It’s been a rather wild week at the office, and with no end in sight — and no pilgrimage back to my city by the lake for Lolla to ease the pain (the first time in 11 years!) — thought I’d come bask in the glow of the internet and my little cave of melodies. In the midst of all the insanity — and an unholy number of meetings (I was averaging 6 hours a day this week) — I managed to find a couple items of note to share with the Elite Eight. First up is an interview with Nine Inch Nails frontman Trent Reznor from Rolling Stone. He talks about his recent release, Bad Witch (which similar to my admonitions to Kanye for recently trying to call his six/seven song, half hour releases “albums” is an EP, no matter what they say — I know this is the era of saying whatever we want and thinking that inherently makes it true (#fakenews, Bobby…), but there has to be a limit. Otherwise I’d like to be considered for an NAACP Image Award and be allowed to join the Canadian women’s lacrosse team.) He also talks about how he’s coping with the chaotic times and for him that’s meant a look back to simpler, more nostalgic times, which is a response I wholeheartedly identify with.
I found myself rummaging around the archives a few months ago, trying to find something new, familiar, and/or comforting from the dusty bins in the back (and increasingly front these days) of my brain. For Reznor his hunt took him to The Twilight Zone and stacks of vinyl, for me it was (in part) back to one of the bands my dad often listened to when I was a kid, CCR. As The Dude would gladly tell you, Creedence is a fantastic band — one whose songs are ubiquitous parts of the culture and so synonymous with the 60s that you start sprouting sideburns and looking for a protest march the minute you hear them. I used to religiously listen to the two Chronicle albums, which are stuffed with so many gigantic hits it’s ridiculous — particularly when you realize the band released almost all of them within a torrid six albums in three years span.
I’d never gone too much deeper, though, so found myself looking through the tracks that didn’t make those masterful monoliths to see what I could unearth. Unsurprisingly, there were plenty of gems — Pitchfork did a good review of Cosmo’s Factory a week or so ago, which showcases one of the best finds, the scorching “Ramble Tamble” that opens their fifth album. (It also does a nice job recounting some of the history of the legendary band, so is definitely worth a read.) There was “Bootleg” from their second album, Bayou Country, which sounds instantly recognizable despite it never getting much airplay. And “Porterville” from their self-titled debut, whose background shouts of “I DON’T CARE!” feel particularly familiar/liberating these days. Each of them (and several others) are good enough to be hits in their own right, which just reiterates The Dude’s point — this is a fantastic band. Check em out and see if you agree (and go back to those Chronicle albums and enjoy the glow — you’ll be glad you did):
Speaking of nostalgia, I just got back from seeing the Smashing Pumpkins who are currently touring for the band’s 30th anniversary (exhibit #9754 I am O.A.F.) As many of you know, one of the Sunshine Commandments is to steer clear of shows like this, where bands well past their prime look to cash in on golden memories while subjecting crowds to whatever flabby new songs they’ve recently recorded. The call of the original lineup (minus D’arcy), only playing songs from their best/early albums, was too much to pass up, though, so we packed up the Sun Bus and headed to Philadelphia. (Big ups to Reading Market for fueling my gluttonous rampage yet again…) And I’m mostly glad I did — the pluses were they sounded great (though Jimmy’s drums could have been a bit louder), played a bunch of good stuff (including an opening trio of “Disarm,” “Rocket,” and a smoking “Siva”), and played for three straight hours. The minuses were the sequencing (for example, their encore was the “meh” new song “Solara” and the kids song “Baby Mine,” sung — because Billy is about as subtle as a sledgehammer — with his kid in his arms), the visuals behind the songs (which were cool looking, but a little distracting and for some reason had Sugar Ray frontman Mark McGrath speaking to the crowd twice), and some of the selections (these shows always play it a bit safe, sticking to the hits, but it was unfortunate they passed on deeper fan favorites like “I Am One” and “Silverfuck” for — again, sledgehammer obvious — covers like “Space Oddity” and “Stairway.” That’s right, Stairway to fucking Heaven. Geezus. Christ…)
Part of my bigger problem, though, was with the imagery of Billy as a saint or god that was sprinkled throughout the set. We all know Corgan has a God complex as insatiable, oppressive, and obnoxious as similar talents from the law firm of West and White. There was just something about seeing all the iconography flashing behind the songs, culminating with a literal statue of Billy as a saint get carted through the crowd that reminded me why this band sadly fell apart — because Billy misunderstands why people love(d) this band. Billy thinks what made the band great was him — he wrote the songs, he came up with the cool visuals and art, he was the face of the band and the outlandish, larger than life persona staring back at you while you were rocking out to their biggest hits. Unfortunately, what made them great was the balance of those elements — the sentiment balancing out the rock, the sincerity balancing out the bombast, the sweetness balancing out the snarl. It was all of those things together, not one or two of them on their own. And Billy just does not seem to understand.
It was evident on the band’s first attempted return post-breakup, 2007’s Zeitgeist. Billy seems to have thought, “people love rocking out to our songs, so I’m gonna give em what they want — a RAWK ALBUM” and what we got was a sludgy, one-note affair where the band made a terrific racket at the expense of all those other elements. The next album Oceania was a similar affair — Billy seems to have said, “folks not only love it when we rock for long periods of time (see ramblers like “Porcelina of the Vast Oceans,” “Starla,” “Glass and the Ghost Children,” etc), they also love it when I sing about trippy, cliched bullshit like the sun/dawn/moon/oceans/etc.” So that’s what we got — another forgettable album that just reminds you of how great the band once was. It’d be like seeing Jordan try to win the dunk contest now or Carl Lewis win the 100m dash — it just hurts (and thankfully both of those legends have the sense to know better than to try).
So it’s frustrating even in a venue such as this, where he seems to be acknowledging what worked best for the band and attempting to embrace/recapture it, to still see him miss the point. “The folks love me and my goofy spaceman Jesus routine, therefore I shall give them three straight hours of it and they shall rejoice!” It’s like looking at a Monet up close or eating a deconstructed version of your favorite dish — there’s a reason these things work and it’s when everything is harmony, not a disjointed, magnified affair. So what could have been an amazing time ended up being a mostly fine one — but hey, at least I wasn’t at the Jersey show where it seems like he really missed the point (despite the author’s sentiments).
At least we’ve got our memories — here’s a couple of those golden moments where Billy was in balance and things were alright, if only for a few moments. Check out two of my favorites, “Stumbleine” and “Silverfuck,” to explore the yin and yang of the band’s two sides:
We’ll close with a look forward and the upcoming release from Jungle, the Brit band whose 2014 debut landed on my year end list. They’ve shared a few more tracks from the album, including the catchy little “Cherry,” and it thankfully sounds like they aren’t deviating from the eclectic formula that won them so many fans. Give em (and the previous two singles “Happy Man” and “House in LA”) a listen.
Until next time… –BS