Movie Review: The Amazing Spider-Man

Thesis of my discontent: Everyone here does fine work but I struggle to really list superlatives because the script does not allow anyone to shine but also does not allow the story work as an ensemble piece.  Instead everyone is simply shortchanged at the expense of a flimsy and familiar plot.

Caveat emptor: this review is really phoned in.  It will be up to you, dicerning reader, to decide if I am making a clever statement on the creatively bankrupt movie that is today's discussion or if I am just not very good at this.  Hint: the answer is C!

I remember seeing the first Spider-Man movie way back in the summer of ought-two.  My anticipation was higher than a kite.  As a young man who fantasized extensively about Lynda Carter (more accurately Diana Prince AKA Wonder Woman) I also read a stupid amount of Spider-Man comic books.  The quantity never quite reached the heights of Batman and my heart always belonged to the Dark Knight but the fact remained I was definitely a Spidey fan.  There was just something so damned cool about him and his supporting cast of heroes and villains.  Until I discovered The Flash years later (oddly after nearly being struck by lighting and after writing some very dubious checks) I considered Spider-Man’s rogues gallery second only to Batman’s (they are now behind Batman’s and Flash’s and tied with Superman’s).  I simply loved the character, his mythology and his hipness.  When that first movie hit, sitting in the theatre as the credits rolled I was as happy as a man who has been physically shrunken down to the size of only a couple meager inches and forcibly placed inside the pantyhose of the aforementioned Ms. Carter, made to lay under the arch of her sole or between her toes before she jams her foot into that glorious red and white boot and begins a long, hard and very warm and sweaty day of extensive running and jumping superheroics.  I greatly enjoyed the film.  What was not to love?  The tone was sumptuous.  I was never one of THOSE (italics and caps!) fans who insist everything must match up to the comic.  I wisely understood changes must always be made from translating thousands of issues and dozens of years worth of material into a two-hour feature film.  I had a similar enthusiasm for Spider-Man 2 though soon Batman Begins and X2 came out and took their place above Raimi’s vision.  It’s sad and pointless to compare all superhero movies but I am as guilty of it as the next lady or gentleman.  

Then Spider-Man 3 hit and diminished nearly all my enthusiasm for the character by taking a huge narrative step back and basically just being a steaming pile of rotting vegetable matter, an awful crammed movie.  The comics were going through a particularly frustrating point during that time as well and I jump shipped after the thousandth ret con (fanboy jargon for retroactive continuity or something like that, basically rewrites).  Now comes this new version starring everyone’s favorite lasagna loving orange feline and Emma Stone (I originally had a similarly sly joke here instead of her name but felt it could be misread as mean spirited and therefore opted not to include it as I have no ill will whatsoever for Miss Stone).  Was it amazing?  If you read the first sentence of this review you already know my answer but I thought I’d pose the question anyway.   

Not since Superman Returns have I had so many mixed, conflicting thoughts on a comic book film.  And not since Green Lantern from last year have I been so disappointed in one (that’s a sadly short amount of time). 

When I first heard the mysterious “they” used to describe movie studios were rebooting the Spider-Man franchise I was not surprised but I was also not noticeably enthusiastic.  As stated, Spider-Man 3 was dismal but it still seemed strange to scrap all the momentum the original films had built up and start over from scratch.  My intrigue grew a bit when I learned of who was to play the titular hero and then I pretty much forgot about this movie in favor of others. 

I try my damndest to go into every movie with an open mind and leave my expectations (along with my pride, shame and inhibitions) at the door.  But I am seriously, absolutely 100% tired of origin movies.  Last year alone we had four, FOUR (sure it’s less than five but it’s still a hell of a lot more than just two or three) origin movies, two of which were pure trash (not to be confused with Alice Cooper’s 1989 album “Trash” which I find to be a great, underrated gem in his catalogue!).  

