're saying it's OK to be messed up. There's other people just like you. And if we stick together we'll get through this."

When Gerard was still working in comic books, his favorite creation was The Amazing Goffo Brothers, Piano Movers Extraordinaire. A black comedy set in a creepy, anonymous city, it was a metaphor for the relationship between him and his younger brother, Mikey.

Despite their age difference (Gerard is 27: Mikey is 24), the Way brothers wore matching outfits as children. Today, the Ways arrive at a Midtown Manhattan restaurant wearing identical black jackets, but that's the only visible similarity.

With his blood-red tie, ink-black hair and snow-pale skin, Gerard looks part Jack White, part Edward Scissorhands, and sounds as if he's been hanging out at the Bada Bing! club. His stick-thin sibling, meanwhile, wears oblong-framed glasses and the kind of candy-striped wool hat favored by fourth-graders and fashion stylists. He has the most extraordinary laugh: a shrill, girlish giggle that causes waiters to turn their heads.

They grew up in the predominantly Italian-American town of Belleville, in Sopranos country the Pizzaland restaurant glimpsed in the show's opening credits is a few blocks from the house they still live in with their auto-mechanic dad and hairdresser mom. In Jersey, says Gerard, "There's a 99% chance you're not going to do anything with your life." Mikey yelps with pretend outrage.

"Well, 90%, maybe," his brother concedes in a deadpan drawl. "Every time I come back to Jersey, it's ready to put its tentacles all over me and suck me right back in. If I'm home for more than three weeks. I forget I'm in a band. I start to fill out applications for supermarkets."

Is there anything good about the Garden State?

"I think it gives you a bleak outlook on life, which is awesome," says Mikey, cackling. "It gives you an edge. When you're from Jersey, people act like you're from Rikers.

Gerard nods. "Sometimes all we have to do is get up there, make some feedback and say, 'Yeah we're from Noo Joisey,' and then hit 'em like a bomb. People are like, 'Hey, I don't want to get beat up!"

After high school, Gerard studied art and Mikey drifted his way through college: "I thought college was a place you went to find people to be in a band with." Sometimes they played in bands together, but Gerard was more committed to becoming an artist, which was proving to be a disheartening process. When he eventually quit, his big project was a magic cartoon chimp called Breakfast Monkey. "I was doing bullshit," he shrugs.

After September 11, Gerard wrote his first song. "Skylines and Turnstiles," and played it to an old friend, drummer Matt Pelissier. Pelissier knew a guitarist called Ray Toro. "They played me their one song and I was jumping around the attic and headbanging," says Toro, a genial, frizzy- haired film buff with a caricature of Alfred Hitchcock tattooed on his left arm.

"Gerard sounded really sincere about wanting to start something real. That's what made me excited."

The members of My Chemical Romance aren't especially weird-it's not like any of them collect skulls or serial killer memorabilia-but they all grew up with reasons to feel like outsiders.

Toro was a shy kid with an overprotective mother. Instead of going out with friends, he'd stay at home playing guitar to Jimi Hendrix or Metallica. Guitarist Frank lero suffered from bronchitis and ear infections and was ill almost constantly until the fifth grade. He was raised by his mom after she split from his dad, a musician who worked on records by John Lennon and Kiss. "I'm in the family music industry," he says. "My dad would ask me how school was, but mostly it was, 'When are you going to start playing?".

Jazz-trained drummer Bob Bryar was an Illinois kid "who took apart radios and stuff and then tried to put them back together and realized they didn't work." He has a dark sense of humor that can sometimes come off as surliness. "I get these urges to fuck off sometimes," he says. "I find it hard to entertain myself."

Bryar befriended the rest of the band in 2003, when he was a soundman for the Used, whom My Chemical Romance were supporting. When relations with Pelissier deteriorated, he stepped in. The new lineup had just two days to practice before their next tour.

"I haven't relaxed in a long time," sighs lero. "I look forward to that. I'd like to take a step back and look at some newspaper clippings."

The next morning, the sky is the color of a dirty washbowl and it's being emptied on New Jersey. Brian Schechter, My Chemical Romance's manager, taps at his cellphone as he steers his car through the damp, gray streets to pick up the Ways. We collect Mikey first.

"Did you see that MTV.com headline?" he asks, still wearing his striped hat. "MCR Aim for Smashing Pumpkins Status. It was out of context, but it's OK makes people think it's possible."

The band's destination is Philadelphia's Theatre of Living Arts. A local radio station held a competition between high schools to raise the most food for homeless shelters, the prize being an exclusive My Chemical Romance show. Considering the audience will be as young as 13. some adjustments need to be made. "We should probably have a PG show tonight," says Schechter. "We didn't do a show for charity just for Gerard to call them a bunch of motherfuckers."

It's a forlorn hope. "Put your fucking hands together!" cries Gerard within minutes of stepping onstage. In a black-velvet suit, red tie and black armband, he struts across the stage, wagging his finger to the lyrics or spraying mouthfuls of water over the front rows, while his band compress punk, metal, goth and glam into furiously concise pop songs. When he introduces "Headfirst for Halos" as "a song about suicide," you can almost feel the ripples of concern from the adult chaperones lurking around the edges of the room. However, even they can't resist tapping a toe to "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)." Last night MCR played it on The Late Show With David Letterman. Tonight they're playing it to a couple hundred Philadelphia high school kids. Letterman was a highlight of their career to date, but it's here that the song makes most sense.

"I didn't do my usual thing, where I compare high school to prison," protests Gerard later, sucking on a cigarette in a dimly lit backstage office. He admits he can see how people might get the wrong idea about MCR. "Journalists usually portray us as a fucked-up, dark, vampire. alcoholic rock band. Until they meet us."

Although he's got the charisma and the goth pinup looks to be an angst-rock martyr, Gerard seems too grounded to play the feel-my-pain card. Maybe it's the Jersey in him. Even when he talks about his therapist (a "rad guy" who turned him on to Brian Eno), he's pragmatic.

"If you're in this band, you're in it for the right reasons," Gerard declares. "You're not in it for money or fame. You're in it to do some good. Becoming more popular, it's like people are granting us superpowers and we have to use them to fight evil."

Is that the comic books talking?

"Oh yeah," he says, his grin a pearly sliver in the gloom. "We're like the Doom Patrol."