Smashing Pumpkins – Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness

If Nirvana rescued rock music from the narcissistic clichés of 1980s Cock-Rock and opened the way for a new mentality, then Smashing Pumpkins liberated the 1990s from the ‘new’ generation of Grunge Gods who were starting to stagnate by 1995 like one of Martin Scorsese’s greedy mob bosses.

Billy Corgan was already one of the ‘big three’ leaders of America’s most important bands of the time (alongside the deceased Kurt Cobain and Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder) and his journey to the top of Rock’s elite was thanks mainly to the magnificent stomp of 1993’s classic neo-Grunge masterpiece, Siamese Dream.

Here the guitar distortion was maximized, the drums were pulsating with the intensity of a road drill, and the solos were flying about like accidental bullets released from the clutches of a junior soldier’s rifle. This was in the territory of Grunge, but there was much more than just screaming about nothing in particular, and assaulting your ears with feedback-drenched guitars.

By the time 1995 had recovered from Kurt Cobain’s shocking suicide, though, Grunge had reached a crucial stage in its existence; if it wasn’t for those ‘Heroin Chic’ supermodels wearing flannel shirts on Milan catwalks, and the increasing number of Nirvana duplicates flooding MTV with nicely packaged anthems of pseudo-despairing confessions, then the expectation and pressure on Smashing Pumpkins wouldn’t have been as great.

But let’s face it: Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness was one of the most anticipated album of the 1990s and the fervent attention directed towards the band was nothing short of phenomenal. Much like U2’s situation before The Joshua Tree was released Smashing Pumpkins could have released a sequel to Lou Reed’s controversial Metal Machine (quite possibly the most extreme, nihilistic album ever recorded) and added the sound of two copulating squirrels to the mix without sacrificing their chances of having a Billboard number one.

So what did Billy do, then?

The answer is: He dug out his old Cure albums, brought in the keyboards, found comfort in the doom of his Black Sabbath records, and went through a marriage break down during the recording process. Oh, and he also decided to give the public a 28-song double album that would take in the whole spectrum of Rock, from Thrash Metal right through to the basic pop melodies of The Beatles.

As you can imagine, then, many Grunge aficionados would have had a near heart attack when they heard the rich piano arpeggios and epic string arrangements of the title track and the now seminal composition, ‘Tonight, Tonight’.

These two opening songs are so far removed from the terrains of Seattle, that it was if Grunge had never happened! Think of The Cure and Robert Smith’s love of the grandiose and add some epic military drumming, and you could have been forgiven for thinking this was one of the proudest pop records to have ever confronted the masses.

Not surprisingly, though, there has to be a reason why an album goes on to sell 16 million records, and with this great ability to shift units comes the obligation of continuity from the last album.

So that means we are referring to the ‘G’ word.

The Pumpkins were releasing singles on Grunge’s original label Sub-Pop as way back as 1989; they even had a song on the pro-Grunge film Singles (the track ‘Drown’ was included), and by 1993 they were openly acknowledged as a breath of fresh air in a sub-genre that needed something to challenge the awesome intensity of Soundgarden.

Predictably, then, the likes of ‘Jellybelly’ and ‘Where Boys fear To Tread’ have all the necessary Grunge ingredients of fuzzy guitar riffing, angry lyrics and noisy dynamics that you would come to expect from a band that emerged from the same scene as 1991’s revolutionaries. To totally emancipate from these roots would have been commercial disaster, and if anything, it would have been disappointing because The Pumpkins always were the best band from this mainstream assault.

But for every Grunge song there is a progressive, psychedelic Rock marathon of ‘Thru The Eyes of Ruby’ or ‘Porcelina of The Vast Oceans’; just around the corner from the magnificent pop explosion of 1979 are the ultra-heavy, metallic blasts of ‘Tales From A Scorched Earth’ and ‘Fuck You (An Ode To No One)’; to juxtapose the glorious folk harmonies of ‘In The Arms of Sleep’ there are moments of synth-drenched rock introspection such as the irresistible track, Love, for this is an album that is rich in diversity, high in experimentation and brimming with classic song writing techniques.

Like any essential album, though, there have to be at least three exquisite compositions, and one listen to Zero will confirm that life-affirming feeling of being part of something special.

Starting off with a razor sharp guitar riff, the six-string octaves are subsequently assaulted, the duo guitar attack of Corgan ad James Iha is executed with engineering precision, and the mammoth drumming of Jimmy Chamberlain is at its peak. Meanwhile, Corgan’s voice is more potent than any of his contemporaries because everybody knows that no body sounds quite like Billy does.

