An Open Letter to Billy Corgan

Dear Mr. Corgan,

The first draft of this letter was written in July of 2005, so if it sounds like something you've heard before, at least you'll be able to say that you can relate to me in more ways than just the Irish-American lapsed Catholic with blue eyes, [naturally] brown hair, crooked teeth and a wiseass attitude. I always felt like we had a lot in common, Billy. Me and about 40 million other people, obviously, but for a few fleeting years in the late 90s I really thought you were it. Those being my most vulnerable and impressionable times, you stuck with me despite a voice that was, in the words of a friend now forgotten, "akin to a drowning rat."

An impeccable knack for balancing the beautiful with the brutal was what drew me. Oh sure, you had the anthems. Ask most alternative radio stations in the US today what you amounted to and they'll reduce it to four words: Bullet with butterfly wings. Sound familiar? Of course it does, because they still play it three times a day where I come from. But you were more than a single, awful anthem for Gen Xers with mudpeople in your video. I mean, there was "Today" for first-comers to the Alternative Nation. Some people will never look at ice-cream trucks or "Zabriskie Point" the same way again.

Really though, if it wasn't for Smashing Pumpkins (with or without the "The") there would be no "alternative" in the first place. Without your distinct touches of psychedelia and new-wave and post-punk and all these things Seattle was afraid of, "grunge" would be the punchline for modern rockists. You broadened the horizons. You made people see that there was more to the 70s and 80s than just speed metal and hardcore-punk and the Pixies. There was shoegaze, there was Cheap Trick, there were The Cars. Kurt knew too, but he didn't let it show in his music, at least not until that Bowie cover. What greatness would've come we'll never know, because he took the easy out. He gave up the fight against his wife and his hopeless imitators and his greatest rival, you. There's a reason there are hundreds of Nirvana soundalikes, but only Our Lady Peace and The Secret Machines: You were the harder act to follow.

At some point after your folktronica experiment Adore (which we only now have a proper sub-sub-sub-genre for), you decided it wasn't worth "fighting the good fight against the Britneys of the world" anymore. I don't blame you. There's only so much battling you can do against not just Britney and Justin but people who don't see the joke in "Today." So you brought Jimmy back and kept D'arcy away from Mickey Rourke as long as you could before the heroin consumed her and went out on tour for one last fling against The Man, sorry, Machine, sorry, Machina. Then you told Virgin to fuck off and dealt with "the downloading question" by releasing Machina II for free online. You took the piss on plenty of people in the 90s, but that had to be my favorite punchline. Even more so because it was delivered with a wink to Virgin, who had no answer... And because it contained the song you felt was the crystallization of 12 years of playing. I don't have that citation, but I'm sure you'll remember:

The Smashing Pumpkins - "Cash Car Star (Version 1)" - Machina II: Friends & Enemies of Modern Music (Constantinople 2000)

When you went out on Leno with this and "comedy doesn't pay," I was confident the last chapter in my favorite book had closed. In between growing beyond alternative to discover The Get Up Kids and At the Drive-In and Mogwai, I found time to forgive you for Zwan almost entirely because of "Declarations of Faith." It could've been much worse than worn paisley shirts. I found that out with TheFutureEmbrace.

This is where the first draft leaves off. It's interesting to go back and read now because I was adamant I wouldn't pay attention to your "solo album with another on the way." Very coy, indeed! Turns out that second solo album was Zeitgeist after all... But I didn't remember that bit when I heard the Pumpkins were reuniting. That's the way (my love is). I hear the band is reuniting and for a split second I think of the good old days. Remember, with James and D'arcy and conquering the world? Ginger who? The motherfucking Lassie Foundation? Are you kidding me?

My question two years ago was, "What are you doing?" That was a stupid thing to ask, but we all know the answer now. I thought TheFutureEmbrace was your way of disgracing the legacy of the Pumpkins, but the joke was on me, wasn't it? The solo album(s), the "confessions," the full-page ads... Christ man, it was all an illusion. Why the hell would James want to get himself mixed up in a song like "Tarantula" anyway, especially considering you already wrote it with "Cash Car Star"? Or "Jellybelly"? Or "Hello Kitty Kat"? You had used every trick to ruin the legacy of the band, but with Zeitgeist you've finally done it: You've ruined the band itself. Well played. I hate this album.

As a Chicago-affiliated blog, I guess I should address the music of the album. The vocals are too high in the mix, the songs blend your solo production touches with blatantly obvious and therefore unrewarding hooks, the lyrics are horrendous. There. I don't work for WLUW, but even if I did and they allowed you to be played, I wouldn't. Not anymore.

There is one redeeming tune, "For God and Country." Maybe it's on the iTunes version, maybe it's on the HMV version, maybe it's on the Amazon Cambodia version, I don't fucking know. I downloaded it. There are a few lines in here that, like a million other people, I think are written for me. "It's too late for some / It's too late for everyone / I can't help what I destroy in you." That stuck out to me mostly because I don't agree. The sad part is that you could've helped all of this by just continuing to release solo albums and living out your days maintaining some semblance of artistic integrity.

But you got me with this: "It's time to wake up / It's time to wake up for good." You're right, Billy. I really don't want to look stupid when I'm sleeping.

...Said sadly,
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