No. 487: Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

Band: The Smashing Pumpkins
Album: Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: If you listen to the throbbing mass of Pumpkin fandom, this album is "Sticky Fingers," "Dark Side of the Moon," "Revolver" and "The Wall" all rolled into one. This, of course, is nonsense. MCIS is a picture of ego, though I'd suggest that ego isn't the worst thing in the world. The album has its highlights but is not some epic masterpiece.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: See above.
Best song: "Zero" has a great riff, but is lyrical nonsense.
Worst song: "Fuck You (An Ode to No One)" is dumb.
Is it awesome?: Not really, but it's better than I remembered.

"Alternative" is an odd term and one that lost, basically, all meaning during its run. By definition, it has to be the non-dominant form and, clearly, "alternative" was the dominant form of music for much of the 1990s. "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness" was the height of pomposity for alternative music.

Like all double albums, the record bites off more than it can chew, but, MCIS is a wonderfully post-modern look at double albums. Taking elements from many of the classic double albums of the past, it reprocesses a lot of concepts record buys know and love. The goodbye/goodnight track reflects the White Album, the opening overture-type song is "Tommy"-esque, the concept of life and death reflects a non-double (but a classic concept album) in "Dark Side of the Moon" and the nihilism often played out in the lyrics reflects "The Wall." In fact, Corgan himself called the record "The Wall for Generation X."

In short, MCIS is, like "The Simpsons," a reflection of much of what has been stuck in our heads as music buyers.

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With that said, let me lay out some of my feelings in a single paragraph, as I did in an e-mail to some friends last year:

I have to say, I like "Siamese Dream" some (specifically, the singles), but the masturbatory nature of Billy Corgan's writing just bugs the hell out of me. I specifically mention "Zero" as his last good composition largely because I only like that song and "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" as decent tracks from the disaster that is "Mellon Collie." It's a double album (almost always a mistake, as double album=lots of filler), but it also has the wannabe nostalgia of "1979" and the symphonic nonsense/whinefest that is "Tonight, Tonight."

The piece on this project that garnered the most on-topic comments is "Siamese Dream," which entirely proves my point that Smashing Pumpkins fans worship the band to a larger degree than most bands. To sum up, I once wrote a column calling the fans of certain bands 'fanboys' and mocked them for it. The bands were Nine Inch Nails, Tool, Radiohead and Smashing Pumpkins. When I wrote said column in college, I got tons of hate mail -- more than I'd ever received.

The funny thing, of course, is that I praised "Siamese Dream." Despite it being an arena-rock record, it has ridiculously good hooks, including a song I diametrically oppose (lyrically), but love to sing.

Smashing Pumpkins, at this point, is mostly in the past. No one claims that Billy Corgan -- well, I'm sure someone does, but I don't want to meet this fictional person -- is currently making good music. The band's best work is clearly "Siamese Dream" (though some would say MCIS is the band's best work) and "Siamese Dream" was released 15 years ago.

But, like a lot of artists who still exist in the past -- despite dragging a rotting a corpse of a back catalog around -- the Pumpkins have their defenders. It's tough to criticize their top work without getting hit by the fanboys and fangirls. Criticizing their bald genius is akin to stomping on these morons' collective foot.

And maybe I do hold Corgan's most self-indulgent moments against his better work. MCIS isn't the worst thing I've ever heard, to be honest, and there are decent songs on it. It raises a pretty simple question: How much should we hold our annoyance from an artist against said artist's work? How much should our separate the people from the music?

It's difficult, certainly. Billy Corgan annoys the hell out of me and his fans are even worse. His conceit that he's the greatest songwriter in this planet's history makes me want to punch him in the head. That his fans suck it up bugs me even more. They act like he's a great producer when all he's ever really done is -- gasp! -- hook up a flanger and Superfuzz and layer guitars. Oh my! I've never heard Jimmy Page, Jimi Hendrix, Kim Thayil and every other fucking guitar player -- save for Kurt Cobain -- do the same thing.

Also annoying is Corgan's whining voice. Sounding like someone with his nuts in a vice, Corgan's pitch is somewhere above a cat being slaughtered as he screamed "And I still believe that I cannot be saved" at the end of "Bullet With Butterfly Wings."

