17 years, 11 months, and 29 days of waiting
- Val Hernández
- Feb 11
- 9 min read
Updated: Apr 1
On a Monday at 8:00 in the morning, one week before the concert, the Frontlight Magazine inbox was still empty. Press accreditations don’t always arrive when you’re building something from scratch, and even less so in an environment where opportunities tend to stay among the same names as always. In an industry that measures legitimacy in numbers (followers, views, or metrics) more than in judgment or work, growing without access can feel like trying to pull a door that you’re supposed to push. You know you can get in, but they don’t always let you… and they don’t tell you how either.
This time there was no press accreditation, but there was something just as valuable, maybe even bigger. A member of the OCESA team understood what we are trying to build and decided to gift us two tickets. There were no promises or conditions; just the opportunity to experience the concert and tell it from our perspective. Without knowing it, those tickets were for the Box Claro, and included VIP access and experiences that, otherwise, we probably wouldn’t have reached.
Monday, 5:26 pm. We arrived at Vive Claro, an open-air stadium in Bogotá, inaugurated in 2025 and with a capacity for 40,000 people. It was raining, so we stayed a few minutes inside the car. The adrenaline was already running. We saw fans dressed in black and red. Some outfits surprised us, quite revealing for the weather. Extravagant makeup, striking jewelry, and an intensely adolescent energy dominated the atmosphere… within a crowd that, for the most part — almost 80% — was over 30 years old. What were we going to? After 18 years of waiting, My Chemical Romance would finally perform in Colombia. And we were definitely not going to miss it.
9% of the attendees were international; 37%, national tourists. And 2 of us were photographers and music journalists with one dream fulfilled — and another, photographing them, frustrated. 20 minutes later, we entered the Box, a reserved seating area. One of the hosts made it very clear as soon as we arrived: “Feel important, because you are.” Although it is evident that in these areas the audience usually has greater economic capacity, paying $12,000 COP for a bottle of water seemed excessive — later we found out that others were being charged $15,000 COP, that cannot happen. The popcorn was another story: $20,000 COP for a giant bag, surprisingly reasonable and, moreover, delicious. We finished it before the band came out. 10/10 would recommend.
Pero primero, más música de Los Hives.
At 7:30 p.m., right on time, we saw from our seats figures dressed in suits that seemed to glow step out of a car: The Hives. Chris Dangerous appeared with an oxygen mask, without stopping hitting the drums at full speed. Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist, leader and vocalist of the Swedish band, spoke almost the entire set in Spanish. He said that Colombia is one of the best countries for their concerts, they called him “papasito” (and posted him on Instagram), and he made us laugh every time he closed an interaction with his iconic phrase:
“Pero primero, más música de Los Hives”
The audience was fascinated. On social media, they haven’t stopped asking for them to return with a solo show. “Noise! There is no silence at a Hives concert,” wrote one user. They closed their 45 minutes with The Hives Forever, Forever The Hives, the title track of their most recent album, and once again we saw those illuminated silhouettes disappear backstage toward the dressing rooms.
Minutes passed and, suddenly, 2026 began to feel like 2008. During the ninth leg of The Black Parade’s original tour, My Chemical Romance had a date scheduled in Bogotá for February 12, 2008, but it was canceled and the reason was never explained. For many fans, that wound remained open. That’s why, when the current concert was rescheduled due to logistical issues, the killjoys panicked. But this time it did happen. Almost 18 years later — on February 10, 2026 — Gerard Way, Ray Toro, Frank Iero and Mikey Way finally stepped onto the stage, opening the doors to DRAAG: the dystopian dictatorship that would frame the entire narrative of the show.
In this new narrative, the fictional country is governed by The Grand Immortal Dictator; it is written in Keposhka — a language created by Gerard Way together with Nate Piekos for this tour — and the band appears as prisoners of the regime, forced to perform their own music as official propaganda. "The End." was playing while people screamed, cried and, in some way, healed their inner child. A couple of songs later, following the album’s order, came that note that marked an entire generation: G4.
"Welcome to the Black Parade" showed us Gerard at a podium, as if he were giving a political speech, and he sang that line that still breaks us 20 years later:
“He said ‘son, when you grow up, will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?’”
It’s hard to keep writing after that. My throat still tightens when I think about my adolescence, when mental health was barely talked about and, as a result, we learned to keep everything inside. I didn’t understand rock; I saw it as meaningless screaming. Until a friend showed me this song and, suddenly, the girl who sang Disney and wore yellow began to feel.
Psychologist Evelyn Villanueva spoke about this on her social media: My Chemical Romance released a heartbreaking album at a time when “expressing pain was seen as exaggeration or weakness.” Several attendees say that this band — even this specific album — saved their lives. Others, now with a better command of English and understanding the lyrics more deeply, wonder how they survived listening to something so raw at such a young age. For many, as Villanueva says, music was the first space where they felt understood without having to explain themselves. In psychology there are concepts that support this: what is not expressed does not disappear; it transforms into repression, into somatization, into behaviors that repeat wounds. And that last idea became uncomfortably visible.
During "I Don’t Love You", and in several other songs, a couple of public figures argued in front of us in the Box. It was impossible not to notice: they were right in the center of the seating area. While the stadium sang about a breakup, someone decided to record them and upload the moment to social media. Within minutes, users identified the woman and began to mock her. Why do we feel the need to record someone in one of their most vulnerable moments? Being public figures does not turn their pain into content. Not everything that happens in front of us needs to go viral.