To that end this movie is simply not necessary.  I do not buy the argument that a new generation needs their own version of the origin.  All those lazy entitled bastards can watch the old movie or take a few minutes to read the comic reprint in a store or take thirty seconds to look it up on wikipedia (or better yet search for it using searchwithkevin.com which still all these years later is my preferred way to navigate the ever growing and treacherous information super highway!).  It is especially true with the huger, more iconic characters – which definitely includes Spider-man – that everyone knows the origin anyway so there is no need for a retelling.  There’s good reason why the second film in these franchises is typically better and that is because they do not have to waste any time with exposition.  Tim Burton’s 1989 Batman movie had no extended origin sequence, just a three-minute flashback to Wayne’s parents being killed and no one complained.  The origin is even less necessary this time around since the last Spiderman movie barely came out five years ago.  Even if they wanted to separate themselves completely from the Raimi films (which honestly doesn’t seem to be the case) they could have done it without telling the same story.  The Incredible Hulk clearly wanted to be different from Hulk but they did not waste time telling Banner’s origin again, instead it was shown in a montage during the opening credits (that the original Hulk is still a better movie is an ironic twist that does nothing to diminish my point). 

The repetitive feel of this movie is made even more intense due to all the brilliant Sony marketing that promised “the untold story” about Peter Parker and his parents   However there is no such thing here.  There was no significant new information addressed in this film that was left out of the original.  The history of Peter’s parents was brought up in the first fifteen minutes and then discarded for the rest of the movie.  Some folks are saying that it is unfair to criticize the movie simply because it is a reboot and unnecessary to constantly compare it to the original movie.  I can definitely respect this point of view and would even agree if there was a sense of freshness here, like opening a new package of pressed meat and savoring the scents.  However this is a not a case of Tim Burton’s Batman and Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins where the two movies are completely different and seem to have different intentions.  Amazing Spider-Man does not bring anything new to the table and hits many of the same beats of the first Spider-man movie but in a weaker way.  It begs me to ask the question why it even exists in the first place?  The answer is of course that Sony would lose the rights if they didn’t make another movie and they were too scared after Spider-man 3 backlash to have another go in that universe so they decided a numbing rehash would be preferable. 

To be clear, almost all problems I have with this flick can be traced back to the script so let me give some credit to the actors here who all do an admirable job with what they’ve been given.  Andrew Garfield is a great and memorable Peter Parker/Spider-man.  Garfield’s body language in the suit really does look like Spidey stepped out of the pages of the comic book.  Emma Stone is sweet and effortlessly charming.  Despite the lazy writing that accompanies her character and their romance the audience can clearly see why any man – even those of the arachnid variety – would almost instantly fall for her. 

I first became truly appreciative of Rhys Ifans work in Enduring Love and hoped a scene of he and Daniel Craig making out would find it’s way into this movie but I was not destined to have my wish granted.  Despite playing the central antagonist his role is pretty thankless and I have the feeling many of his scenes were left on the cutting room floor.  Still, he’s certainly game all the way through and it is testament to his abilities that he makes such a thinly written character at least almost somewhat intriguing.  I credit any depth or interest in Connors to Ifans and wish he’d been given a chance to show off his true talents. 

Denis Leary, Sally Field and Martin Sheen also do well with so very little.  It is a true shame such a strong cast was not given a meatier script. 

A couple more positives: the score is quite good here.  The only other superhero movies I can think of that have tried to incorporate a truly notable score are the old Richard Donner Superman movies with John Williams at the musical helm and the Burton/Nolan Batman movies with Danny Elfman and Hans Zimmer respectively.  The spider sense was also handled well throughout the movie and the subway scene is rather funny. 

Now the negatives which have a better lead-in if you ignore the previous positive paragraph: Oddly, the first movie – and other comics movies since – have had a much larger supporting cast yet balanced the characters in a far superior way.  There is nothing particularly compelling about a majority of this movie and despite the length of many scenes – notably those at the OsCorp tower or even some between Peter and Gwen – none of the characters are well developed.  Instead, clichéd dialogue and contrived situations stretch on to awkward lengths.

Pacing issues reign supreme!  Ben’s death seems glossed over in relation both to Peter and Aunt May (it also doesn’t help that this depiction makes Peter look like a world class turd for his hand in Uncle Ben’s death being over a bottle of chocolate milk).  Then the movie stalls for romance scenes then speeds up for whatever goofball things the Lizard is concocting.  There was no flow here at all (as far as modern day goes, I would still say Nas has the best flow, fuck Jay-Z!)

