At the heart of lore is the story of lead singer/songwriter/mouthpiece , an animator who decided to abandon illustrations and do "something with his life" in the wake of 9/11. Needless to say, that "important" thing was , which quickly rose to prominence among the and neo- bands that cluttered the landscape of the 2000s thanks in large part to a surging piece of with a hook as ridiculously catchy as its title was ridiculous. It deservedly became a hit on both sides of the Atlantic in 2005, dragging its accompanying album -- 2004's , the group's second -- along for the ride, turning into stars, at least in modern circles. But, anybody who didn't follow the fashions of and closely might have ignored the group's tragic, romantic neo-goth image and merely assumed that was another good poppy one-hit wonder, not far removed from, say, . intended to dispel all such misconceptions with their third album, , an unabashed, old-fashioned concept album, complete with characters wandering through a vague narrative that concerns very big themes like death. Actually, death is the only big theme on , which shouldn't come as a big surprise for a band that named their stopgap live album , nor should the record's theatricality come as much as a shock, either -- tragedy and melodrama are hardwired in the group's DNA, as illustrated by the often-told tale of 's inspiration to form the band. Also, it's not as if is 's first concept album, either. Their 2002 debut, , and its follow-up, , told the interlocking story of doomed lovers on the run from vengeful vampires or some such nonsense, but only the hardcore who were willing to analyze endlessly on the Internet were aware of this; based on pure sound, was an - band through and through, screaming out their feelings as if they were revelations, so it was easy to assume that their music was merely autobiographical. took great pains to have seem like its own theatrical work, launching a whole Web-based campaign, filled with videos and interviews explaining how the album tells the tale of " ," a young man dying of cancer in a hospital bed who flashes back on his undistinguished life upon the moment of his death, and how the band got so into this project they considered themselves not , but a band called the Black Parade -- shades of ! Naturally, those allusions are quite deliberate, and one that played up in that pre-release campaign, dropping liberal reference to (particularly ) and 's as well. It was all quite reminiscent of how set up with endless name-dropping of , but where the Las Vegas quartet wound up with an unholy fusion of these two extremes, never synthesizes; they openly steal from their holy trinity, then graft it upon the sound they've patented. Often, it seems as if they copied onto tracing paper and placed it upon . The story of is nearly identical to -- run through a litany of childhood and adulthood traumas; absent fathers loom large; many of the main character's flaws are cruelly deemed the fault of the mother -- and there are plenty of flourishes lifted from ' magnum opus: the opening fanfare is a re-creation of right down to the churning heavy guitars that come crashing in halfway through, while -- shades of ! -- sounds like performing as affects 's affected mock-English accent as he comes tantalizingly close to following "You should have raised a baby girl/I should have been a better son" with "The way you made them suffer/Your exquisite wife and mother/Fills me with the urge to defecate." These are not the only allusions to classic concept albums, either -- as promised, guitarists conjure 's spirit, recalls as filtered through -- but doesn't feel like a revival of '70s as much as it hearkens back to the twin towers of mid-'90s concept : ' 's enduring fascination with the grotesque echoes throughout the album, from the artwork through 's overcooked, bluntly ugly lyrics (highlighted by "soggy from the chemo"), but its heart lies with , and not just because after his makeover strongly resembles . Like , shares a love of classic that manifests itself in both pummeling riffs and soaring guitar solos, plus they also have a flair for melody, two things that give their solipsistic muscle and grandeur. If didn't have these gifts, would collapse in a pile of drama club cliches, sophomoric self-pity, and an adolescent obsession with death, yet they manage to skirt such a disaster even if they flirt with it shamelessly. But that doesn't necessarily mean that the album is a triumph. For one, plays a lot straighter than it reads. Sure, it has the marching bands, overdubbed choirs, radio-play theatrics, and cameos, a list that makes the album sound like a wild Grand Guignol but all of that winds up being window dressing to music that often isn't far removed from what has done before. Despite all these seemingly fancy accouterments, they're still a modern band, which means for all the emotion poured out by their ever-earnest lead singer, there's little grit in their sound and 's brittle production doesn't help, as its wall of digital sound emphasizes the sonic similarities between the songs instead of their differences. And there are a lot of similarities here: the bulk of the record is firmly within 's comfort zone, which helps make the extra flair -- which doesn't arrive as often as it should -- stand out all the more. But even if this isn't quite the radical break that it was intended to be, does their signature blend of Sturm und Drang better than ever -- rushes along on a series of escalating hooks, surges with purpose -- and when they're paired with tunes that do break the mold, like the wonderfully pompous title track or a tremendous reworking of the / riff that is the simplest and best song they've ever written, it makes for a record that's their strongest, most cohesive yet, even if it isn't quite as weird or compelling as it should be given the group's lofty ambitions. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine