Published on Apr 27, 2000
Like all true rock innovators and visionaries, the Smashing
Pumpkins have never rested on their laurels of success. Because in
spite of all the attention, if you don’t change, it’s really just
boring, whether you’re Dylan, Bowie, or… yes, Billy Corgan.
Where is artist loyalty in this decade? Why aren’t all the people
who loved
Siamese Dream and
Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness still eagerly
awaiting the next offering of remorse from the artist who is now
its prime musical source? Because they’re too busy saying “Why
can’t he write another ‘Cherub Rock,’ another ‘Disarm,’ another
‘Bullet With Butterfly Wings?'” Well, that’s just too bad for them,
because those who are sticking by Corgan and the Pumpkins have been
rewarded with another masterpiece.
Ironically, the leadoff track to
MACHINA, “The Everlasting Gaze,” bears more than a passing
resemblance to “Zero” at first blush. A no-nonsense wall of
distortion, a guitar riff pounded into our heads to the point we
can almost feel it. “You know I’m not dead / I’m just living in
your head / forever waiting on the ways of your desire.” Could
Corgan be talking to those bandwagon fans? “The fickle fascination
of an everlasting god?” It’s not out of the question. But there are
so many possible ways to interpret these lyrics, and that goes for
most of the album. If one views the Pumpkins as a continuum,
picking
MACHINA up where
Adore left off, “The Everlasting Gaze” seems to smash most
of
Adore to bits, preparing us all for a new chapter, with
twists and turns which we can’t possibly imagine.
“Raindrops And Sunshowers” comes next and sounds actually much
more like parts of the Pumpkins’ last album, the
vastly-underappreciated-for-no-apparent-reason-other-than-it-didn’t-rock-hard-enough
Adore; an electronic beat, but a gorgeous, sweeping melody
and slightly-clumsy but endearing sentiments like “I’m just trying
to / walk with you” and “To get your love without obscured
reflections of my love.” “Where is he going with all this?” was my
initial reaction to such a stark contrast between the first two
songs. Then again, “To Sheila” and “Ava Adore” don’t really sounds
very much like each other either, to put it mildly.
What follows puts things sharply into focus, and is arguably the
crowning achievement of Billy Corgan’s songwriting career. “Stand
Inside Your Love” is a powerful rocker, an intelligent sound
collage, a touching love song, and a super-catchy
stick-in-your-head melody all in one. It’s the “Feels Like the
First Time” for the ’00s (and that’s supposed to be a compliment in
case there are any Foreigner haters out there reading this), and
although it has already been released as a single, the fact that it
hasn’t been a more successful single is criminal when you hear the
flotsam that masquerades as touching love songs on the radio these
days.
Speaking of radio, “I Of The Mourning” is the next track, and is
Corgan’s take on the lonely soul who looks for salvation through
the airwaves. This is not anything new as far as material goes, but
this song sounds fresh and new thanks to another fantastic
arrangement that’s equal parts ’80s new wave and ’90s power
punk.
So after the vast array of ground that’s covered merely on the
first four songs, what’s left for the Pumpkins on the rest of
Machina? “The Sacred And Profane” is another fantastic set
of rhythmic and guitar textures that would have fit it well on
Adore but certainly doesn’t sound out of place here. A
couple of blistering and almost-humorous tracks, “Heavy Metal
Machine” and “The Imploding Voice” alternate with two more classic
examples of Pumpkins melancholia, “Try Try Try” and “This Time.”
The album does continue on for a full 73 minutes, and by the end
you can barely remember those first four songs.
This is largely a result of the ten minute opus “Glass And The
Ghost Children.” It opens with a gothic bass line and some chaos
that recalls Bauhaus (the ’80s band, not the German architecture
movement), with occasional pastoral flutes chiming in, which
amazingly don’t sound out of place. “I want to live / I don’t want
to die” is repeated throughout this section – it seems to be a
recurring theme on the album. Images of ghosts, spiders, and God
himself creep in throughout too, and after about five minutes of
this, the song takes an abrupt metamorphosis. The gothic power
ballad is gone, a voice pipes in over a quiet piano mumbling more
theological questions, and then a lush, slightly-out-of-tune
section begins with “So beats the final coda of a vinyl storm.” The
spiders are still here though – “Has she counted the spiders / as
they crawled up inside her?” is repeated almost indefinitely, or so
it seems.
What to make of all this? Sure, it’s rather pretentious and
excessive, but it gets better with every listen, and there’s really
been nothing that sounds quite like it. Ever.
One could argue that “Glass And The Ghost Children” would have
been a fitting end to the album, and that they should’ve saved the
rest for the next one. But this band has never adhered to popular
conceptions of what makes a good rock and roll album, and that’s
what really sets them apart.
MACHINA represents an album with a whole new feel; it almost
seems like two albums due to the placement of the 10 minute
separator. And although the cohesion breaks up a bit, there are
some real gems if you’re willing to stick it out until the end.
“The Crying Tree Of Mercury” recalls both the Cure and the track
“Tear” from the
Adore album in places, a fat ’80s synth line and
self-destructive tendencies like “I’ve been waiting like a knife /
to cut open your heart and bleed my soul to you.” “With Every
Light” is almost countryish in its approach (yes, countryish) and a
rare moment of optimism. “Blue Skies Bring Tears” is reminiscent of
the soaring, expansive ballads on
Mellon Collie and would be wonderful live, as well as an
appropriate disc-ender.
But instead, and this is both entirely unexpected and ingenious,
Machina ends on a relatively positive note. “Age Of
Innocence” is the sort of classic-rock-vibe,
anthem-for-the-young-generation no-brainer that Corgan could write
in his sleep, but it’s a great tune anyway. After the
difficult-to-listen-to “Blue Skies,” “Age Of Innocence” astounds
with its simplicity, a fade-in clock-ticking beat and acoustic
guitar that brings the intro to the Kinks’ “Come Dancing” to mind
musically (am I the only one who made that connection? I hope not),
and you’re instantly hooked with the easiest sing-along the
Pumpkins have ever done. After a month and a half of listening to
this album, I still find myself singing “Desolation yes, hesitation
no” over and over again as I walk down the streets. In public. You
will too.
So, it’s time for overall impressions and advice now. And my
advice is: be patient. I was going to review this the day it came
out, but decided not to, because Smashing Pumpkins albums, at least
the previous two, had taken many, many listens to grow and
distinguish themselves. And
MACHINA is no exception. Its comparative lack of cohesion
makes it take even longer to get used to, and in spite of lots of
recurring lyrical themes, it still seems less of a song cycle than
the Pumpkins’ previous albums and more of a collection of isolated
statements. But the songwriting is still as strong as it’s ever
been, and there isn’t really a weak track at all.
Contrary to what you may read elsewhere, this disc is neither a
“return” to the Pumpkins’ earlier styles nor a set of songs that
weren’t good enough to make
Adore. It could end up being somewhat of a transition album,
but if the next release is going to capitalize on the bold new
directions that
MACHINA takes a stab at, I’ll be the first in line to snatch
it up. I’m not going to preach how much better this is than all of
the other supposed “alternative” music out there. Corgan is miles
above his peers.