Even scenes that should be simplistically epic like the crane scene have missteps.  I never minded the scenes in the first two Spider-man movies where average New York citizens help the star in their own heroic, “awe shucks” kind of way (it really is weird how much this movie borrows from the Raimi films) so I was not bothered at all by these citizens helping out.  However after the musical build up and Spiderman’s run across the roof the pacing is completely ruined by the same thing we’ve seen in a thousand other movies where the hero seems to miss his mark, the music cuts out and then everything swells when we realize he did make the jump, just not in the way we thought.  That may sound like a nitpick but the whole movie is filled with these contrivances and they start to weigh heavily after awhile. 

We now have to discuss Dr. Curt Connors AKA the Lizard.  I am a huge fan of the original Amazing Spider-Man comics by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko and have several different reprints for reading as well as fine to near mint copies of the first nineteen issues (and Amazing Fantasy #15).  One of the many genius things about those early stories is that the legendary creative team invented almost every major Spider-Man rogue in the first thirty issues or so.  Those are the classic villains and have had no problem passing the test of time.  The Lizard is among those classic villains and first appeared in Amazing Spider-Man #6.  Growing up on those original stories as well as thrilling to later arcs featuring the character such as Todd McFarlane’s “Torture” storyline in the 90’s was a delight and I have always been a Lizard fan.  I can’t say he’s my favorite Spider-Man villain but I’ve always had affection for him.  However, he is a very strange choice as a launching pad villain for a new franchise and unfortunately his inclusion and depiction is one of the absolute weakest aspects of this movie.  

I’ve always felt giant creatures are not the best way to go for the big screen adaptations and most of these films have wisely avoided them.  Personally, I am rarely able to find enjoyment from two CGI personality-less creations duking it out.  In the end his plan seems to be to turn everyone in New York into giant lizards to cure their imperfections which played out as terribly in the movie as it does in this sentence (or when I tried to do the very same thing during Miami back in 96’), even a character as undeveloped as he is painfully inconsistent.  One moment Connors is intentionally injecting himself with more lizard juice to go and murder Peter Parker and then in the next he is saving him from falling down a building (which I would think Spider-man could just stick to anyway).  One moment the Lizard ignores Gwen hitting him with a flamethrower and then in the next he murders Captain Stacy.  I know some are going to say he was conflicted and the lizard side of his personality was dominant during the more villainous scenes and the Connors side in control during the other moments but this was honestly only suggested one time when he was talking to the voices in his head (a la Willem Dafoe in the first Spider-Man) and was not explored in any meaningful way that it can excuse weak writing and poor characterization.  I do like the two minutes or so where the Lizard is wearing his lab coat, it was a nice visual.  In the end it was a bit too difficult to take a giant talking lizard seriously and his overall story seemed like a hacked up and watered down version of Doctor Octopus’s from Spider-Man 2 except without the added gravitas of a family (which is odd since Connor’s family in the comics has always been a major plot point with the character) and with a layer of gooey, smelly cheese piled on him.  

 

This is one of those instances where every single money shot was given away in the trailers.  I don’t think this would necessarily be problematic (or even noticeable) if the narrative itself stood up well.  But it does not.  The movie is around 2 hours, 20 minutes and it definitely feels that length.  Despite all that time, the characters have very little depth, the story is thin and there aren’t many moments that stand out as impressive, interesting or exciting.

Despite my aforementioned fond memories I am by no means a Raimi fanboy and none of the original Spider-man movies make it on any of my best films lists.  But I cannot immediately think of anything that this new movie does better than his original.  With the possible exception of the crane scene there is not a single moment of this film that has the sense of wonder, awe and fun that Raimi’s original brought to life so effortlessly ten years ago. 

This is not a terrible movie by any stretch (Armstrong) of the imagination nor does it represent the worst of the genre.  It is however an inexcusable, workman-like disappointment.  In a time where we’ve had films like Batman Begins, Thor and the original Spider-Man this is a sadly pedestrian and unnecessary movie.