This is all without mentioning Corgan's obnoxious lyrics. His pseudo-nihilism is both annoying and rampant through the record. Two of the record's biggest singles -- "Zero" and "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" -- are almost nonsensical in their angst. "Fuck You (An Ode to No One)" is probably as much a nod toward Corgan's critics (Hello, Mr. Albini!) as it is inner monologue.

With all that said, MCIS isn't a terribly offensive record. Taken as a whole, it's bloated and annoying. The whole concept of Corgan trying to place the life cycle into an album makes me want to smash all my CDs. But, taken individually, the songs have their merits.

"Tonight, Tonight" is not as terrible as I remembered it last year. The CSO's strings are beautiful and actually work with Corgan's voice more than the band does. "Here is No Why" is pretty little riff and the duel fake Nietzschism of "Zero" and "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" is built on wonderful riffs. "1979" has cool samples and is a decidedly not-Pumpkins record.

Like all double albums, the record would be best-served to be cut down to one disc. There are about five or six good songs on the record and a whole lot of filler.

It bugs me to even remotely endorse this album, but there are some good songs on it.

No. 360: Siamese Dream

Band: The Smashing Pumpkins
Album: Siamese Dream
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: Despite being a two-man operation, "Siamese Dream" is the Smashing Pumpkins' greatest work by a mile. The song's production is tight, the guitars rage and Billy Corgan's voice is a wail of pain.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: The lyrics on the record reek of self-centered nonsense and reflect, I'd say, Corgan's deplorable personality.
Best song: "Cherub Rock" is great, though the other three singles ("Today," "Disarm" and "Rocket") are all awesome. As far as non-singles go, "Soma," "Quiet" and "Spaceboy" all soar.
Worst song: I don't like "Mayonnaise," though, people enjoy it.
Is it awesome?: Unfortunately, yes.

I am a pretty disorganized person and one of my great regrets is that I've lost many of the columns I wrote in college for the MU Student News. Their online archives suck and my columns appear to have been lost in the ether.

Nevertheless, I wrote a column about superfandom that had a specific person in mind (a fellow who I knew in high school) and lambasted the idea of the "fanboy" and those who worship at the altar of certain bands.

(The irony, of course, is that I am a closet fanboy of a few bands, Death Cab for Cutie being the big one.)

I mentioned the three bands I'd experienced the most exuberant and unrelenting fandom (the wording I used, I believe, was something like "[Band] could fart into a microphone and their fans would still think it was genius.") were Tool, Radiohead and the Smashing Pumpkins.

(I would, by the way, add Nine Inch Nails to that list now.)

I don't have anything against Tool or Radiohead fans, particularly. I did hate Radiohead fans at the time because they wouldn't quit it with their love for "Kid A," though I've since come to love that album. Tool fans and I are mostly on the same page, though they bristle at the idea that Tool is a prog-rock band. Smashing Pumpkin fans, though, would always argue with me that "Melon Collie" was genius, a modern day "The Wall." They'd namedrop the Cure and Smiths, while claiming "Adore" was just an extension of '80s eyeliner rock. They'd cite Corgan's nihilistic streak as cause for "Zero" to be a generation's anthem, as opposed to what it really is: A neat guitar riff.

There's an inherent problem with SP fans and that's Billy Corgan. Most of the popular alternative rock bands of the 1990s had a pretty negative attitude towards fame; most simply wanted to make music and make a living from it. If they wanted fame or thought themselves geniuses, they kept it quiet, put on a humble face and made music. Some went to great strides to disassociate with fame (Pearl Jam and Radiohead come to mind) and some let fame destroy them (Nirvana, sadly).

Corgan, leader of Smashing Pumpkins, doesn't necessarily appear to love fame any more than a normal person, but he certainly fancies himself a genius. Being humble is not something that is in his behavior set. If he ever had a day without self-importance, I'd be hugely surprised. In his own mind, everything he says is important.

On some level, I understand the entitlement and self-centeredness. Corgan is the child of divorce (I can't totally identify with this, as my parents split when I was in college) and grew up in the Chicago suburbs (this I can certainly identify with).

The failed dreams of suburbia, however, is a concept I can identify with. It's a dangerous game as we suburban kids have been told from our first days on Earth that we could do anything we wanted. We were worshiped, coddled and treated as kings from day one, so when those things didn't come, many of us moped and complained. Many of us expected the world to hand us something that wasn't going to come.

