Note: These are exciting times at Silver Soundz, as I have just completed a musical feat that will likely remain in the pantheon for some time: on back-to-back nights, I attended a Smashing Pumpkins concert in DC, and AC/DC live at the Madison Square Garden in NYC. In the same way that the past 2 days have bled together (with very little sleep) the two shows were essentially one event. Accordingly, I will be posting the reviews for each, back to back as two parts. Part one follows:
It’s 10:45pm in DAR Constitution Hall. The lights are on, signaling that the night is winding to a close on the first of back-to-back Smashing Pumpkins 20th anniversary shows in D.C. Billy Corgan, gangly as ever, is wearing a dress that looks like it’s made out of toilet paper, high-top Nikes, and his trademark silver pleather “ZERO” shirt. He meanders across the stage with a microphone in hand, leading the crowd in a happy sing-a-long: “everyone is beautiful…in their own way.” As the band members chime in with kazoos, Billy reminds the crowd that “God loves each and every one of you.”
It is at this point that Billy catches an auspicious audience member giving him two very emphatic middle fingers. The music comes to a screeching halt, and DAR Constitution Hall goes awkwardly silent.
- “I’m sorry, sir, what are you so angry about?” Thousands of eyes turn to the heretic. “Everything is so beautiful.”
- “You used to rock!”
And this is when its strikes me that things have gotten, well, weird.
But my story actually begins a few hours before this. More accurately, it starts 15 years before this, on the day that I first heard Siamese Dream blasting through the door of sister’s room. Consider this my full disclosure: since that musical epiphany, I have been an unrelenting diehard Pumpkins fan. I consider S.P. to be the greatest rock band of my time, and Billy to be the best (and arguably only) rock star of the modern era. Their musical judgment is immune to question, and their supremacy inarguable. Yes, I recognize that these opinions put me in a small and ever-shrinking minority, but that is a burden we Pumpkins fans shoulder with pride. We’ve always taken pleasure in being weird.
So when the Pumpkins announced plans for a 20th anniversary tour, it seemed too good to be true. The band—freshly liberated from its record label—announced they were rehearsing upwards of 40 songs for the tour. No two shows would be the same. There were hints about “special musical guests.” Billy’s statements suggested a full survey of the Pumpkins’ catalog. It was a diehard’s dream.
And yet, something didn’t sit quite right. A Rolling Stone piece published on the eve of the tour was filled with passive aggressiveness that belied the retrospective tone that Billy was trying to convey. Now it was clear that James and D’arcy were not coming back—it would be the same band that had toured for 2007’s Zeitgeist, an album that still sits uncomfortably with even the most loyal fans. Billy’s frustration with crowd reception on that tour had shone brightly in the Rolling Stone piece: "We found that America had turned every older band into the 'reunion band.' It was 'I just want to hear those eight songs and drink my beer.' You think, 'I'm 41 years old, and I've earned some level of trust.' And you find out you're just like everybody else. You're no better than Bon Jovi."
Well, I had seen one of those shows, and it was pretty awesome. So, if the current tour was a conscious reaction to that, then one could only hope for Billy to take it out in the best way possible: to deliver for those he believed are the true fans. But even that prospect seemed strange and laden with baggage. I didn’t even buy my ticket until the week of the show.
Which brings me back to Tuesday night.
The palpable anticipation before the show (at least my own; I was in my seat a half hour early) is finally broken as Jimmy takes the stage and roars through an unbelievable drum solo. There is no opening band. The show gets underway when Billy emerges on stage, dressed as some sort of majestic harlequin in a dress and crown. I’ve seen him wear stranger things, or at least I tell myself that. The band then jives through a bossa nova number that I can’t recognize. Something about rock n’ roll, but I can’t hear what Billy is saying over the trumpets and trombones, or his backup vocalists. The whole thing has a circus atmosphere. At the end of the song, two men wearing white masks come on stage to remove Billy’s elaborate regalia. Frankly, I have become concerned.
Thankfully, underneath Billy’s blouse we glimpse the trademark ZERO shirt. His masked assistants place a black guitar over Billy’s head, and within seconds, he’s trashing through the intro to 2007’s single “Tarantula.” Things have suddenly taken a turn for the better: the band is playing tight, Billy’s voice is as good as ever, and they are poised to rock Constitution Hall. The next several songs I’ve never heard, which strikes me as strange, but I figure they may be new and, after all, they rock pretty hard. My sense of encouragement reaches a peak as Billy leads the band through a trifecta of somewhat obscure classics: Siva, Eye, and Mayonnaise.