Lately, I’ve been listening a lot to Dragonforce’s new album “The Power Within”.  Great album is all I have to say.  Check it out, all ye metal fans.  Roadrunner records is such a great label I should sacrifice myself in their honor.  Good gravy this review sucked!  Trent Reznor (swoon!) once said he would never release anything he does not fully believe in.  I am no Trent Reznor.  Oh Reznor, my life for you....

Music Review: Oceania by The Smashing Pumpkins

“Quasar” starts things up and immediately forces you to pump your fists and grit your teeth with its rock power.  Corgan’s signature walls of guitars are all over this album and welcome as ever.  Everyone in the entire world is going to be comparing this song to “Cherub Rock” from the great Siamese Dream and the similarities are undeniable.  Regardless, the only important thing is this serves as a fantastic way to kickstart the album, a sign to fans new and old that they are welcome to enter and discover what waits inside.  Let me state up front that William’s new band is uniformly great throughout.  Much has been made about the Smashing Pumpkins or yore being a Billy Corgan project where he pretty much does everything except drums (and I have no reason to doubt this) but this new bands seems to have had much more of a say in the music and they are all excellent.  Jimmy Chamberlin being the best drummer in the world would be slightly intimidating to most newcomers but Mike Byrne – a precocious young lad – makes his presence known as a powerhouse drummer in his own right whose beats will cause your brains to liquefy, ooze through your nostrils, and stain your filthy unwashed shirt.  Of course, afterward you won’t even be able to have a firm grasp on the rest of the album but it won’t matter because you’ve just heard this inspired, blistering opener. 

The new Smashing Pumpkins record is great in the way only records by this band can be, let’s get that out of the way.  But as with any great work there always comes a fair bit of exposition. 

I was sitting in an authentic Indian restaurant about to stuff my bloated ugly face full of naan and chunks of unknown meat coated in equally enigmatic orange sauce.  Palatial Gold is a restaurant I always frequent while in the Chicago area, which was where I happened to find myself for a recent two-week period.  A friend of mine was getting married but I also wanted to take the opportunity to catch up with some other comrades.  I’d worked at a now defunct movie magazine called Cinema Estado during the early two thousands and fostered several strong friendships.  Some of these were strained to the breaking point after a few too many drunken skirmishes – nearly all of which were my fault – but a few managed to survive against all odds.  Back in the day we would all go to Palatial Gold after the end of a hard week and chow down while watching clips from the latest Bollywood film.  I was delighted to find that little had changed in the decade and a half since I’d last frequented the establishment.  Lisa, Caroline and Alice sat at the booth with me, Lisa to my left and Caroline and Alice across from us.  They were all as beautiful as I remembered, the years had been kind and I was delighted and perhaps unfairly surprised to find that none had decided to opt for any kind of surgery to combat the aging process.  Their beauty was strong but natural.  Still, as we ate and talked I couldn’t help but feel that beneath the beautiful faces lurked a searing, consuming hatred for me.  How could they not hate me after all?  Despite all the laughs, and good times we shared in the past it was clear the years since had only tarnished those memories rather than give them a rose tinged hue.  

As we sat there masticating, I took a good look around the place, realizing for the first time how seedy it all was.  Cockroaches scurried across the floors and flies conversed over the steaming piles of food in the buffet area, vomiting their life stories and waxing melancholic over their blissfully short lives.  I use the word blissfully because my life is so inherently without meaning that I have often cursed Mother Nature and Father Time in equal measure for making it last so many years.  As I’ve often written in the past, if I had any courage at all I would have ended this farce long ago.  But I have no courage.  I only have you dear readers and the slim hope that perhaps these words will find one of you, perhaps someone in a similar situation as I and maybe prevent someone else from heading down the blood stained path that is now my curse.  People told me not to use hard drugs, people told me not to drink so much but what other forms of relief can we turn to in this day and age?  This world of throwaway sex and empty house music wears on a person until one day you wake up and realize that all you have left are your own corrupt vices for they will always be there for you and never judge.  Addiction is a warm bath, filthy and relaxing.   

