Abby’s Black Parade
Seattle’s Stadium-Sized Sadness Party Kicks Off My Chemical Romance’s Tour in Dystopian Glory
Abby’s Black Parade Original Song Links: Youtube, Spotify
Let us introduce you to the newest voice on our team:
— emo scholar, eyeliner enthusiast, and recent transplant from Sioux Falls to Seattle. She may be new to the Pacific Northwest but she’s no stranger to the mosh pit, the merch table, or the existential crises that come with a My Chemical Romance reunion tour.Armed with a notebook, a black hoodie, and the kind of sarcasm you can only earn through years of surviving Midwest winters and Warped Tour sunburns, Abby is here to chronicle the tears, chaos, and questionable venue policies of Seattle’s concert scene.
And what better way to kick off her new era than with the grand return of The Black Parade?
Seattle turned up the heat for the first stop of My Chemical Romance’s North American tour — but thankfully, T-Mobile Park didn’t make us relive our hottest emo memories, literally. While the forecast screamed “sweaty eyeliner regret,” organizers decided to close the stadium roof early on, creating a mercifully shady sanctum for Seattle’s sea of aging emos to gather in black jeans, fishnets, and enough band tees to clothe a Hot Topic warehouse.
Getting into the venue, however, was less, “Welcome to the Black Parade,” and more, “Welcome to the Maze.” It took four separate humans (and at least one existential crisis) to track down the press pass station. Fortunately, the tidal wave of elder emos pouring out of the Light Rail made navigation slightly easier. You could almost hear the internal monologues: “Am I too old for this?” “Will I cry when Gerard sings?” (Answers: never, and obviously, yes.)
Once inside, attendees were handed double-sided “Yay/Nay” signs like we were about to participate in a Hot Topic-themed Hunger Games. No one knew what they were for at first, but everyone clutched them like sacred relics. They’d later decide the fate of hooded figures during the show.
Spoiler Alert: things didn’t end well for the “Nay” guys. Democracy is cruel in emo-land.
Food and drink options were plentiful but predictably priced for a city where coffee is sacred and rent is tragic. Still, the vibes were strong and the drink lines stronger. Shoutout to the folks in bright red shirts whose only job title was “alcohol enforcement.” A whole job just to tell people when they’ve reached their limit? In this economy? Iconic.
The show kicked off at 7:10 with Violent Femmes, whose inclusion raised more than a few goth-pierced brows. But once they busted out “Color Me Once” (yes, The Crow soundtrack, our collective emotional awakening), skepticism turned to swaying. By the end, the Femmes had revealed the show was sold out, proving once again that sad kids grow up, but they never grow out of a good angst anthem.
Fifteen minutes before MCR’s set, the stadium roof was pulled back like a theatrical curtain unveiling the chaos to come. And chaos came indeed — dressed in Soviet-themed propaganda visuals, 1984-style warnings on the big screen (some in English, some in cryptic Cyrillic), and hooded figures who looked straight out of a post-apocalyptic talent show. The “rules” of the show flashed up like indoctrination messages, setting the tone for a performance that leaned hard into the band’s long-standing dystopian flair.
And yes, they played The Black Parade in its entirety. Twenty years later, the album hits harder than ever, especially when screamed by thousands of fans who absolutely did cry when it came out in 2006 and still do today. From “Mama” to “Teenagers,” the entire set was both a eulogy and a resurrection. Every note felt like it was being carved into memory.
Final Thoughts from the Parade Route
Abby’s Black Parade was more than just a concert — it was a collective emo baptism under a retractable roof. Sure, there were minor hiccups (navigation issues, emotional whiplash, the price of a $12 seltzer), but the opening night of this tour was a beautifully orchestrated mess of nostalgia, rebellion, and eyeliner that’s slightly too smudged.
If this show is any indication, the rest of MCR’s tour is going to be a gloriously gloomy march across the country. So grab your black nail polish, prepare to scream-cry, and remember: when you grow up, your emo heart doesn’t die—it just gets louder in a stadium.
Welcome to the team, Abby. You’ve officially passed your rite of passage: crying in public with thousands of strangers while Gerard Way judges us all from a dystopian throne.