It’s Gerard Way’s World, and we just happen to live in it. Why else would ninety thousand of us be attempting to decipher cryptic messages flashed across the screens of Wembley Stadium in order to try and extract secret messages from our emo prophets mere hours before My Chemical Romance start their show? They’ve always been a puzzle box and tonight proves that the line between hubris and genius, between the greatest show of the year and the musical equivalent of ‘The Room’, is razor thin. We get all four of these qualities in vast quantities and, even more astoundingly, honesty so sharp it grazes. For a brief couple of hours, we are utterly under their control.
Just like the usual events at Wembley Stadium, tonight is a game of two halves. We’ll politely sidestep the question of whether it’s appropriate to role-play as a Soviet era dictatorship – complete with mock executions, a secret police force and an ever-present Big Brother figure watching from a throne – when the victims…
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