There were countless underhanded dealings going on at Palatial Gold.  Pay offs and marathon oral sex sessions were taking place beneath the tables.  The kitchen reeked of meat left out in the heat too long and of broken promises and shattered dreams.  Fights broke out like clockwork every four point two-nine minutes and surely no less than seven different tables’ occupants were planning the murder of a friend or family member.  I did not feel scared to be here, I welcomed the danger.  Maybe there was a brave soul finally willing to do what was necessary.  I tried to talk to my former friends but realized we shared nothing in common, there was no way I could relate to them and they had no chance of understanding the oily inner mechanics of my mind.  I wondered if one of them had poisoned my food while I was not looking or maybe only introduced a sedative into the mix.  Was torture on the menu for tonight?  Would they pluck out my eyeballs and fill the sockets with sawdust or maybe use Exacto knives and a cheese grater to create a thousand and one tiny cuts and open sores all over my hirsute body before covering me in Bear Brand honey and throwing me onto a hill of red ants.  The question was not did they want to kill me.  The question was who wanted to kill me the most.  Their smiles were both beautiful and savage, three great whites circling me, all sharp deadly teeth and cold black eyes. 

But this was not truly them I knew.  This was simply my own insecurities and self-hatred being projected onto them.  Oh God, why can’t I be normal, why can’t I just sit through a cordial dinner and watch Aishwarya Rai on the television and love life as though it were a huge stuffed bear won at a Vegas game where the Nevada Gaming Commission (anything for the NGC says Andy Garcia, star of the under appreciated little gem Things To Do In Denver When You’re Dead along with the great Christopher Walken who starred in the film adaptation of the most terrifying book I have ever read) looks the other way because everyone realizes the bear is stuffed with unmarked millions from a drug trafficking scam and you are about to reap the spoils and subsequently buy everyone on the same floor as you a drink of their choice before immediately proceeding to call an escort service and humbly request the trashiest and biggest hipped latina they have working (please let her have naturally coal black hair that has been dyed blonde, oh please!)?  I remember the first time I saw Ms. Rai.  It was at least fifty-nine years ago but I remember it as though it were only twelve and a half years into the future from the thirty-seventh minute after you began reading the second sentence of the third paragraph of this review.  I was home alone on a Sunday night and watching the program 60 Minutes.  Outside a large black dog was barking and I somehow knew that all the waking nightmares in my life – all the unimaginable horrors I’d seen in recent weeks – were somehow a product of his mind.  He was causing all of this.  I was a part of his game and the shadows that danced across the walls of my bedroom at night would soon perform his bidding, such as it was. 

But then the wise and comforting face of Bob Simon appeared on the screen and I was able to ignore the black dog for the following nineteen minutes.  Simon introduced the story as discussing the most beautiful woman in the world, which the public at large was deeming Aishwarya Rai at the time.  He challenged the humble viewers to see if we felt the same.  Beauty is of course an entirely subjective thing, but I must admit when I saw Ms. Rai’s face pop up on the screen for the first time I forgot all about Mr. Simon and immediately felt all sorts of butterflies and other insects like moths and locusts fluttering around my stomach.  She was undeniably stunning and seemed like a genuinely sweet person as well.  As the years progressed I have only watched her beauty and talent grow.  She was recently with child and certain unscrupulous members of the press were calling her “chubby” but these were probably ugly folks (like myself but without my kind and lustful heart) who are in full support of Mayor Bloomberg’s proposed ban on large size sodas (damn that liberal agenda, they love government interference, it’ll be Clockwork Orange in the year 1984 on a blistering hot day of Fahrenheit 451 degrees if they get their way!).  It’s true Ms. Rai gained some curves during her tenure with baby but this soft and supple bodily addition only made her even more insanely attractive.  Oh Aishwarya, don’t let the bastards grind you down (says Paul David Hewson), you are a beacon of positive energy in this negative cesspool of a world.  

Incidentally, I ended up leaving Palatial gold after four helpings of food, seven glasses of water, one bowl of rice pudding and sixty-seven consecutive minutes of wide eyed staring at my female companions.  It was not my night to meet my bread maker.  On the way back to my gloriously seedy hotel room (the kind where you find hair in the sink and on the sheets) I stopped by at the local Samuel Goody to pick up the new Smashing Pumpkins album entitled Oceania. 

