The Smashing Pumpkins / Adore by Josh Rychak Virgin Records America, Inc. In 1994 we began to hear tell of Billy Corgan's plan, a plan so neatly contrived and specific as to be unusual in this crank-out-the-hits era of rock bands: 1) Release a double album (1995's Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness) as a final tribute to the Pumpkins' monolith of whoosh-crunch-brand rock. 2) Tour for awhile. 3) Record Adore, and 4) Completely change the Pumpkins' musical style. Adore seems to be the first album marking the Pumpkins' departure from their traditional sound. Billed cryptically as "arcane night music," Adore is to be an interlude between the old sound and the new, a Billy Corgan pet project before getting down to business. Beginning with "1979" off Mellon Collie, which was rumored to be a precursor to the band's new musical direction, the Pumpkins released a string of singles over the last three years to showcase what Corgan has been up to, including the mysteriously pseudo-techno "Eye," several spooky tracks on the Ransom soundtrack, and "The End is the Beginning is the End" (complete with six remixes) off the soundtrack to last summer's flop Batman and Robin. Adore is also the band's first album without dismissed drummer Jimmy Chamberlain (they've got a drum machine, though). At 16 tracks (the last one is 17 seconds of Corgan playing the piano), Adore is not any small endeavor, nor is it easy listening. The sheer density of this album recalls earlier criticism of 1993's Siamese Dream, and the overall length makes one suspect that having pulled off one double disc album Corgan desires to make a habit of it. However, Adore does not overstate itself, and undoubtedly covers new material. While Siamese Dream tussled with adolescent themes of loneliness and frustration, the problems dealt with on Adore are entirely adult. Instead of lamenting departing lovers and reticent parents, Corgan now faces failed relationships ("I know we're just like old friends / we just can't pretend / that lovers make amends") and sentimentality ("Mother I hope you know / that I miss you so"). No longer the wandering fool of Mellon Collie, Billy Corgan now seems an old man. Absent also is Corgan's much ridiculed pretension; clearing out eight-minute guitar solos and self-focused lyrics has left room for tracks like "The Tale of Dusty and Pistol Pete," a song that crosses the narrative pull of "1979" with a John Wayne film. In many ways Adore beholds uncharted territory. Having been one of the pioneers of the loud music/soft music genre, Billy Corgan is once again marketing a new musical concept. This time, however, the idea is less concrete, less sure of itself, and Adore as a prototype comes off as quite liquid. On the surface the thought behind Corgan's reasoning seems simple: guitar-bass-drum music has been driven as far as is possible; now let's hail the computer revolution and start pushing the electronic envelope. When a producer opens up the cybernetic toy chest, you pray that he has a little angel on his shoulder breathing whispered reminders to do no evil with the wonders of technology. Unfortunately, Corgan does not always take his responsibility to heart; several tracks ("Daphne Descends," "Tear") come off like ordinary songs superimposed on a garbled electronic background. "Pug" makes heavy use of whimsical electronic fill-ins married to Radiohead-esque fuzzbox blips and squelches, and "Appels+Oranjes" features a convoluted New-Wave drum loop. The versatility of Corgan's programming is an issue that seems pressing to the listener about 20 minutes into Adore. While sampling computers may yield fertile soil for sowing a musical revolution, the obnoxiously lo-fi background noises competing with Corgan's vocals on "Tear" and "Ava Adore" are downright aurally distracting, and we are left wondering whether Corgan is trying to showcase his toys or actually tell us something. What it really comes down to is a simple question: How much do we trust Billy? A Chemical Brother he isn't, yet what Corgan can give us is ever so much more human than the silver sheen of the silicon invasion. Adore leads off with "To Sheila," a track with tenuously delicate vocals set to soft accoustic accompaniment. "Crestfallen" and "Blank Page" both include wonderfully rendered piano tracks, and here and there the drum machine is given the boot in favor of flesh-and-blood drummer Matt Walker. More importantly though are Corgan's ever-serious lyrics. The satin refrain "You make me real" on "To Sheila" (backed by Dennis Flemion of The Frogs) recalls the hushed "Stumbleine" of Mellon Collie, and Corgan's rustling voice addresses the listener personally as muses over angelic mongrels on "Annie-Dog." This endearing honesty ensures that while Corgan may be battling with machinery elsewhere on the album, he always has the listener rooting for him. Although lyrically insipid in some spots ("What if the sun refused to shine / What if the clouds refused to rain"), Corgan is again mining deeply personal depths, and what he turns up here is not nearly as sooty as previous expeditions: frustration seems to have crystallized into compassion. While this may yield a much less intense experience than either Gish or Siamese Dream, Adore makes up for it in sophistication. Rather than flattening the audience with the brute force of his feelings, Corgan now invites us to dance. To the end, Adore is an album of poignancy. It is an album to listen to while leaving your hometown, it is an album to say goodbye to. Most of all it is an album that begs not to be taken too seriously. While Billy Corgan may have burned to rocket his band to the upper echelons of Billboard, he is now content to roam without any clear targets. Adore leaves the Smashing Pumpkins somewhat in limbo; it is a Corgan production from start to finish and one wonders whether there is any reason for the threesome to continue together. If Mellon Collie ends up as the Pumpkins' masterpiece, Adore will certainly stand as a suitable epilogue.

back to Decweb main