Happy 30th birthday to The Smashing Pumpkins' monumental double album, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness! I was a fresh-faced 15-year-old in 1995, deep in my grunge phase—right before Boyz II Men swept me off my feet.
Let's be real: when they announced this two-disc, 28-track opus, it felt less like a new album and more like an act of war against the listener. A double album from an alt-rock band in '95? That was commercial suicide on an epic scale, a towering self-regard previously reserved for the likes of Pink Floyd or Led Zeppelin.
Billy Corgan, fresh off the success of Siamese Dream, cashed in all his artistic capital for this two-hour obligation. This wasn't a creative endeavor; it was a doctoral dissertation on Gen X angst. Listening to it felt like being forced to read a particularly dense biography of Pablo Picasso—you admire the person, but you desperately want it to end.
Take Porcelina of the Vast Oceans. Nine minutes. Nine minutes! It drags you from promising grunge into a bizarre detour that sounds suspiciously like "Grunge Meets a Tourist's Souvenir from Hawaii." I honestly kept checking my CD player, convinced the whole thing had locked up on a moody, expensive loop.
And Corgan’s vocals? That thin, strained, high-pitched delivery remains a polarizing force. For months, listening felt like enduring a dental procedure. It’s an acquired taste, like licorice or your elderly aunt’s questionable lasagna. Yet, eventually, like a chronic cough you learn to live with, the voice clicks. It stops being annoying and starts sounding like what it truly is: pure, unadulterated yearning—the most '90s emotion imaginable.
When the dust settled, the album gave us undeniable gems like 1979 and Tonight, Tonight. In the end, Mellon Collie felt like the last, grand hurrah for that strain of American rock: colossal, expensive, slightly annoying, and ultimately, magnificently strange. It was a chaotic, beautiful, necessary farewell.
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