SP Articles/Interviews/Reviews

MELLON COLLIE AND THE INFINITE SADNESS

Independent (Section Two) . Friday 20 October 1995

(Transcribed by Fionn Mac)

"It's Corgan's claim on greatness, the expression of an ego at extreme odds with its nerdy physical presence"

Two years on from their 'Siamese Dream' breakthrough, and already head Pumpkin Billy Corgan wants to overwhelm us: 'Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness' is a 28-track, two-hour monster, far more music than anyone should have to swallow at one sitting. Taking the listener through every nook and cranny of the Pumpkins' repertoire, from fuzz-punk thrash to limpid acoustic ballad, it's Corgan's claim on greatness, the most complete expression of an ego at extreme odds with its nerdy physical presence.

From the Metallica-fashion dirge-metal of 'Zero' to the Wire-esque fuzz trudge of 'Love' and the New Order-style shudder of '1979', Corgan reflects his influences spectacularly - it's just a shame that, like every other American rocker of his age, those influences include all manner of painted-faced and poodle-haired heavy-metal bands as well as the more interesting and disciplined punk and alternative outfits. It's the gnarled tradition of pomp-metal, prizing the Grand Statement and double-album, that most informs 'Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness': this is the Pumpkins' 'Physical Graffiti', a weighty double slab of inflated emotion and dramatic gesture, saddled with an Elton John off-cut title.

As all double-albums must, it opens with an instrumental overture, a plaintive piano and mellotron affair tailor-made for cranking up the anticipation level before a live show. Its a red herring, of course: all too soon, the Pumpkins are into a gruelling round of punk thrash and fuzz-metal epic, tempered with an occasional lighter pop moment. At every turn, the portentous progressions leave you in no doubt that this is really heavy stuff, man, even the relatively graceful twinkling harp of 'Cupid de Locke' and the almost weightless acoustic lilt of 'Galapogos'.

Parts of it are, admittedly, brilliant - the gentle textures, curlicues of pedal steel and falsetto chorus of 'Take Me Down' are reminiscent of mid- to late-period Beach Boys, and 'To Forgive' has the emotional sweep of great over-reaching pop - but his all-encompassing ambition has led Corgan up a few blind alleys. In particular the nine-minutes-plus 'Porcelina of the Vast Oceans' is reminiscent of a Yes song, crawling from shimmery-cymbal intro to the kind of grotesque, cosmically cumbersome epic that was all but consigned to the dumper in 1977. It's alternative rock, Jim, but not as we know it.

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