“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.
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