The Chemical Family

There are many reasons why My Chemical Romance is over. The one who pulled the trigger is not important, just like the messengers - but the message, again and as always, is the important thing. But to reiterate, this is on my own, my reasons and feelings. And I can assure you that there was no divorce, fight, fault, accident, villain or slash in the back that caused this, again, this was not anyone's fault, and has been quietly walking, without us knowing, before any sensationalism, scandal or rumor.

There was not even a moment of glory in a shower of bullets ...

I'm backstage in Asbury Park, New Jersey. It's Saturday, May 19, 2012, and I'm walking behind a big black curtain that leads to the stage. I feel the ocean breeze come to me, and I look at my arms, which are covered with a new gauze for having lost a battle with a rash of heat, which had been a mysterious problem in recent months. Normally I'm not nervous before a concert, but I'm certainly full of angry butterflies most of the time. This is different - a strange anxiety is propelled through me, I can only imagine that it is the sixth sense that one experiences before his last moment of life. My pupils have been reduced to nothing, and I have stopped blinking. The temperature of my body is like ice.

We receive the signal to go on stage.

The concert is ... well. Not great, not bad, just good. The first thing I notice that takes me by surprise is not the huge number of people in front of us, but far to my left is the coast and the vastness of the ocean. Much bluer than I remember when I was a kid. The sky is just as vibrant. I do my interpretation, semi-automatically, and something is wrong.

All that was left was that inner voice, and I could hear it clearly. I did not need to scream, "he whispered to me, and said briefly, flatly and kindly - what he had to say.

What he said remained between the voice and I.

I ignored it, and the next few months were full of suffering for me - I emptied myself, I stopped listening to music, I did not raise a pencil, I began to slide into old habits. All the vibration he used to see began to de-saturate. Be lost. I used to see art or magic in everything, especially in the mundane - and that ability was buried beneath the wreck.

Slowly, once I had done enough damage, I started to come out of the well. Cleansed. When I got out, the only thing that remained inside me was the voice, and for the second time in my life, I did not ignore it, because it was mine. There are many roles to play in this end. We can be those who have good desires, bad desires; sympathizers, rogues, comedians, storm clouds, victims.

The last, again, is important. I never considered myself a victim, nor any of my comrades, nor the fans - especially not the fans. That we adopt that role right now would legitimize all the names that the tabloids have tried to put us. More importantly, it completely loses the point of the band. And then, what will we have learned?

With honor, integrity, comfort, and in the terms of none other than ours - the door closes.

A 1965 Fender Princeton amplifier, without reverberation. A handsome gadget.

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He showed me his strengths, the speaker, the cordless plug to the ground, the original seal and the chalk mark of the man or woman who built it. > "This amplifier talks," he told me.

We went to have coffee, we talked about moments rolled in gold and life. We sat in the car and we listened to the music that each one had composed.

When I wanted to start My Chemical Romance, I started sitting in my parents' basement, picking up an instrument that I had long ago abandoned by the brush - a guitar . It was a Mexican Fender Stratocaster from the '90s, placid blue lake color, but in my youth I had decided it was too clean and pretty, so I gave it a couple of strokes, exposing the red paint underneath the blue - the color of the which was supposed to be. By adding a piece of insulation tape to the knocker, it felt acceptable. I connected it to a baby Crate Amp with distortion included and I started the first chords of Skylines and Turnistles.

I still have that guitar, it's leaning next to Princeton.

I would like to hear what you have to say.

In conclusion, I want to thank each of the fans. I have learned from you, perhaps more than what you think you have learned from me. My only regret is that I am terrible with names and bad with farewells. But I never forget a face, or a feeling - and that's what I have left of all of you.

I feel love for you, for our team, for our gang and for each of the humans with whom I have shared the band and the stage.

Ray. Mikey. Frank. Matt. Bob. James. Todd. Cortez. Tucker. Pete. Michael. Jarrod.

My Chemical Romance is over. But he can never die.

It is alive in me, in the boys, and it is alive within all of you.

I always knew that, and I think you know it too. Because it's not a band.

It's an idea.

  • Adam Floyd