It’s been on constant rotation since this purchase but I am finding it difficult to express my opinion, pretty great for a writer, huh?  I’m such a worthless poser.  Everywhere I go I’m always posing, flexing my deltoids and showing of my chiseled six-pack of abs.  But it is no secret that I love the Pumpkins.  I think why I am having trouble expressing myself here is because this album is just so darn good!  I wish more things were like that and yet I don’t; it’s so easy (and fun) to spew anonymous hate speech when something is bad. 

Highlights are so frequent that I could practically pick any of the songs and write ad naseum (not to be confused with ad nazism which is likely how I would have made a living had I graduated with a journalism degree in Germany in the early forties!  Don’t go to college kids, a degree ain’t worth the diamond studded brick of gold they emblazon it on.) about them. I am not going to do that however.  Part of it is simple laziness but part of it is that people need to listen to this damn record!  It is a truly great album, not a collection of songs but an actual album where each song seems to be a different shade of some beautiful color on a rainbow that only the Pumpkins can see. 

The word cohesive has been thrown around a lot to describe this new release.  I tried to think of another word so as not to simply copy everyone else but I could not.  This album stands up from beginning to end as an extremely consistent listen.  Consistent is such a boring word that does no justice to the hour of great music here, an hour that passes incredibly fast each time precisely because of the quality. 

As I bite off what little skin remains on the tips of my fingers let me try and articulate some of the things that are jumping out to me on this latest work. 

“Celestials” has some eye-gougingly awesome bass parts. One of the things I loved on the aforementioned Gish was the tasteful bass playing that elevated almost every song.  It was an aspect of the music that often seemed downplayed on later releases but has made a triumphant return on Oceania where the bass often acts as a lovely layer of warmth. Nicole Fiorentino is the latest in Corgan’s never ending supply of lovely lady bassists and her skills are formidable.  I consider myself something of a bassist but the truth is despite my Julliard education she could play trapezoids around me.  The other element she brings to this release whose importance cannot be understated is her backing vocals.  On some previous discs Corgan often just used his voice for backing vocals, which is fine, but this feminine element adds a lot to the material.  She doesn’t sing on every song but her contributions are always stellar and always elevate the track

I have seen some people slagging the song “One Diamond, One Heart” but I think it is absolutely beautiful; a majestic track that soars in washes of guitars and syths with Billy’s uplifting vocals the guiding hand.  This song will sound great if one listens to it while driving around Seattle at night, it’s a city kind of song.  I will try it some day; Seattle is a great city to drive around in at night.  Truthfully, this song reminds me a lot of Zooropa era U2 and that is always a good thing.  I know a new relationship is going to last for at least 59 dates if after the first kiss I can say to myself “This woman reminds me a lot of Zooropa era U2”.  If I cannot make that claim then I typically end up wrestling with various emotions and trying to decide if I am staying with her because I want to or because I am simply afraid of being alone.

Speaking of which, I have always been a wrestling fan and the nineties was something of a golden age for me with the famed Monday night wars.  I must confess to siding with WCW on this one and I can recall with glee great things like the N.W.O. storylines, Rey Mysterio Jr. and Dean Malenko (two of the most technically gifted wrestlers of their era) series, Sting turning heel and still being the best and Goldberg with his never-ending wins. It seemed like wrestling was never quite the same after Vince bought the company but I do see things slowly turning around.  From what I’ve seen Resistance Pro looks great and recalls the classic style without being a slave to it.  Someone should buy me the dvd’s from their website as a gift since I am a lousy freeloader.  I commend Corgan for his commitment to music and wrestling because they are two passions I have always shared.  My wrestling love goes so deep that I have often wished I would be tortured and killed by a luchadora!  What death could be more delightful than falling by the sweet, sumptuous and powerful pantyhose clad legs of these gorgeous Mexicanas!  And after they humiliate me in a match they use me as their footrest, calling me “patetico” “asco” “feo”.  

  

I have always found the life of a luchadora to be among the most noble.  This interview with Amapola just reminds me of that, her passion for the sport is a grand thing to see, and she’s also one of the best luchadoras around.  If I met her I don’t know if I would praise her or intentionally say something to make her mad so she would challenge me to a match and bash me brutally.  

