Smashing Pumpkins
MACHINA / the machines of God
»
Smashing Pumpkins
MACHINA / the machines of God
Virgin, 2000
RiYL: Cheap Trick, Bram Stoker, The Cure |
I refer to the band's name in quotes because the entity that created this music doesn't seem to be a proper band. Much has been made of drummer Jimmy Chamberlin's return from his heroin-influenced exile, but MACHINA is essentially the product of Corgan's omnipresent ego. From the lyrics and the liner notes, the general concept one gets from the record is that Corgan believes his band is a group of machines through which God expresses him/herself (or possibly, his band-mates are the machines through which Corgan, playing God, expresses himself). Can you say "pretentious"?
Founding bassist D'arcy Wretsky quit after the recording of this album, ostensibly to start an acting career, but clearly frustrated with Corgan's dictatorship of the band. Chamberlin, one of rock's best drummers (see: Gish and Siamese Dream), is back, but what does that mean to Corgan, who uses electronic drums on half of MACHINA's tracks? And though he lends certain atmospherics, guitarist James Iha's credits on this album are not as prominent as in the past. No, this is Corgan's project, and he unfortunately has no checks or balances anymore.
I repress feelings of embarassment for the shaven one during lead track "The Everlasting Gaze," when the music drops out in favor of Corgan's whiny snarling about "the fickle fascination of an everlasting God." His pinched vocals were the reason that the Pumpkins' live shows always turned out a bit less aurally pleasing than the studio albums, but now Corgan has forsaken trying to sound nice for reveling in his own garishness.
Sure, there are some nice hooks on the album, and I'm sure it will spawn plenty of radio hits and more cash for the Pumpkins. But any redeeming qualities the record has are drowned out by the overall "vision" that permeates it. The 10-minute "Glass And The Ghost Children" opens with some keen riffage between Chamberlin, Wretsky, and Iha/Corgan, and hits a few classy notes later on as well. But the track is ruined by a band-less middle section in which Corgan's distorted voice admits that he believes his life is important because God speaks through him, and everything he does is guided by his inner intuition, which he percieves to be the voice of God (riiiight). By the song's end, Corgan is intoning "As she counted the spiders / as they crawled up inside her" over and over again in a flat, moaning voice, as if daring the listener to press the track-forward button.
MACHINA was touted as a return to form for the band after the relatively unsuccessful, largely electronic Adore, recorded without Chamberlin. But while a couple tracks feature loud, fast, distorted guitars, this record definitely has more in common with Adore than the Pumpkins' earlier work. One could deduce thusly that the whole "return to form" campaign surrounding MACHINA is a calculated effort to sell more records to the folks who haven't heard the music. Along those same lines, "The Everlasting Gaze" is a bit of a misleading first single. Musically, the album has more in common with '80s gloom-pop like The Cure and Joy Division than with the rock splendour of Gish and Siamese Dream, as exemplified by the shining wash of synthesizers, the electronic drums, and the depressing melodic and lyrical sentiment (MACHINA's closing track is based on the charming mantra "Desolation, yes / hesitation, no").
Another disappointing aspect of the album is its presentation. As little as that has to do with the quality of the music, the physical appearance of the album is clearly a big concern for Corgan. The song titles are rife with pretension on their own, apparent even without listening: the aforementioned "Glass And The Ghost Children" is accompanied by "The Sacred And Profane," "I Of The Mourning" and my personal favorite, "The Crying Tree Of Mercury." The album's artwork is a fitting accompaniment to such medieval imagery, the booklet appearing as faded parchment with woodcut illustrations of the songs.
As anyone who's seen Corgan lately can attest, he's looking less and less human. The guy seems to want us to believe he is some kind of Vampire-Rock-God, with flowing black robes and a disturbingly white and round pate. I don't know if that's helped him sell more records or believe in himself, but it sure does speak for an obsession with style over substance (I can think of a similar public dehumanizing of a pop star in recent years -- listened to any new Michael Jackson records lately?)
The point is, he wants us to swallow this whole image and agree that he is the savior of rock and roll, plus maybe the savior of our souls (read the lyrics), when all he's really doing is exploiting his forum for expression, compressing his ego into easily-purchased formats, and collecting the dough. Please, Billy, stop trying to impress or scare us, and just concentrate on the music.
TROY CARPENTER | Troy Carpenter founded NATN from a Chicago apartment during the ambitious winter of 1998 with co-conspirators Ben French and Jonathan Cohen. After a five-year stint in New York, he and wife Lourdes have recently relocated to Indianapolis, where he spends days listening to music and nights in the kitchen at Elements restaurant. Musical heroes: Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, Super Furry Animals. What else makes life worth living: Sushi, Phucty, runs in the park, and the Atlanta Braves.