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Being an ex-variety hall The Manchester Apollo, with its distinctive guilded trimming and crimson ceiling, seemed a perfect venue to play host to Panic! At The Disco’s inimitable theatricality.
But conversely tonight’s show proves to be slim on novelty, and instead opts for huge tunes and diverse showmanship to carry the evening.
For one of the founders of the ‘Emo’ movement, a genre purporting to engage deep subject material without caring to look much farther than the bottom of their bottle of nail varnish, Panic! at the Disco have gone a long way to dismantling their novelty fanfare aesthetic, in favour of a far more muscular arena rock format.
Despite a Dickensian background featuring multi coloured rags and kitsch stage props the music was astonishingly visceral for a band largely known and derided for their effeminate gesturing and theatrical turns.
The showmanship remains with Brendon Urie’s stellar front man antics ticking off back flips, knee slides and one handed organ soloes, the overall impact still lands them in a sonic template closer to their Nevada contemporaries The Killers than Chicago novelty acts Fall Out Boy.
Spoilt as it is by a peppering of embarrassingly pregnant pauses to allay technical difficulties, and equally ill-judged covers (The Darkness’s awful I Believe in a Thing Called Love being a particularly lamentable choice).
P!ATD might well be a band all grown up, and well on their way to shedding the expectations of a fanbase that prefers the symbol to the thing symbolised, engaging proficiently with an almost stadium rock sound, heavy on anthemic choruses and flourishes of melody.
It seems their current incarnation, despite being reduced to only two surviving members, could very possibly be one built to last.
Support came from ME, who hail from Melbourne, Australia, and without wasting a breathe they exploded into a thrilling set that goes a long way to reminding us that the antipodes still produce some of the world’s finest acts.
Drawing on British rock music’s stadium sturm und drang, the textures and tastes of classic Queen and ultra modern Muse are audible in their humongous sound along with an army of diverse influences to arrive in a beautiful cacophony heavy on portent.
With choruses alternately glib and profound, their dextrous, intelligent musicality can’t fail. Ignore the tasteless, cod military uniform, ME aren’t fucking around, and are definitively one of this year’s acts to watch.
Words: David Cosens
Pictures: Danielle Pugh