Still can’t forgive Billy Corgan his voice or lyrics, but a wondrous album all the same.
At first - harder work than I’d hope from a classic album. Perhaps I’ve not the patience, as it’s sounding pedestrian (and perhaps even indulgent). As the record warms up, I begin to hear the artists who must owe Patti and incredible debt: Pat Benatar, Kate Bush, Kathleen Hanna. By the time “Free Money” is done I’m several shades more optimistic about the record.
A lot more American Songbook than I’d have guessed. Hadn’t noticed how similar the end of Maggie May is to “Losing My Religion”. “Mandolin Wind” is a song that transforms at the halfway mark, from dull to wonderful. In a way that serves as metonym - an album that’s half pretty dull, and half absolutely wonderful.
Wonderful record. Hadn’t realised that it was so ignored initially. “…Walter” a standout track for me.
Night Swimming <3
I sit in the global coffeehouse, second hand smoke atop first. Frasier Crane sends me a drink. I resolve to later memorialise him as a neon statue.
Challenging on many levels, and none of them particularly good. Today, I read an article about policy wording for assisted suicide - and found it more interesting than this record.
Ba wi wi wewww, ba wa wa wewwww. Is it possible to listen to this album and not find another layer to love about it? A taste I am grateful for having taken the time to acquire.
I’m in, characters fizz over the membrane. There’s risk here, but no jeopardy: they might notice something’s different, can happen, they’re not total brats; but I’ll be in El Salvador - Dios, Unión, Libertad - by the time they’ve got a handle on the damage. I’m riding higher, every touch magnetic, the thrill in the code adrenaline-sugar-seduction. Underneath the beat of the taps in the deep dark humming between those bleeding pixel greens though, it’s her. Raven-haired, always somewhere else, her. But there’s no place in the interface for her, and she isn’t hiding. I keep looking all the same.