Their timing couldn't have been better. As bereft Busted fans are looking to dull their pain and emo kids are getting bored by the monotony of misery, along come My Chemical Romance with a life-enhancing dose of schlock-goth.

Kohl-smeared, fake-blood-splattered and quick to give the world the finger, the band have a style that lies somewhere between comic book and cemetery. Their debut album, 2003's I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, injected new life into the post-hardcore scene, its grinding metal riffs and screams matched by sugar-rush melodies. But it was last year's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge that took My Chemical Romance from being purely alternative to one of pop's brightest prospects. Easier on the ear than its predecessor, the album somehow manages to blend Black Flag with Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Every movement needs a leader, and in singer Gerard Way, My Chemical Romance have the most charismatic of frontmen. Resembling Jack White's panda-eyed little brother, he stalks the stage like a jittery deep-south preacher. But, like most horror-flick creations, he has a gentle soul beneath the wild, blazing stare and tormented yells. "We're here to keep you alive, just like we keep ourselves alive every day," he says, his New Jersey voice impassioned.

It's clear that for fans, My Chemical Romance are both a source of solace and an excuse to swear frequently. Every word is sung back at Way with absolute belief, from the suicidal musings of Headfirst for Halos to the anthemic retort of I'm Not Okay (I Promise).

Every song follows the same pattern: first, rock noodling from guitarist Ray Toro (who sports a white-boy afro of a height not witnessed since Eric Clapton left Cream), followed by slow melancholy and finally a mosh-pit-friendly resolution. However, there is more to My Chemical Romance than straight-to-video gorefests and predictable thrills.