More blatant self-promotion

Music

I’d apologize for always talking about all the media crap I’m doing, but frankly, I need some excuse for not blogging more so…

A couple weeks ago, I was a guest on a BreakThru Radio podcast hosted by a woman named Rachel Hurley who blogs at Rachelandthecity.com. If you want to know what’s up on the Memphis music scene, you should check her out. She hosts a show called The Bloggeratti, where bloggers come on the show and talk about artists they think people should know about. Though my song selection is impeccable, my performance is less so. I did the interview at the end of a long day at work, and I think it shows. To listen to the show, click here. You should also check out Rachel’s other segments by going to breakthruradio.com clicking on Multimedia Archive, then select DJ Rachelandthecity from the list and click search.

– 30 –

Disbelief, unsuspended

Media,

Here’s my problem with most Adam Sandler movies:

It isn’t the plot. I can buy the idea that a guy whose father has a lot of money could convince a school system to let him repeat kindergarten through high school. A former hockey player becomes a golf pro? Sure, why not. I don’t really play sports, but I remember how Bo Jackson used to be really good at baseball and football, so that seems plausible. A waterboy could be a football player? Saw it in Lucas, and I believed it then, too. Moreover, it makes total sense to me that someone could earn a living as a wedding singer, or that Christopher Walken could invent a remote control capable of controlling everything in the world. I even buy that DCFS would let him hold onto a kid for more than five minutes without calling Dateline NBC.

Where my cognitive dissonance kicks in is on this point: how does fucking Adam Sandler have incredibly hot women falling in love with him in almost every film? I mean, come on. Patricia Arquette and Fairuza Balk, sure. They both seem kinda crazy. But Marisa Tomei? Kate Beckinsale? Bridgette Wilson? Hell, in Spanglish he has two hot women after his ass. That’s just nuts.

The most intelligence-insulting part of I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry – and this includes all the weird gay panic crap that substitutes for a plot – is that I’m expected to believe that there is any chance in this world or any other than a woman that looks like Jessica Biel would be dating a guy like Adam Sandler.

I think the reason that I enjoyed The Wedding Singerso much is because I felt like Drew Barrymore got the better end of the deal in that one.

Oblivious Living Part 1.11 – "(Get A) Grip (On Yourself)

Music

If you’re coming late to the party, this is a 37-part series on the first two volumes of the Living In Oblivion collection, which are available pretty much nowhere.

MP3 – “(Get A) Grip (On Yourself)” – The Stranglers
Lyrics – “(Get A) Grip (On Yourself)” – The Stranglers

You know what punk rock needs more of? Saxophone.

Used to be, you could have a decent shot at hearing some saxophone in a punk song. I’m not talking about punk bands that are actually ska bands, I’m talking about actual punk bands.

The Stranglers, X-Ray Spex, Buzzcocks, New York Dolls? Modern Lovers and The Jam maybe? Even the odd Clash number. Saxophone. Nothing says angst like a woodwind instrument. (It is, too. Look it up.)

Honestly, I’m not sure what else to say about “(Get A) Grip (On Yourself),” except that it wins the award for most hilarious use of parentheses. The song’s another example of a late 70s inclusion that, while great, has no business here. Then again, the Stranglers were really men out of time so perhaps that makes sense. They came up through the pub-rock movement, and found themselves trying to adapt to the punk and New Wave scenes. They made a pretty good go of it until about 1984 when their career came down to a low simmer that’s pretty much stayed there. Like 999, they still tour throughout Europe.

I find it really interesting that no one ever rags on old punk bands that stay together long after the new material’s dried up. Classic rock bands get it all the time, but old punk bands never do. It’s seen as another sortie in the fight against…what, exactly? Welcome to the new nostalgia.

Moreover, The Stranglers were also accused of being misogynists, and Lotharios. This is even more proof that this band didn’t really cut its teeth in the 80s. You did not get to be known as a band of shag monkeys in the 80s if your video featured a drummer that looks like the bass player from Almost Famous. You had to look like Mötley Crüe to get away with that shit. That is to say, you had to look a lot like the women you were chasing.

Selling out is great for bands…who don't really want to be in bands

Music,

Miles Raymer attempts to defend “selling out” in this week’s Chicago Reader. I admire the contraiainist effort, but he never quite justifies why more commercial usage of music “might be just what the music industry needs.” Artists have been offering begrudging nods to commercial licensing for a few years now, ever since Moby showed it was both financially rewarding, and didn’t lead to becoming a complete asshole in the process. But this newish aspect of music labels’ business plans hasn’t exactly infused them with scads of cash, as Raymer notes.

So it’s not exactly reaping a whirlwind for labels, but it’s obviously helping new bands find an audience, right? Well, no. The reason why is simple: licensing music for commercial purposes doesn’t create new fans for a band, it only associates the band with a moment in time, or with a particular movement, which makes it all the easier for any new fans they’ve acquired to move on when the moment is over.

There’s a much longer post to be written on just this point, but music – particularly the big tent that the term “indie rock music” has come to represent – is much more commodified now than it ever was before. Where it used to be that a certain segment of the population sought out the hot new restaurant or the hipper-than-thou nightclub as a way to show they were on the cutting edge of what was “in,” this same segment now accomplishes that by seeking out information about which bands are being touted as the next big thing.

