This came out in 2000 — or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
“You know I’m not dead,” whines Billy Corgan at the opening of The Everlasting Gaze, the leadoff track from Smashing Pumpkins’ new disc. To which one can only reply: You coulda fooled us, Billy boy.
OK, that’s harsh. But, hey, let’s be real: The chrome-domed Corgan and his Chicago bandmates haven’t exactly been living la vida loca the past couple of years. Their touring keyboardist died of an tragic overdose while on the road; they sacked drummer Jimmy Chamberlin for his role in the whole sordid affair; and perhaps most relevantly, their last album, the bleak and ballad-sodden Adore, was deader on arrival than the last Bush disc.
So what’s an ego-driven, control-freak rock star to do? Well, to the scheming Corgan — who released the Pumpkins’ first album Gish on the Virgin subsidiary Caroline to generate street cred for the band, which had already signed a major-label deal — it must have seemed simple, really: Just plug the guitars back in, get the old drummer back and start acting like an indie-rock band again. All of which the Pumpkins have done for Machina / The Machines of God. But frankly, for the most part Corgan’s machinations don’t work.
Yes, the snarling guitars and mosh-ready grunge of first single Everlasting Gaze — not to mention the equipment-trashing video — are a glimpse of the old Billy. The Billy of Siamese Dream and Bullet With Butterfly Wings. The Billy who sang, “Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage.” Clearly, Everlasting Gaze isn’t the problem. The problem is that there are 14 other tunes on Machina — and not one is even half as engaging.
Chiefly, that’s because Everlasting Gaze notwithstanding, Corgan is not the Billy of old. Around the time of Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, he lost that rage and turned from angry young rocker to tortured, pampered artiste. And he gradually stopped writing traditional rock songs and began churning out increasingly pretentious gunk.
Corgan’s delusions of grandeur are in full effect once again on Machina. If the title isn’t enough of a giveaway, check out the lyrics: An incomprehensible glob of pseudo-mystical, religious mumbo-jumbo about romance and redemption, sin and salvation, death and rebirth. It’s so convoluted even Corgan can’t seem to keep it straight. First, he’s not dead; then, later, he is; then he wants to live; then he wishes for death. Hey Billy, either renew the magazine subscription or call Dr. Kevorkian, OK?
Musically, Machina is just as wishy-washy. Corgan has plugged his guitar back in but he appears to have forgotten what to do with it. Actual riffs are few and far between; instead, there’s song after song of droning, buzzy sludge and layer upon layer of overdubs. Once again, the sweeping, overwritten ballads and arty numbers far outweigh the rockers. And the production is the final nail in the coffin; Machina sounds as if everything’s been wrapped in gauze. Chamberlin’s busy drums are buried in the mix; Corgan’s already-thin and nasal vocals are dry and underproduced. The cumulative effect makes Machina’s 73-minute running time a tedious affair that feels longer than the two-disc Mellon Collie.
If Corgan really wants to stave off the end of the great Pumpkins, he’s going to have to find that rage once again — and remember what that guitar is for.
