A funny thing happened to
Fall Out Boy
on the road to
Infinity on High
: they got famous. Before 2005's
From Under the Cork Tree
they were just another
pop
-
punk
unit from suburban Chicago happy to break even at shows with gas money. Next thing anyone knew, they were headlining arenas and being heralded as the new face of
alongside their peers in
My Chemical Romance
. It was a position that never seemed to rest easy with the guys, and because of this,
seems a bit conflicted.
wants to charm everyone here. They want to prove themselves to critics by moving past the confines of
emo
, allowing a love of all things
to come right to the forefront. Yet they also want to resonate directly with those day-one fans who may long for the intimate VFW shows of yesterday. This disparity makes points of the record seem awkward, and for the first time, the band appears to over-think things.
Pete Wentz
's lyrics are oftentimes resentful, full of fame-induced angst, and really emphasize his need to drive home his position that stardom has not changed the band. So it's in weird contrast to these sentiments that
Jay-Z
is the one opening the album and calling out haters who said
FOB
would fail. The glorification of their celebrity abruptly switches into
Patrick Stump
stating (pleading?) that the band is not buying into the hype -- nor do they even want it. "Make us poster boys for your scene/But we are not making an acceptance speech" is defiant, and when his sweet voice asserts, "Crowds are won and lost and won again/But our hearts beat for the diehards," it's clear that
still holds their roots close. But this is contradicted by the fact that the album's majority is far and away their poppiest material to date, more
pop/rock
than
, which inevitably means more interesting to those who know them just as that
"Dance, Dance"
band with the media-whoring bassist,
.
So the results are hit-and-miss. The
Maroon 5
-ish
"I'm Like a Lawyer..."
is glaringly one of the
Babyface
-produced tracks, and with a vocal hook uncomfortably close to
Phil Collins
' cover of
"Groovy Kind of Love,"
it plays like the guys were the ruffled house band for a prom. It's ill-fitting, a notion that continues in cuts like the
soft rock
piano of
"Golden"
and the airy
"The (After) Life of the Party."
But on the flip side, the fizzy
urban
nugget
"This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race"
dances around double-time
hardcore
choruses and backing choral singers with dizzying precision and infectious results, while dramatic
gospel
flair excellently lines
"Hum Hallelujah."
Stump
's vocal control and agility is incredible; he truly brings songs alive in a way uniquely his own, and it's a toss-up as to whether he or drummer
Andrew Hurley
should get this record's gold star. So it's not to say the
explosion that is
is all bad. Even the studio extravagances -- multiple producers (
and
Butch Walker
handle a few outside
Neil Avron
) and decadent layers of horns, string sections, and choirs -- don't detract from its overall enjoyability. Yet unlike
, who knew exactly what they wanted in the grand theatrics of 2006's
Welcome to the Black Parade
and completely went for it without apology,
is at odds. Previously, they could easily skip around with
baggage,
tension, cunning wordplay, and infectious melodies without losing their edge. Now they just seem too self-aware. Don't misunderstand: once
sinks in, it's indeed a fun record. But for a band that was once so self-assured and able to utilize its talents so compellingly, the album is regrettably haphazard.
may hate people who "dissect us 'til this doesn't mean a thing anymore," but in trying to appeal to all of them, they lost something unique along the way. ~ Corey Apar