When Gerard Way confirmed Warner Brothers will be releasing a My Chemical Romance Greatest Hitscompilation next year, he also noted that he would be designing the packaging.
Check out Way’s most recent tweet below with what appears to be the artwork for MCR’s Greatest Hits, subtitled May Death Never Stop You:
Recently, the former MCR frontman also teased that he was “working on something special” with the following photo, which you will recognize as a piece from the full image:
WELCOME TO ODESSA, TEXAS.
More specifically, welcome to Dos Amigos Cantina an old horse stable turned restaurant/nightclub that boasts beef on the hoof, the longest continuous bull-riding contest in the United States, and tonight, surprisingly the opening date of the Nintendo Fusion Tour starring Story Of The Year, Letter Kills and New Jersey’s finest, My Chemical Romance. Sure, the venues’s had it’s share of rock shows – like a confederate hootenanny with David Allan Coe and a thunderous set by the Fabulous Thunderbirds – but these big-city outsiders can’t help wondering whether this gig got booked by mistake. Despite the backyard-barbeque decor (complete with picnic tables and bare feet) and the pony-tailed refrigerator-sized security guards packing heal, everyone can sit back in their folding chairs and appreciate seeing mullets and Wrangler Jeans frolic in their natural habitat.
As the sun begin to set, MCR take the stage-er bam. The audience throws up the requisde rock-show devil horns, starts jumping up and down as if their feet were bungeed to a trampoline, and hoots and hollers loud enough to make Willie Nelson proud. From the opening guitar riff of “Thank You For The Venom” to the bitch-slap ballad “The Ghost Of You,” My Chemical Romance sound like they’re successfully penetrating middle America. And for frontman Gerard Way – dapperly clad in a black suit with a white and black horizontally striped tie smeared with spit, blood and sweat-who once was kicked out of a rock band because he refused to sing Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama,” this overwhelming roar of acceptance makes the moment all the more sweet.
It’s truly a beautiful mess, much like the happy accidents and unforeseen obstacles that have aided and threatened the band’s career. The members of My Chemical Romance- singer Way, guitarists Frank Iero and Ray Toro, bassist Mikey Way and drummer Bob Bryar-formed out of necessity and lived out of urgency. They played basements, recorded in attics and rode to shows in the back of an AAA tow truck. They opened shitty shows for shittier bands, and enemies to fill the Pere-Lanchaise cemetery. Some drank away their sorrows until they almost drowned and others choked under the pressure. They refused to play by the rules, so they invented their own game. In a scant three years time.
There aren’t any celebrities in the crowd at the Odessa gig. There aren’t any industry types piling into the green room, drinking the band’s beer. There are no after parties. There aren’t even any drink tickets-not that the band members need them anymore. (After a trip to Japan where Gerard got slashed in translation, the energetic frontman kicked the bottle, and a couple of other bad habits, cold turkey.) Amid at least algunos cientos amigos at Dos Amigos, a member of the tour’s crew steps out of the bathroom and into the makeshift backstage bar. Still buckling his pants, he shakes his head in a_azerpent, muttering to no one in particular, “It’s like being trapped in a bad episode of Jerry Springer.” One question: was there ever a good episode of Springer?
REWIND 72 HOURS. Before My Chemical Romance conquered the Lone Star State, they pillaged the City Of Angels. Thanks to their violent imagery and horror movie theatrics, the band have been asked for years about their participation in the occult. “As much as we shy away from the vampire, we know where it’r coming from,” rationalizes Gerard. “It’s coming from a whole fashion-scene. genre esque thing that they’re trying to find out about.”
But tonight, it looks like life is imitating art. After a 15-hours international flight from London to Los Angeles, MCR are practically walking zombies-and the fact that they’re unintentionally stumbled into an 80’s night at a sushi join down the street isn’t helping. A 20-something waitress, probably an aspiring actress/model/future American Idol contestant, shimmies up to the table wearing an almost nonexistent neon-green ruffled mini and an infinitely deep V-necked hot-pink tank top, and practically screams the specials to the band while Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl” plays in the background. “You guys over 21?” she barks. “Y’all wanna do some sake bombs?.” Everyone at the table looks at one another, giggles and politely declines. Gerard simply smiles, uncomfortably.
The band have just returned from a triumphant trip to the U.K, where Gerard and his gang of modern-day Charming Men were practically treated like royalty. “British strongest elements [of our band],” he waxes “I think they heard emo and wanted something different. We are kind of the what-else-you-got of emo.” MCR have traveled the world seen a million faces and rocked them all-but nothing compares to Jersey.
“Really, I don’t know anything other than Jersey.”
With the exception of Bryar-who grew up just outside of Chicago-the members of MCR-including founding member and original drummer Matt “Other” Pelissier, who was recently asked to leave with their parents, and when the’re home (which isn’t very often), they still hang out with the same friends and frequent the same haunts that inspired them to write the songs on their Eyeball Records debut, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love.