Yes, I looked too. They were right in front of us. It was impossible not to notice the argument. I’m human. But looking does no harm. I didn’t film them, I didn’t share the video, I didn’t feed the mockery. And I think that’s where the difference lies. It is paradoxical that at a concert that has meant emotional refuge for so many, someone decided to turn someone else’s vulnerability into entertainment. Did we go to the same show? Because if there’s something My Chemical Romance has defended for more than two decades, it is precisely the opposite: the dignity of pain, the validation of what hurts.
Perhaps that’s why so many bands, including MCR, distrust the press and are reluctant with cameras. When everything is reduced to views and likes, empathy starts to seem optional. We don’t know their story nor do we intend to judge it. Maybe they could have gone to the lobby. Maybe not. But honestly, it wasn’t our business. A song like "I Don’t Love You" does not create conflicts; but it can touch the nerve that was already sensitive. Sometimes emotional intensity needs an object. If it is not processed as “this song moved something in me,” it ends up turning into “you did something.” As psychologist Evelyn Villanueva states, when an emotion finds words, it stops being a threat and begins to become an integrated experience. This is what music means and this is what we are doing as a society with vulnerability.
The concert went on as if nothing had happened. We kept jumping until, like many around us, we realized we’re not built for this anymore… until "Teenagers" started and we jumped as if the tendinitis were mental. In the freezing cold of post-rain Bogota, the pyrotechnics and flames from the stage gave us some warmth to keep going.
10:17 p.m. The most gore moment of the show. "Blood" was playing while Way pulled the Clerk’s guts out. I turned to look at my friend and, within seconds, an explosion. One of the worst scares of my life was that pyrotechnic; I was completely unprepared. And that’s how The Black Parade ended. The band freed themselves from DRAAG’s fascist regime, reappeared wearing black T-shirts and, finally, Gerard greeted us.
“Hola, Colombia. Are you ready?”, said Gerard Way before giving way to Give ’Em Hell, Kid. He also apologized for the cancellation 18 years ago.
We were one of the few concerts on this leg of the tour that received several different songs on the B-Stage: You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison, It’s Not a Fashion Statement, It’s a Fucking Deathwish, Bury Me in Black and others that, as several killjoys said on social media, left them ready to die in peace. Some missed classics like Summertime, Cemetery Drive or songs from I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love (2002), but even so many agreed that it was the best setlist of the Latin American leg.
“How do I wake up tomorrow knowing the concert is already over?” said one user.
Helena closed the night at 11:07 p.m. Although we stayed waiting for more, when Gerard Way says “so long and goodnight,” he means it. Now, before talking about the exit, let’s give their moment to those who usually remain outside the spotlight. Charlotte Kelso, the Australian soprano who played Marianne, dazzled in every intervention. She led Over Fields,DRAAG’s “national anthem,” and left the stadium silent with her part in Mama. The actor who played the Clerk — whose name we do not know — made the dystopian universe feel real and disturbing. The supporting band, with an impeccable violinist. The designers. The sound engineers — who, for the first time in a long time, achieved a moderately acceptable sound at a concert of this magnitude in Bogotá… although some attendees on the floor reported difficulties —. Engineers, technicians and staff. The level of production was extremely high.
Our criticisms are few, but not minor. First, the area intended for people with reduced mobility did not seem the most adequate from our perspective. We have not seen public complaints from those who used it, so we recognize that we may be giving an opinion without having all the information, but it is worth reviewing.
In terms of accessibility, it would have been valuable to include subtitles on the screens — and, while we’re at it, larger screens. This would not only support people with hearing disabilities — we did not see a sign language interpreter — but also those who do not master English. Not knowing all the lyrics does not make you any less of a fan. I myself sang several in English of questionable origin. Some attendees in the preferential section also pointed out that the sound tent took up too much space and created visual obstructions from certain angles.
And, finally, the exit. Vive Claro reported that it would implement protocols designed for both attendees and neighbors. However, the experience did not feel organized. Only one of the venue’s multiple exits was enabled for more than 30,000 people. To get to the parking lot it was necessary to go around practically the entire venue — we estimate about 2.5 kilometers —, even for those in VIP areas. Several roads were closed and traffic platforms did not reflect it, which caused disorientation and congestion. Attendees who used public transportation reported insufficient TransMilenio service; some walked more than 45 minutes. Others stated that, at certain points, vehicular flow was prioritized over pedestrian flow, creating risky situations. The informal vendors were organized and offered quality products — drinks, food and souvenirs —, but the accumulation of stands also contributed to the congestion. This is not a criticism of them; it is an observation about the general logistics.
Yes, we were invited by OCESA, the venue’s official operators, but that does not mean we should omit areas for improvement. It is one of the most important promoters in Latin America and, precisely because of that, it is worth pointing out opportunities to strengthen the experience. If Vive Claro seeks to establish Colombia as an unmissable market in the global entertainment industry, the conversation must also include accessibility, mobility and efficient exit protocols. Because the show was memorable. And the complete experience should be up to that standard.
And as if the night had not already been intense enough, the epilogue arrived the following day. The few photos and videos we managed to record with a cellphone — which, by the way, turned out surprisingly well — were never downloaded. We did not lose them at the concert. We lost them when the cellphone was stolen before we could back them up. We are not going to recover the phone. We know that. But thief, if by any chance you are reading this, at least send us the photos and videos, because now, as Gerard Way said in "Prison",
"Your life will never be the same on your mother’s eyes"
And ours wasn't either after this concert.
Comments