Ohmigoes, this is the worst news I could’ve possibly gotten today. Fall Out Boy, everyone’s favorite Chicago emoscensters, are breaking up permanently.
Fall Out Boy. They are the king of the long song titles. The yearning, searching emotion to get an idea across, with the inability to do in less than 20 words a verse. The lead singer that despite having a pretty good voice, will inevitably sound like a sixteen-year-old all of his life. They’re splitting apart. Caput. Never to play again. Never will you see Pete Wentz jump around, playing the simplest of bass lines. Never again will you see a band so hellbent on being completely covered in tattoos just so they can play guitar based power-pop. That era is over.
If you’re like me, you’re weeping, listening to Fall Out Boy records, with a series of razor blades that I’ve had custom-made at this underground razor blade shop to specially fit the contours of my wrists. You like, can’t get them anywhere. They’re out of print.
Fall Out Boy has the distinction of being one of the only bands that teeny-bopping girls like that teeny-bopping boys hate. So it’ll be interesting what the crowds on their reunion tour look like, after each of them fail going solo.
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