In short, the expectation of success and affluence was our Achilles' Heel. Some of us adapted, worked hard and achieved that success. Some faced failure and overcame it. Others are bouncing around careers and post-graduate education (Hello!) in the hopes for a facsimile of the comfort we had growing up. This failure to replicate that suburban upbringing is frustrating, but a learning experience for most.

Billy Corgan, I have to think, grew up with the same encouragement. Eventually, we suburban kids realize that the world isn't our cheering section and we buck up. Many settle into a life that isn't our parents', either in mindset or in affluence.

Corgan never lost the cheering section.

(For the record, I have no idea as to what one is supposed to do to stop this suburban situation. I'm partially sure this whole rant is simply narcissism and a reflection of my own laziness and expectations of the world. This, of course, is why I should never have children.)

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I know sports relatively well and Corgan reminds me of the wunderkind wide receiver who has never been told "no." He records all the parts on the album by himself because, damnit, he's the genius. He drinks his fans Kool Aid so much, his lips are redder than a French hooker's.

And his fans just mainline ass-kissing to him, while defending even his worse projects to non-fans (like myself). After I wrote my column about the band's fanboys, I got more e-mail than when I told bicyclists that I hate them and bloggers (irony much?) that I don't care about any of their lives.

The simple fact is this: Corgan thinks the world revolves around him. We all do, on some level, but Billy Corgan is one of the only people around who gets it reinforced by other people. When an album doesn't get critical praise, he pouts on his blog like an infant. He would refuse to go on tours with Nirvana because Kurt Cobain's wife was an ex-girlfriend (with whom Corgan would reunite after Cobain's death. Classy, Bill.). He would secretly re-record James Iha's guitar parts. He kicked, I think, three bass players, out of his band.

There are a lot of mercurial talents in rock music who are clearly jerks. I'd never want to share a meal with Steve Albini, but his music is wonderful and his polemics on the industry are great. The guys in Metallica seem like abject douchebags, but to deny the glory of their first four records would be foolish. Dave Mustaine is clearly a nutjob, but "Peace Sells" kicks all types of ass.

But, Corgan takes it a step further. He acts like a spoiled child and his fans reward him. At least there was a backlash for Metallica when Lars Ulrich decided Napster was worse than Hitler.

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Of course, the problem is that Corgan's first mainstream success is great. For all of Steve Albini's comparisons to REO Speedwagon, "Siamese Dream" is a wonderful extension of alternative's rock and its move into the stadia of America. Corgan's love of Zeppelin caused him to ape Page/Plant's songwriting work while expanding on it and shortening it to fit a more space-rock aesthetic. So, instead of expanding quasi-metal odes, we get "Rocket," a popish song built around a cool rock riff. Instead of "Battle of Evermore," we get "Disarm," a vulnerable ode to rock stardom filled with strings, bells and timpani.

"Quiet" is a full-throttle rock song echoing the band's debut, while "Today" sounds almost like sugary enough to justify the band's idiotic video. "Soma" is literate and cool, while "Spaceboy" has the acoustic feel of a, well, space rock song.

"Siamese Dream" is likely to be remembered for its opening track, "Cherub Rock." The song's lyrics -- again, showing Corgan's selfish, idiotic tendencies -- are a somewhat blunt attack on the independent music scene of Chicago at the time, telling the Albinis, McEntires and Prewitts of the world that it "Doesn't matter what you believe in" and that they're only in the scene for the money. Like a tantrum-throwing kid, Corgan's voice modulates between the softness of a child and the wail of a baby as he acts the scene's victim. Unlike Mr. Simpson and the "No Homers Club," Corgan appears to have been left out of the party is angry.

Still, as awful as it is lyrically, the song's production (Butch Vig had recently come off the success of "Nevermind" and had worked on the band's debut, "Gish") and Corgan's meticulous guitar layering make for the band's best work. The guitar solo takes as much from the metal gods of the '80s as it does from Mick Ronson. The song starts with a drum roll, an easy riff that ends up riding up the neck up before the band explodes into the song.

It's easily the band's greatest achievement, a staggering riff, an awesome drum line and a vocal performance that fits the song's terrible, terrible anti-independent music message. Musically, though, it rocks.

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As much as I hate to say it (again, their fans are pricks just like the band's frontman), "Siamese Dream" is wonderful. Allmusic.com says "Siamese Dream stands alongside Nevermind and Superunknown as one of the decade's finest (and most influential) rock albums." I wish I could dispute this, but, sadly, I cannot.