Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Artist: Smashing Pumpkins, The
Label: EMI Records
Release: 2012
Length: 60:02
Rating: 2.6/5
Smashing Punpkins are dead: long live Smashing Pumpkins! That’s the thought that kept echoing in my head when it was announced at the turn of the millennium that the legends of Chicago’s alternative sound were calling it quits over irreconcilable differences. A decision that was the logical result of way too much forbidden-substance consumption, clashing egos and an exhausting power struggle in the sandbox of musical pleasure, with the final call made by bald mastermind Billy Corgan, who ditched D’Arcy Wretzky and guitarist James Iha, while conspiratorially keeping loose ties with his heroin-fueled drumming genius, the exceptional but troubled Jimmy Chamberlain.
The breakup was followed by a leap into pointlessness, with truly obscure acoustic waffling down the solo-career path, and when the cash evidently ran dry, Billy went full Frankenstein, revived the corpse of a long-faded musical beauty and committed three unforgivable musical sins. First came the pointless, conscience-free detour into digital drivel on the record Zeitgeist, then the megalomaniacal musical scam that’s still going and goes by the name of opus megalomania, Teargarden By Kaleidoscope, and third, I’d say it’s unforgivable that of the original lineup only the gigantic ego of one man is left strutting around under the Smashing Pumpkins name, a man who confidently declared that he logically belongs among the musical geniuses who mean something in today’s world, who thinks Radiohead are overblown nobodies, and who doesn’t even take his competition seriously. And yet – Billy Corgan, or the self-proclaimed eminence William Patrick Corgan, after announcing that albums are played out and something he’ll never tackle again, decides to spit in the eyes of fans who were ready to buy a small sea of MP3s online, then served up measured doses of truly overblown artsiness in the form of sinfully expensive compilation box sets, and then craps out something that, hand on heart, can only be described as a pale approximation of a once-glamorous past.
Call me a purist, but for me the Smashings died right after Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, since once the distorted heart gave out in their chest, there was precious little soul left. Adore was solid but a fluffy band-aid on the grunge soul, and after the high-flying Aeroplane Flies High all that remained was a bitter aftertaste in the mouth, reminiscent of necrophilic canoodling with a long-dead lover. Oceania is, hand on heart, at least closer to the smell of something organic, but after the first listen it becomes clear that the real flavor we got stuffed with on Gish and the brilliant Siamese Dream was only a sample. Makes sense, since it’s all just a parade to prove that Billy can still do it and knows how. No difference from Axl Rose, though it’s true Billy is a little more musically prolific than his red-headed cock-rocker antipode, and yet – Oceania is an album that takes you down a thoroughly wrong path for an hour, after which you’ll be confused and in a fog, and you’d give it a rating cautiously and without the loud criticism that this act of musical sacrilege undoubtedly deserves. Quasar is, on first listen, a crazy trip to Cherub Rock, but without a clear direction. Fat, grotesquely distorted guitars swell up like a wall of sound, while Billy rants about his newly discovered polytheistic divinity. World-weariness has been replaced by the kind of inspiration that probably creeps into a man’s heart when he turns 45, and I personally can’t get excited about the cacophony of buffoonery, because the factor that would glue it all into an enjoyable whole is missing – sincerity. The melancholy has been drizzled with sugar, and the new fashion trend continues with the song Panopticon. A likable little tune that has all the elements of the Siamese world. The melodies fit, the rhythm too, and poor Billy’s self-reflection, aware of the harsh criticism from the world around him, slides into sappiness.
