Panic Pray for the Wickettwenty One Pilots Trench Art

Decease Of A Bachelor was a existent turning point for Panic! At The Disco, an album that saw Brendan Urie develop his confidence as a solo artist and hone his work into a truly watertight popular prospect, something that his outset attempt Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die had proven incredibly spotty at. Information technology's hardly a surprise that returning to the more brazen, theatrical side that made A Fever You lot Can't Sweat Out such a fan favourite worked, and where the skittish selection 'northward' mix arroyo to genres had always indicated that Panic! At The Disco had never really known where their biggest strengths lied, that was then album that solidified the best possible path to take. Urie'due south more successful now than he has been in years, so surely something must've gone right.

 But ever since Pray For The Wicked was announced, it's been an open question of how it'll turn out. Afterwards all, Panic! At The Disco's releases have been riddled with inconsistencies from the very beginning, and in that location'southward no guarantee that, even if the Death Of A Bachelor formula was to be revisited here, it would turn out as expected. And actually, that depends on how appealing the idea of Urie giving his ego a good stroke for half an hour seems (and if non, why are you listening to a Panic! At The Disco album in the first place?). Here, Death Of A Bachelor'southward Frank Sinatra guise has been shed, and Urie now steps into one more reminiscent of a Jay Gatsby figure, owning the room and well aware that his own extravagance makes him the most magnetising person there. If this was anyone else, it would be ridiculously insufferable, but given that Panic! At The Disco are i of the scant few stone acts to date who've made a convincing transition to pop, you get the feeling that Urie has kind of earned information technology, and Pray For The Wicked is exactly what a victory lap of this calibre should be – flashy, over-the-superlative and stupid levels of fun.

 And a large part of that is because, unlike so many others who've tried the same thing, Urie knows how to arts and crafts a popular song that you lot'd actually want to mind to. There's not an overweight drop or bleak, desaturated tone to be found, and instead blaring horns are splashed in whenever possible and there'due south a relentless, rambunctious energy that rarely lets up. Sure, there'due south the odd dud like the rather sparse hook of Old Fashioned, but it's just then expert to finally hear someone swinging for the fences in a way like this, peculiarly when it pays off as much as it does. There'south a hip-hop swagger that pairs perfectly with the effortless swing of (Fuck A) Silvery Lining and Hey Look Ma, I Made It, and Loftier Hopes and Dancing's Not A Crime are so emphatic in their pop worship and comprehend it by becoming so much more grand and lavish. Even on Say Amen (Saturday Night), easily the most standard song here in its approach of big, percussive pop-rock, in that location'south plenty to distinguish information technology from others of its sort cheers to the e'er-blazing horns and Urie's incredible range. And equally a lynchpin for an album, information technology's hard to think of a amend one than him, striking the Broadway-trained high notes that run circles round his peers, and gives a track like Roaring 20s such a propulsive sense of theatricality.

 Information technology's definitely welcome too, particularly in Urie's espousal of the high life that fuels so much of this album. And again, it really feels like Urie has earned the right to practise this; the rise detailed on Hey Look Ma, I Fabricated It and High Hopes feels triumphant in a way that'due south never ordinarily the case, and thus at that place'southward a tangibility to the hedonism that follows, whether that'due south the glamorous, blacked-out parties on Roaring 20s, the wild, fast dear of The Underpass (arguably the well-nigh decadent and energetic instrumental the album has to offer at that), or the borderline nonsensical, weed-fuelled ramblings of Male monarch Of The Clouds. It'south high-octane stuff, but Urie remains smart enough to temper his efforts by highlighting the emptiness that such an openly materialistic lifestyle leaves, with Ane Of The Drunks being (ironically) the almost sobering autopsy of how performative the life of an booze-driven playboy tin can be, and the pianos and strings on the closer Dying In LA rounding the album off on its well-nigh melancholy note. The mood is definitely celebratory overall, but the extra dimension added from just these small details is much appreciated.

 But even on its own, Pray For The Wicked succeeds by simply continuing with what is potentially Panic! At The Disco'southward most successful line to date. There'due south rarely much of a dip in quality, and Urie only gets better at fitting the mould of a pop superstar every bit his music continues to get more than and more than electrical and bracing, plus at just over half-an-hr long, it goes down an absolute treat. This is the definitive piece of proof that Panic! At The Disco have lost the least when it comes to the move to pop; if anything, they've probably gained more than, now with sense of glam that works wonders. It's pretty much every bit good as pop-rock in this vein gets.

8/x

For fans of: Fall Out Male child, Twenty One Pilots, Marianas Trench
Words by Luke Nuttall

'Pray For The Wicked' by Panic! At The Disco is out now on Fueled Past Ramen.

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Source: https://thesoundboardreviews.com/2018/06/25/album-review-pray-for-the-wicked-by-panic-at-the-disco/

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