Continued from page 22
old vaudeville showstopper. And in the
title track, accompanied by jazzy fingerpops, Urie croons with classy Rat Pack
aplomb, as he does on the closing keyboard dirge “Impossible Year” – an interesting development, given that he already
wields one of the most charismatic, pneumatic-powered voices in modern rock.
Urie, who will turn 29 this April, wants
to clarify that he’s not some megalomaniacal control freak. But it’s gratifying, even
liberating, to be responsible for every last
Bachelor decision, he admits. “And it’s kind
of been a gradual progression – it took time
to get to this point right now. Lose a couple
of people here, lose a couple there, and
now I find myself on my own. And it is
exciting, because there are times where I
think back to how writing used to be in the
band, with four people writing together
and butting heads and compromising and
debating and arguing. And with all those
things happening, that can’t be conducive
and promoted him to microphone duties –
and
signed
to
Pete
Wentz’s
Decaydence/Fueled by Ramen imprint, he
was experimenting with the various
instruments he found around the house.
“Like piano, guitar, the cello that my sister
played – I just jumped from instrument to
instrument,” he recollects. “And now, anybody who comes over to the house is basically going to be tortured by me running
around the house, playing the piano or
ukulele or dulcimer or something random.
I have stuff laying around the house all the
time, so at any moment, just like five feet
away, I can pick up something and start
playing it.” His wife innately understands
this, that it’s all part of her husband’s job.
“But I don’t know if my friends are tired of
me yet,” he sighs. “But I hope not, because
I don’t plan on stopping.”
From Urie’s boyhood back yard, closer
to Vegas, he could view temptation beckoning, even through the hazy smog. “It
was always there – I could always see the
Stratosphere, I’d see the Luxor light, I
could see the MGM lion shining,” he says.
“And just knowing that was all down
there, and that there was plenty of
debauchery to be had, and I’m this
Mormon kid in his home in the safe suburbs, just wanting to go out and explore all
Panic! At The Disco in 2008
to a creative project. So now I can delegate
whatever ideas I have to whomever I need
to, if I ever feel the need to. Which is so
freeing – there’s something so validating
about getting to this turning point, but
feeling more confident than ever.”
Ditto for the performer’s new fashion
sense – a stylish dress-suited look reminiscent of a Sin City lounge act from the
1950s. He blames his unusual childhood.
Growing up Mormon, outside of Vegas in
St. George, Utah, his faith kept him from
going outside on Sunday and Monday
nights. “So I spent my Sundays listening to
music, making music, playing board
games – just doing anything to occupy my
time, like playing dress-up all the time,
making home movies with siblings,” he
says. In fact, his mother recently sent him a
photo of him as a toddler, decked out as a
bowtie-and-suspenders Frank Sinatra. “I
would dress as a Rat Pack swinger guy, or
I would dress as a steampunk character. So
when my mom sent me that photo, when
I’m three years old and wearing the exact
same outfit that I’m wearing now, it was so
fucking weird – I had no idea that it had
subliminally, subconsciously crept in there.
That’s why I’m so happy with this new
record – it’s real. It’s who I am.”
Long before Urie met Panic! founder
Brent Wilson – who initially invited him to
join he and Ross’s group as guitarist until
they heard his extraordinary singing voice
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2016
that, but knowing that I couldn’t at the
time? I was just dreaming of the day I
could get out and experience everything.”
Be careful what you wish for. The
sleazy shindig he sings about in “Don’t
Threate