“Me and Mikey could’t really play where we grew up, which was pretty much the same story with everybody, because it was so fucking dangerous,” says Gerard, a withdrawn child who was more interested in drawing and making up stories than playing with other kids. “We had to construct our own world we lived in constantly.”
The rough-and-tumble streets in and around Essex Country, New Jersey, shaped the band members, from childhood to young adulthood. “My parents split up when I was pretty young, [and] mu mom was kind of left to take care of everything. There were times when we really couldn’t even afford milk,” says Iero, who spent most of this younger years in and out of hospitals because of bronchitis ans severe ear infections. “I don’t know if it’s because I don’t see home anymore or [because] I’ll never change mu opinion on it. I would’t change my upbringing for the world.” [continues]
Mornings star. It’s just that simple.
Three times already the car had backfired, leaving gentle smog and a sonic dust up and down Carter Avenue, where the junk men and the dogcatchers argued wearily over parking spaces.’
“I’m having a hard enough time dealing with just one of you – and you tell me there are two” -Richard Laughed
This isn’t a joke.
The front passenger wheel of the Torino exploded, a discarded shoebox on the pavement.
“Are you sure?” he said, seeming more concerned this time.
“Not really, but my psychic says it’s true…”
“Let’s just listen to some music.”
They turned onto Mulligan, and blocks away in an alley, the rats, building a monument to filth, could gear “Fresh Flesh” by Fear.
It’s a funny thing, getting shot at The fist time it happens, you’d swear you really never heard anything like it. It’s a mixture of white noise and vibrations. It’s the only thing louder than being born – so new, it’s like the first time you tasted Ice cream. Then, after some time, you start to get used to it, and in some cases, you start to enjoy it. So much so that you start putting yourself in situations where someone is packing tunes, and that someone might have a reason to shoot at you.
So there, under the Westway and before State Park. Richard and Jeans Found themselves, again being fired upon, again for a very good reason.
“Where’s my ticket! yelled Quan.”
“I swear to Christ if you don’t give it to me, I’m going to blow both your heads off!”
the revolver began to empty again, ringing against the steel and draining the overhead noise of passing cars.
“Give it to me!”
He had begun to sound sad. He was definitely crying.
The Happiness Express ran from Seattle to Electrics, on the East side of Mars, and tickets wen expensive. It was powered by a Kinetic Drive, which meant your organs had to be fitted with a shielding-mesh in order to keep them from folding inside themselves – the procedure was costly, but recovery time was short. They sold package deals that included a one-way trip, meshing and Personality Insurance.
“I think you’re confused, man…”
“We never had your ticket!”
“Must have been Julius!” shouted Richard.
“Totally!” Jean backed him up, quietly slipping out the Lola Plus in pollshed chrome they had shared between them, and he thought about how many lives it had taken – it’s magenta impact- bursts punching clean holes in bone and carbon.
Silence, then – the sound of discarded shells spilling on concrete. Wait: were they full shells? Quan’s voice came back at them, small, and even sadder. Low, like someone on their hands and knees.
“You don’t know what’s up…”
MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE
Reimagined by Gerard Way
One thing that never falls to get AP staffers stoked is the marking of various anniversaries and milestones in tour storied existence. Our 300th issue was certainly no exception, and we wanted to do something different. We didn’t want to retread our history like we did for our 20th anniversary. There was no need to have new-gen acts reenact classic covers, as we did on our 25th year. We considered history, but stayed focused on the here and now. We thought about our magazine as a vinyl record in a world of sound files: how do you make something tried and true into something special?
We approached GERARD WAY, the frontman/ chief conceptualist behind post-emo juggernaut MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE about what we wanted to do. We asked the singer – who is also a well-trained artist and designer – how he would approach certain parts of his former band’s legacy. MCR’s first (AP 197, Dec. 2004, written by then-managing editor Leslie Simon) sold out quickly, was unavailable for years and has been the subject of many a reader inquiry as to where they could find a copy. We asked Way to give us some commentary about that issue, suggesting he reminisce about the process, the writer, the locales – any memories he could share exclusively with his fans and AP readers.
He did one better: He turned our 300th issue into an art project, something unprecedented in the history of AP. What followers is his artistic rehaul of the original feature in a cut ‘n’ paste style, with plenty of cryptic and collaged commentary. For an added layer of texture, Way embedded a short story in the art, reminiscent of MCR’s final album. Danger Days: The True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys, a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk read. (For those of you who missed Simon’s original story, we reprinted it at the end of Way’s visual ¨remix,¨ so to speak.) We’re honored to have Way back in our pages again, helping to shake thins up here, as well as inspiring readers in their own artistic pursuits, regardless of medium.