The first couple instrumental minutes of “Pinwheels” are just so gorgeous.  It would make me incredibly mad if the rest of the song didn’t measure up but it does!  This is the sound of a hope filled summer where you will either find your true love or rekindle that fire with the one that got away.  This is the feeling the band has given us since the first notes of “I Am One” from Gish. 

“Oceania” is a fittingly epic title track. The word epic is thrown around so much that I should receive a stipend each time it is used since I was the one who it brought to the mainstream public consciousness way back in 71’ when I used it in an old Toronto newspaper article to describe Spielberg’s directorial debut Duel.  The word is so overused it has started to lose meaning but it applies here.  As ever, the rock side of the track is really rocking and the softer side – always my favorite side of this band – is gentle acoustic glory that is a massage for the ears of anyone tired of all the homogenized chuff on the radio today. 

“Pale Horse” with that recurring piano part (I think it’s a piano but I could be wrong, I am a complete idiot when it comes to identifying instruments but it should be obvious what I am talking about, it’s kind of chimey, percussiony and pianony).  There is some great bass and some wonderful subtle backup vocals and synths in here too and combined with that piano part the whole song paints a portrait of that strange beauty: the gentle thunderstorm.  It is a perfect image to evoke for feelings of a lost love.  This is my favorite track on the album and is best-heard wearing headphones.  The first section of this album is classic Corgan rock but it is this middle section – specifically this trilogy of tracks – that is the album’s heart and a pure statement of beauty.  If “Pinwheels” is the sound of a summer day and “Oceania” the majestic sunset then this is the unexpected thunderstorm on a summer night, calling you to run through the rain and scream your passions to the night sky. 

Everyone and their ermine has noticed how Zwan-like “The Chimera” sounds and that is most definitely a good thing.  I disagree with the folks [and oaks (and James K. Polks)] who say this song sounds like it could be from Siamese Dream.  However if any of them want to vehemently disagree with me I would happily invite them out for some carbohydrate rich pasta and bread – my treat of course – where we could discuss the matter at greater length and possibly come to some sort of happy medium or simply set aside our differences and agree to disagree like all the great leaders of the world and all the great pioneers of science and art throughout the ages who have had equally fantastic but diametrically and didactically opposed ideas but can still come together to play backgammon over glasses of merlot and jars of green olives and sliced up sausage and cheese when the situation calls for it.  

If there is something I have to fault the album with it is a seeming lack of melodic vocal hooks.  Don’t get me wrong dear readers, Corgan’s voice sounds great and the backing vocals are consistently lovely and much appreciated.  But most of the hooks really come from the guitars or the synths with the vocal melodies taking a backseat.  I said seeming at the beginning of this paragraph because I remember Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness feeling like a large unshapen musical mess the first few listens where I also voiced a similar complaint.  However now so many years, listens, experiences and heartbreaks later that album has become one my favorites of all time, a life imprinting and affirming piece of art that never ceases to reward or fails to yield new discoveries.

I cannot say that this new record touches the classic original trilogy (so many damn trilogies in this world) of Gish, Siamese Dream and Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness.  Were to say that I would be promptly executed if I lived in a country that sent 64,000 volts of fine imported electricity surging through the bodies of those bawdy enough to speak in minced untruths.  But luckily I don’t live in this highly hypothetical land and instead live in the good United States of America where the people are so free and spoiled that they complain about tuition after they obtain they party and drink their way through college to obtain worthless degree and “rally” against government and capitalism by lounging around in their own filth, ordering pizzas and playing games on their iphones while watching movies on their laptops and tightening the strings on their GAP sweaters.  Real anti-corporate folks they are, real intelligent, fuck you all!  I cannot believe the different ways people find to waste time these days.  Why don’t you all go get a job instead of whining and expecting everything to be handed to you?  But in all seriousness, I love the protesters.  They’re fine people.  I actually participated in the protest for a few days.  After all, we’re in this together!  What chance does middle America have if we don’t stand together, hold signs and yell about how mad we are!  Sorry!  Sorry, I told myself I wouldn’t get involved in politics, in part because they’re dreadfully boring and in part because I don’t know enough to have any kind of relevant opinion.  If you don’t know enough you probably shouldn’t be screaming your opinion at people, right?  Zing!  Ouch!  My prose is both elegant and hard-hitting, I love the written word!  The keyboard is mightier than the sword!  With these words I can build or destroy an empire.  I am a force to be reckoned with and I will not be ignored!  If I don’t say these things no one else will, no one else has the guts!  Everyone just wants to build careers in things they care nothing to make money so they can buy garbage they don’t need.  This is life, huh?  This is what was intended?  What a mistake we will all are!  Dance puppets; pretend that you don’t see the strings! 

