for the article.
It was 1992 in Los Angeles. I couldn't sleep (because it was 1992 in Los
Angeles). I had my radio tuned into KROQ. Some other restless member of my
generation called in and requested a tune that would help him sleep. No
specifics. Just soporific modern-rock. The DJ promised to oblige. She cued
up
something I'd never heard before. It was a song called "Rhinoceros" by a
band
called Smashing Pumpkins -- defiantly slow and trippy and gorgeous until,
as
most things did back then, it exploded into a crazy crunch of violent
guitar.
I might have fallen asleep if it didn't haunt me then. I wanted to hear it
again. I usually have to play a song forty five times in a row when it does
something to me. I drove to Tower Records in Sherman Oaks the next day and
bought Gish.
I've been a fan since and even as they exploded (as most things do), I
never
stopped falling in love with the sound of their records; the bridge on
"Geek
USA" alone makes it difficult to lose faith even when your guitar hero
shaves
his head bald and starts wearing t-shirts that say "Zero." With the
release
of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, as the world toasted the apex of
their career, I cooled somehow. "Beautiful," "Tonight, Tonight," "1979,"
and
"Bullet With Butterfly Wings" were brilliant songs but perhaps because of
the
sheer size of the album, it didn't feel emotionally... portable. Something
a
fan could take to bed or into trouble as some kind of shield.
This said, the new Adore is a welcome return to digestibility and
protection
(something rock gods are obliged to provide, indirectly, of course, to
their
legions).
For the past few months there have been so many cries (from the rock press
and
Corgan himself) of "No rock 'n' roll" that it reminded me of Wink
Martindale
in that wack old Quiet Riot video where fascists take over and confiscate
everybody's hair spray. The rock isn't missed because it's there. It
spreads,
rather than bludgeons. The sound is nearly uniform, deviating only
occasionally (the rubber, robot drum thump that opens "Ava Adore" the first
single, and "Pug," an electric stomp cut from the same sheet metal as "Eye"
from last year's Lost Highway soundtrack, the prog-rock of "Blank Page" ).
Otherwise, musically it either twinkles and sighs lovely, as in the opener
"To
Sheila," or punctuates Corgan, the stark raconteur of lost love and death
as
in "Tear," as well as a couple of ostensible elegies for his recently
deceased
mother, "Once Upon A Time" and "For Martha."
Yeah, Adore isn't like anything they've done before. Nor is it an album of
"33's" (the dreamy, final single from Mellon Collie). It will only
disappoint
those who want something to air jam to and there are plenty of angry young
men
who'll gladly insert themselves into the slot Corgan has gracefully
lifted/saved himself from.
Four records in, a box set already on the shelves, a dead keyboard player,
a
departed drummer, countless failed backlash movements and what does it
matter?
It's allows for the best case scenario for the relationship between a
growing
artist and a consistent fan; I'm still interested. Not electronica
Pumpkins,
not new wave Pumpkins, not rock or even percussion-impaired Pumpkins...
just
a free and a little odd ("Behold the Nightmare" even has a queer
swing-meets-
That Dog bridge) thinking trio, making their way through the night.
There's no shame. It's 1998. New York City. I've been in the possession of
Adore for about six days. I wake up with it in my CD drive every morning.
I've
drifted away with their music. Slept. It might not haunt me like "Gish" but
being haunted's for the kids. Adore gives new meaning to the thankless
brick
wall that lays in wait for those who get huge. These days, this way, it's
better to fade away.
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