“Intoxicated with the madness, I’m in love with my sadness” he screams with frightening intensity, as the song wanders through the heaven of Rock guitar perfection. Ironically, this is one of few songs from the Grunge era to actually acknowledge that every genre has its clichés – and misery and disillusionment were two of Seattle’s most obvious.

How many other singers would have the courage to admit that they are shallow, they find comfort in self-pity, and they know damn well that being neurotic is more fun than being moronic? Around this time, American Rock bands were too busy analysing their solipsistic world in terms of amateur psychosis, where as Corgan was bearing his psyche to a music world that had become obsessed by failure.

Listening to a Smashing Pumpkins song is like being caught up in the momentum of something incontrollable and life threatening; you never know if you will see it through, but the extraordinary, dynamic force of Billy Corgan’s angst-ridden voice is more captivating than an opportunity to turn back time.

For evidence of his bludgeoning anger listen to the incredible power of ‘Bullet With Butterfly Wings’. This song is as infectious as a fatal disease.

The disturbing self-loathing of the “despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage” mantra is more than just an acknowledgment of the chaos of youth. These lyrics can still affect a fifty year old man who is bewildered by his lack of influence in a paralysing, beaurocratic job. We have all felt useless and insignificant at one point in our lives and this song is the reminder that we can still lapse into that self-destructive world where tyranny takes priority over consideration for others.

Not surprisingly, though, the disintegration of Corgan’s marriage is one of the key factors in making this record what it is. If you listen to this album you will be led to believe that love is the domineering concern in the minds of all human beings. The constant indecision between devotion and resentment, the self-destructive obsession with ideal pursuits, and the inconceivable paradox of finding happiness and despair in the same phenomena almost makes you want to participate in this psychological drama that Corgan has concocted. If love is as life-affirming and essential to one’s personal identity as suggested on this record, then I have been leading a mundane, directionless life and I want to experience the same turbulence as this record illustrates!

I mean, how can any listener remain stoic after one listen to Bodies – a song that sizzles with some rocking guitar riffs and heart-felt lyrics? Even beyond the “Love is suicide” hypothesis of the chorus, Corgan also shows that rock music can successfully incorporate words with more than just two syllables into the mix.

This album is a fantastic work of art because it focuses heavily on writing lyrics that are evidently more than mere words tossed onto a piece of paper and hidden behind the loud guitar distortion of a Marshall Stack. Likewise, the band are not limited to the traditional Rock set-up of drums, guitar and bass, for you will find the unique melodies of the mellotron and the luscious samples of harps here, as well.

‘Cupid De Locke’ and ‘We Only Come Out at Night’ are songs that exemplify Billy Corgan’s ability to introduce these types of instruments into a Rock arrangement. If Kurt Cobain was worried about making another Nirvana album that had to avoid Grunge ideology at all costs, then Billy realised his vision and carried on where the 1990s pioneering spokesman started.

Essentially, though, this is the album where Billy Corgan completed the transition from scruffy Rock geek to Nosferatu the Vampire reincarnated. Yes, you’ve guessed it: This is where the hair was shaved off, that famous ‘Zero’ t-shirt was donned and the glittery, silver pants were paraded.

What’s more, Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness is the album that made Smashing Pumpkins the biggest band in the world bar none. It only lasted a while because of Corgan’s decision to take a two year break, but by this time he had pronounced Rock music dead, alienated the impressionable kids from buying his albums, and driven a wedge through the hearts of all Grunge sentimentalists.

It’s a shame, really, that Corgan got more press in 1997 than Pol Pot’s crimes against humanity court case, for his infamous “Rock is dead” prediction was justified, and the subsequent 1998 album Adore – a record that lost about fifteen million fans, if commercial sales are anything to go by – was as good as anything the band ever released.

It’s only when something has disappeared that we realise how essential it is, and right now the music world needs Billy Corgan more than ever. Like any album that is well over two hours in length, Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness has its flaws, such as including unnecessary songs like the distressingly dull ‘Lily (My One and Only)’. But for all its grand designs and promises to be the best of the best, it certainly tells us that Billy Corgan aimed for the universe and only gave us the world.

The world is most definitely enough, though, and you’ll only find one or two albums in your lifetime that equal this masterpiece.