During this three song stretch, everything that’s good and holy about the Pumpkins becomes obvious. Billy can still shred and sing and—most importantly—scream. He floats around the stage like some sort of religious figure, the bald head bobbing and darting back and forth as he bestows his music. Jimmy Chamberlin is a master on drums. Even with two of the original members missing, S.P. is still S.P.; oscillating from loud to soft and back to loud again with tangible, real emotion. It’s impossible not to be moved by this, and when they’re in their element live, this emotional interplay between band and crowd is what defines the Smashing Pumpkins. Unfortunately Billy has never seemed completely comfortable with that raw power, and tonight it disappears as quickly as it is summoned.
Most notably bizarre is the setlist. Diehards like me are not disappointed by the appearance of some random rarities and b-sides (“Speed Kills”, “The End is the Beginning is the End”), but these are offset by a number of new and unfamiliar songs. Hardly what I expected from an anniversary show. There is also a noticeable lack of flow in the setlist. One ten minute song with a lengthy guitar solo gives way to another ten minute song with a lengthy guitar solo. Hits like “Today” and “Tonight, Tonight” get the crowd moving, but they are overshadowed by amorphous musical interludes featuring adapted lyrics and odd sounds. My worst fears—that the Smashing Pumpkins are becoming a Prog Rock band before my eyes—seem inevitable when Billy ends the second set with a 20-minute (seriously) cacophonic guitar feedback solo that has people clenching their teeth. I am having flashbacks to a bad Cirque du Soleil experience.
As a fan, this is hard to watch. At least there’s always the encore, right?
Not tonight. The encore features another unexpected rarity: “We Only Come Out at Night” from Mellon Collie, only guess what? The band plays the second half of the song on kazoos! Of course they do! Then, as we wait for the punchline—surely there’s a payoff here—the lights come on, and Billy begins telling all of the beautiful people that God loves them. Thousands of fans search frantically for a hint of irony.
There is none. This is the end of the show. There’s a detectable sense of confusion in the building. Some are angry, which leads to Billy’s exchange with the disgruntled audience member. Things get more awkward when the fan yells “Where’s James Iha?!” Unable to let it go, Billy calls up a different audience member to stand in for James, taking the opportunity to make a few more passive-aggressive comments about the former guitarist. This makes it harder to stomach when Billy reverts back to the chorus… “everyone is beautiful…” Jimmy offers some closing remarks: “what other band would rehearse for four weeks straight, 48 songs, to play 24 different songs over two nights?!” We get it, though having it rubbed in our faces kind of takes away from the effect.
Outside of the show, the bizarre atmosphere was just as pervasive. Normally fans are buzzing with reaction. In this case, people were quiet, seemingly trying to process what they just witnessed. I know I was. I know I still am.
In a very basic way, the show was unsatisfying. Serious fans (like me) grant great bands (like the Smashing Pumpkins) artistic license, with some confidence that it will be used productively. We want musicians to be creative; to not only play their hits; we want them to evolve and to stick around. But we also want them to age gracefully, and to not totally abandon the core “things” that made us fans in the first place. Normally, this is Smashing Pumpkins’ strong suit. The fan base may not have grown substantially after the initial breakup, but the fans are fiercely loyal. They’ve gone along with new album distribution schemes, the no-record label experiment, and they continue to support a band that is literally half of what it used to be. So when a 20th Anniversary show ends up being an experimental, unfamiliar affair, it’s no wonder that the response is lukewarm. Part of me suspects that the band convened this tour just to prove to the world how free they are to do what they please, and that is hardly a positive thought.
Meanwhile, my reflex to defend the band does not take long to kick in. In 1993, Billy Corgan was a cutting-edge guitar player and an egomaniacal jackass. He took pleasure in pissing people off, and we loved him for it. The band played music that no one else played, and we ate it up. Billy had issues, but they made the music real. That’s what the Pumpkins were. After 8 years of shifting identities for the band (and that whole Zwan thing), there’s something reassuring about the sight of Billy Corgan on stage, inviting the wrath of thousands as he sings them a little ditty about being beautiful.
Seems fitting for the greatest rock star of our time, right?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment