The debut album of Panic! at the Disco, A Fever You Can't Sweat Out, is filled with clever, catchy, hook-filled songs -- and great song titles (e.g. "The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is Press Coverage" and "London Beckoned Songs about Money Written by Machines"). Panic! reminds remind me a bit of the Housemartins with a touch Squirrel Nut Zippers and the storytelling of John Wesley Harding. Panic! is also somewhat reminiscent of their Vegas contemporaries, The Killers, albeit with less of an overtly '80s feel. Like The Killers, they've done well on MTV, as their video for "I Write Sins not Tragedies," has gotten them five VMA nominations, including one for video of the year.

Here's a taste of their lyrics from the track "Build God, Then We'll Talk":

It's these substandard motels on the corner of 4th and Freemont Street.
Appealing, only because they are just that un-appealing.
Any practiced catholic would cross themselves upon entering.
The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe a dash of formaldehyde,
and the habit of decomposing right before your very eyes.
(Along with the people inside.)

There are no raindrops on roses or girls in white dresses.
It's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses
at the shade of the sheets before all the stains
and a few more of your least favorite things.

Tonight tenants range from a lawyer and a virgin
Accessorizing with a rosary tucked inside her lingerie
(she's getting a job at the firm come Monday)
the Mrs. will stay with the cheating attorney,
moonlighting aside, she really needs his money.

Oh. What a wonderful caricature of intimacy.