Speaking of strings, the strings sounds in “Wildflower” are a lovely and subtle touch, as are (once again) the backing vocals. And even though they actually sound nothing alike this song reminds me a lot of “Dance Dance Dance” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers from their last album.  They both seem to mine from the same dreamy territory.  This is a rich concluding the track, the kind we fans have all come to expect and look forward to on their records, the serene inescapable almost lullaby that takes us to a gentler place and reminds us why we love this band. 

There is clearly an abundance of effort and Pumpkin sweat all over Oceania and it is very possible that a few years from now the songs will be as ingrained in my soul as those from Mellon Collie.  It speaks to the quality of this new disc that I can make such a claim.  Perhaps then I will have no complaints about vocal melodies or hooks or other things that I only have a passing knowledge on.  Hell, why even bother comparing two albums?  I always hate when reviews do that!  The artist is at a different point in his/her/their lives, the work should sound different.  This album doesn’t sound anything like Mellon Collie and that is a good thing. 

I was driving around the other day with my windows rolled down.  It was a brutally hot day of summer and with all the driving I had to do to reach various courthouses and attorneys offices I actually had time to listen to the entire Mellon Collie album.  As “Jelly Belly” and “Porcelina” and “Thirty Three” hit me all over again I began to have a conversation with myself while pretending that I was speaking to my beloved friend Calvin Black.  Black asked me who my favorite singer slash vocalist was.  Strangely, I began to spit green bile all over my windshield as I struggled to answer the doozy of a question.  So many fantastic people came to mind: David Bowie, Bruce Dickinson, Prince, Eva Amaral, Katia Guererro, Shakira, Ana Gabriel, Miles Davis, Eddie Vedder, Trent Reznor, Tom Waits, Jim Morrison, Gustavo Cerati, Luz Rios, Diana Reyes, george Clinton, James Brown, Vicky Terrazas, Natalia LaFourcade, Elida Reyna and countless others.  Billy Corgan did in fact come to mind and I considered that choice for the duration of eleven minutes while discussing my reasoning with the always-curious Black with his sponge like brain and caring blue eyes.  I ultimately decided that Corgan was not my favorite but that he held a special place in my dark bitter heart.  His voice is a unique and instantly recognizable instrument, a feat not many can claim.  But I further believe it is the combination of his voice and lyrics that make the whole package such a success.  I have never met the man (we came close during my stint with Rolling Stone Europe back in 96’ but a severe bout of tendonitis on my part kept me bed ridden for what would have been my interview, damn you Keith Moon for inspiring me to pick up drum sticks! On a quick side note while editing this review I was listening to the fantastic album Quadrophenia by The Who.  The BBC just aired a rollicking retrospective documentary on the album called “Can You See the Real Me”.  It’s all over youtube so be sure to check it out!).  His lyrics have an impassioned romanticism that is sadly lacking in most of today’s popular music.  Just listen to “Thirty Three” or “To Sheila” or “Luna” or “Crush” or from this album: “Violet Rays”, “My Love is Winter”, “Pinwheels”, “Pale Horse”, “Wildflower”, “Inkless” or darn near any of the songs.  Some might find his lyrics flowery but it is the simultaneous conviction and fragility in his voice that makes them believable and oddly beautiful.  The combination of voice and lyrics gives the listeners a sense that they and the band have the same history, the same memories and are connecting on those most sacred and intimate of moments through these songs.  It is a true gift.    

You know what?  This is just a gorgeous album.  I am thankful to kick off the summer of the earth’s last year with a new – and excellent – Smashing Pumpkins album.