Those of you hoping that the Smashing Pumpkins' comeback record is an unmitigated disaster will be disappointed: It's not. Those of you afraid that head Pumpkin Billy Corgan made another The Future Embrace (his über-synthpop, somewhat cheesy solo album) will be happy: He didn't. With drummer Jimmy Chamberlin the lone member of the classic Pumpkins lineup remaining a good move, as his influence keeps Zeitgeist reigned in and focused Corgan embraces the quintessential hit-making calculus that brought him critical respect and rabid fandom in the early 1990s. Distortion, noise, heavily layered vocals and quiet-to-loud dynamics permeate the first half of Zeitgeist, only letting up briefly for one extended period of instrumental wankery "United States," a song that ends up functioning as a transition into the second half of the album, which contains keyboard-heavy (and poppier) songs. Highlights include "That's the Way (My Love Is)," on which sheets of melodic guitar heavily influenced by wistful shoegazers like My Bloody Valentine dominate; the ghostly synthesizers (very Scary Monsters-era Bowie) and cloudy drones of "For God and Country"; and "Doomsday Clock," where guitars scream in like bottle-rockets and distort almost immediately, a nice companion to Chamberlin's Animal-from-The Muppet Show drumming. Sure, there are a few duds that sound like Smashing Pumpkins karaoke (blame weak songwriting and lame lyrics), and Zeitgeist's tricks aren't quite as revolutionary today as they were when SP debuted similar to the way other grunge-era bands sound far less dangerous today than they did in 1993. But fans of a certain age (twenty- and thirty-somethings, mostly) who were inundated with Pumpkins music in high school and college will find Zeitgeist familiar, if not nostalgia-inducing. It'll be more interesting to see how a generation of kids weaned on bands influenced by the Pumpkins especially Muse, Silversun Pickups and My Chemical Romance respond to Corgan's distorto-pomp and circumstance.
Annie Zaleski This review is part of a longer Zeitgeist review that was originally published on the RFT's music blog, blogs.riverfronttimes.com/atoz. (Specific URL: blogs.riverfronttimes.com/atoz/2007/06/ smashing_pumpkins_zeitgeist_fi.php.) For more exclusive content such as this, check out the site.
Peel It Up
Were you one of the thousands of hopefuls who submitted your demo tape to BBC Radio 1 DJ John Peel? Perhaps he didn't play it, let alone include it on his annual Festive 50 list. But consider this: Did you describe your music as "jazz"? Boast about your saxophone player? Profess a lifelong admiration for the MC5, the Stooges or the New York Dolls? If so, you doomed yourself to oblivion and didn't even know it: All three of these were on Peel's short list of "things not to write in any press release."
Somehow, this passage sums it all up, both the man and his iconoclastic approach to radio. In Britain, Peel was an institution. From the 1960s until his untimely death in October 2004, he was a constant presence on the BBC, playing the music he loved with a charmingly casual, low-tech approach. (He never overcame his habit of cueing up records at the wrong speed.) He was a hippie in the '60s, hanging out with T. Rex's Marc Bolan and preaching peace and love, but his boundless passion for music made him one of the few Flower Power vets to successfully make the transition into punk. His favorite band was the Fall; his favorite song, the Undertones' "Teenage Kicks."
Peel was more than a DJ; he was a tastemaker extraordinaire. To be asked to record a "Peel Session" in the BBC studios (or at Peel's own home) was an honor on the order of being knighted. Many of these recordings have been released commercially; for some, like the Slits and Scritti Politti, they represent the artists' best studio work. Upon Peel's death, there were radio tributes, magazine articles, memorial Web sites and an outpouring of grief usually reserved for athletes or film stars.
It seemed obvious that Peel had some great stories to tell. Margrave of the Marshes is necessarily incomplete, but it's a captivating read and the closest most of us will ever get to hearing from the man himself. Peel himself wrote the first 165 pages; sadly, he died before getting to write about his first radio job. What he did finish is a rambling, eccentric, often hilarious account of growing up in wartime England, his military service, his first marriage and the culture shock of being a Brit in early-'60s Texas. (People assumed he knew the Beatles; he didn't let on otherwise.) He jumps from subject to subject in a way that suggests that this is, indeed, a first draft, but somehow it works; anyone who's heard Peel's shows is used to jarring transitions and occasional flaws.
It was up to his wife, Sheila Ravenscroft, and children to dig through his diaries and their own memories to tell the rest of the story. Sheila picks up where John leaves off on a visit to a Mexican brothel, where he was apparently just an observer and helps make sense of the messy prose we've just read. She started out as a Peel fan, too; the two met at one of his live appearances, stayed married for 30 years and had four children. She doesn't sugarcoat the man's flaws he could be curmudgeonly and overly sensitive but it's clear that they loved each other and that Peel remained a relatively unassuming, down-to-earth presence in a business all too often ruled by ego.
At Peel Acres, his home in the English countryside, John Peel's record room remains untouched. His turntable is still there; there are records piled all over the place, plus letters and demo tapes submitted in the hopes of radio play. "There is no physical evidence that Dad isn't still with us," his children write in the introduction. This seems like the most effective monument to a man whose life was music (with family and Liverpool F.C. close behind). To John Peel, every demo tape contained a potential next Elvis. That spirit will never die as long as countless bloggers, college radio DJs, fanzine editors and rabid fans are sharing their discoveries with the world out of a sheer love of music. Mike Appelstein