Panic! At The Disco: The Idea of It

by Ebun Lawore, Staff Writer

Illustration by Madalyn New

It has been 20 years since the release of Panic! At the Disco’s very first album, A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out. But more importantly, it's been seven years since a 12 year old Ebun discovered Panic! At the Disco for the first time.

That thought basically sums up most people’s experience with this band. They hear the name Panic! At The Disco, and they are immediately transported to a darker (but better?) time in their lives. They remember listening to their songs on whatever archaic device they owned at the time, and they remember feeling different, almost cooler than their peers who didn’t listen to this band. They remember their sudden desire to wear dark clothing and eyeliner, and vaguely recall developing a strange obsession with Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross.

Or maybe only I did all of those things and I’m just projecting. Fuck. This was supposed to be a retrospective review of A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out, seeing as the record celebrates its  20th anniversary this year. But frankly, I can’t bring myself to actually care about this album. I don’t care that Urie and Ross’ lyrics may be a commentary on sexual stigma or the music industry, or that certain songs on the album were inspired by vaudeville, or that they use synths in strange ways on a couple of tracks. Really the only thing I care about is myself, and it seems to me that everyone else feels the same way. It is impossible to talk about Panic! At The Disco without centering yourself in the matter. I may even argue that this is the ultimate reason for their success.

Shortly after this album’s release, it received a devastating 1.5 out of 10 rating from Pitchfork. And the review is so personal. The author, Cory D. Byrom takes the perspective of the old man sitting out on the porch who believes that older emo music is better, as he argues that  Panic! At The Disco only succeeds at perpetuating emo music’s most “irritating characteristics”. 

Every “counter review” that I found directed against Pitchfork’s attack of this album is also incredibly personal, maybe even more so. They begin with statements such as “This blatant sin & tragedy is slander against the best band of all time,” or they begin with a personal anecdote about how they loved this album in their youth. Most don’t really have much to say about the actual nuts and bolts of A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out. 

You want to know why they don’t have much to say? Well it’s because the music isn’t actually that good. I’m sorry, I said it. Listening to this album didn’t give me an appreciation for their musical expertise, it simply filled me with a sense of nostalgia. Panic! At the Disco’s popularity has only ever been about how they make people feel.

This band was so representative of the emo youth of the late 2000s. They were the ex-Mormon, queer-adjacent, alternative kids who started a band in their parents’ basement, and then actually became famous. They were the blueprint, and made others believe that the angsty teenage darkness in their hearts could actually be a worthwhile feeling. Even I , who discovered this album twelve years after its release, understood it as a starting point for my own desire to be a rockstar. A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out reminds me of that person, and it does the same for so many others.

The album is mid but it is impossible for me to care. I can’t resist screaming “whore” during “I Write Sins Not Tragedies". At the end of the day, who can? It’s our collective guilty pleasure.