The Celestials, or the Disarm of the new millennium, is actually the best part of the first half of the record, since Billy clearly works best in ballad-style laments about lost love and a world where hardly anyone fits one hundred percent. The escapism of gentle dystopia is sweet and surreal. So there’s still hope for consolation? Violet Rays is the space version of what puts a smile on your face, and the genius shows in small details like the lyrical brilliance: »Spells fall frail / Webs catching sail / In eternal eternities / Divine purpose catching free / And I’ll leave with anyone this night / And I’ll kiss anyone tonight / Am I the only one you see?« Sadly, the answer is yes, because I can’t accept the rest of the rank and file as part of my spiritual guides of astral appeasement. The Smashings now have copies of the old members. On bass there’s the gentle, fragile and unfairly criticized Nicole Florentino, on guitar, sweating in Billy’s shadow, is the Japanese-looking Anglo-Saxon through and through Jeff Schroeder, and behind the drums sweeps the good but not exceptional Mike Byrne. My Love Is Winter is proof that the whole is only as strong as its weakest link, which this time isn’t musical but lyrical, while One Diamond, One Heart proves that in desperation even the Smashings jump into disco waters. In that they’re no less ruthless under the skin than Linkin Park, who scare us from the radio waves every morning, except the Smashings are too uncommercial for Radio 1.
I think it needs saying here that something in this world is clearly not the way it should be! Pinwheel is an echo that confirms it, and Billy, unlike Queen and Bruce Springsteen in the shared musical bath, lacks the resolve to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness, because I simply can’t believe that a rotted heart beats as clearly and distinctly as it did 20 years ago. I’m just about to jump into the quantum tunnel of despair when the title track Oceania surprises me, this time in a good way, being just melancholic and dark enough to shake you up and conjure a long-forgotten aftertaste of enchantment. »No one can love you / ‘Cause no one can free you / Lovers can’t touch you / ‘Cause lovers might reach you, yeah / I’m so alone, so alone / But better than a wretched world / Better than a broken pearl / I’m so alone, so alone / But better than I ever was / Better than a just laid cause«. Oceania is a prog rock gem on a Smashing Pumpkins foundation, and for this lone survivor in the wasteland of disappointment alone, the album is worth a listen. In the archipelago of pleasure, a positive climate keeps foaming on, carried forward in its own reserved, mature and different way by the song Pale Horse, and since Billy is trying to glow his way back to the Gish days, The Chimera comes closest to the good old times, but without the real conceptual solidity, resolve and bitter anger the golden age had, and now the recipes turn out to be more like demos and self-indulgent noodling over what’s already been heard, seen, tried and felt. The problem is that a full 20 years have passed in between, and our ears, sadly, don’t fall for juggling on the first ball, even though the acrobats this time deserve a bit of a hearing and some applause, which Zeitgeist (rightly) didn’t get. Glissandra and the easy-on-the-ears Inkless only back that up, and my rather numb and frozen heart began slowly thawing toward the end. Maybe the unbearable summer heat helped, or maybe it’s the fact that I just can’t write off the former main icons of my youth altar, shove them into the dark of night and never sniff them again.
Oceania is, hand on heart, a solid piece of work that, anger notwithstanding, deserves at least a second and third chance, and by the tenth listen even us old grumps are slowly falling in love again with the contours of a brave new world, even if it’s been robbed of the shine of former divinity and the aura of infinite untouchability. The heart opens up to a long-forgotten and lost love, even if she’s gotten on in years, smiles more sweetly and cries less. Maybe that’s the reason at least a speck of hope has returned, hope that miracles can happen every now and then and that after death there’s still a ray of life in the Pumpkins universe? Only time will tell, along with the next voice from the obscure darkness of Corgan’s cave of insight …
Lineup
Billy Corgan – vocals, guitar, keyboards
Jeff Shroedder – guitar
Nicole Florentino – vocals, bass
Mike Byrne – vocals, drums
Additional musicians:
Kevin Dippold – backing vocals
Production
Billy Corgan & Bjorn Thorsrud
Track list
1. Quasar
2. Panopticon
3. The Celestials
4. Violet Rays
5. My Love Is Winter
6. One Diamond, One Heart
7. Pinwheels
8. Oceania
9. Pale Horse
10. The Chimera
11. Glissandra
12. Inkless
13. Wildflower