It’s easier to do that now because the information about which bands are new and breaking is everywhere, and not spread by word-of-mouth or via record stores that most folks wouldn’t step foot in. It would be fine if this kind of re-purposing of music were merely confined to commerce, but the problem is that these people are showing up at live shows as well, with little respect for the culture created around it. (If Wilco wants to “get the music out there,” good for them. But if they do it by selling off their tunes to car companies, they shouldn’t be surprised if more guys like this start coming to their shows.)

When you directly associate your music with commerce – that is, when the music is used to sell something other than an album, CD or MP3 – it’s likely that the audience you reach will associate it that way, as well. Therefore, your music becomes nothing more than a plate of grilled salmon, a gin and tonic, or a pair of trendy new jeans. It’s something to be consumed at that time, without much thought given to it after it’s outlived its utility.

So licensing ultimately fails to expand or develop an audience. I know that many people thought that Moby allowing the majority of his Play album to be used for commercial purposes was a bold way of reaching a wider audience, but a few years on and that new audience of his has all but disappeared, leaving him struggling to sign with a label until recently. The Shins – an example Raymer uses to illustrate the positive effects of “selling out” – will probably never escape its Garden State association, and will probably rise and fall depending on how long the “Braff rock” trend lasts.

The band The Caesars went from being a never-were to a has-been in the blink of an eye, despite the ubiquity of its single “Jerk It Out,” first heard in iPod commercials. The Servant had a song called “Cells” in the trailer for Sin City, but it didn’t help its next album “How To Destroy A Relationship” get a U.S. release. Bodyrockers’ song “I Like The Way” was used in a Diet Coke ad, the show Las Vegas, and the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show in 2005. In fact, you probably know the song without even realizing it. Listen to it at their website, and you’ll probably find yourself saying “Oh that song!” like I did. Yet the name “Bodyrockers” meant nothing to me, and probably means nothing to a lot of other people since their self-titled album is also only available on import, and the News section of their site has been sorely lacking any if it since December of 2005.

And bands with a built-in audience should perhaps be wary of going the commercial route, too. Wilco certainly took it on the chin from their long-time fans. Sonic Youth can justify selling CDs through Starbucks and re-release its classic albums all it wants, but its audience isn’t fooled. (Perhaps as Jessica Hopper goes, so goes the Daydream Nation?)

I’m not denying that a band allowing its music to be used in a commercial is a good way to get a short-term infusion of cash. Raymer’s best argument in the piece is that if bands that make a living through music “can’t stay safely in the black by playing gigs or selling records, some of them are bound to choose licensing deals and sponsorships over day jobs or credit-card debt.” I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing if letting Volkswagen use my songs meant I could devote my life to making music. But I don’t think it would. More likely, it means your band will be no more memorable to the average listener than the can of Coke they just tossed in the trash. And rather than allow you to leave that day job and devote your life to creating music, it’s more likely to leave you still trying to sell your latest CD to uninterested audiences, only this time you’ll be selling it to them with an orange crème frappuccino.

Saturday in the park, a man selling ice cream

Uncategorized,

I’ve been doing some writing in Time Out Chicago recently. This week, I contributed to an article in TOC‘s ice cream issue, now on-sale at local newsstands, but also available on the Interwebs. The piece is here (last item), complete with a stunningly handsome picture of yours truly. I walked around Rogers Park, Edgewater and Andersonville selling paletas and other ice cream treats. How did I do? Well, you’ll just have to click on the link.

Also in this week’s issue, we have a Web-only feature that lets our readers choose their favorite ice cream treat from the places we reviewed in this issue. Definitely worth checking out because it’s very pretty. Keep up with the results on the TOC blog.

And finally, I wrote the third item for this article on the history of Chicago’s parks. If you haven’t had a chance to check out these nifty TOC Google maps detailing everything there is to do in the city parks, or the many attractions of Milwaukee, you really should.

I do hope you’ve made the TOC blog a regular part of your day. I write occasional posts there, and you also get insightful pieces like this one on the whole “crush on Obama” phenomenon from our sex and relationships writer, Debby Herbenick.

Finally – and this is completely free of all self-promotion – I’ve got my money on Wes Craven in this fight.

A pattern of behavior

Music,

The other day I was listening to a song called “Hearsay” by a group called Soul Children, and it got me thinking about a song off R. Kelly’s new album called “Real Talk.”

The full lyrics are here, but essentially “Real Talk” is about Kelly confronting his woman vis a vis a friend of hers, whom he believes is spreading untrue rumors about him.

MP3 – “Real Talk” by R. Kelly

Soul Children were a band formed by Isaac Hayes and Dave Porter when Sam and Dave left the Stax label. If you listen to “Hearsay,” it’s easy to hear the resemblance even though Soul Children were a co-ed group. The lyrics are essentially about the same topic: a man confronting his woman vis a vis a friend of hers, whom he believes is spreading untrue rumors about him.

MP3 – “Hearsay” by Soul Children

Disagreements in a relationship are certainly fodder for pop songs, even if there’s anger and conflict inherent in both the lyrics and delivery. But even the most venomous song lyrics (Queen’s Death on Two Legs comes to mind) don’t compare with the hate spewed at the unnamed woman in “Real Talk.”

R. Kelly uses the words “bitch” and “’ho” to describe a woman in the same way that you or I would use the word…woman. And there’s a liberal sprinkling of both words on the track. The dialogue in the song often approaches absurdity (I’m still not sure what “what they eat don’t make a shit” means) but there’s little mistaking the misogynist intent. There’s also little mistaking where the woman’s place is in this relationship, as far as R. Kelly is concerned.

The misogyny involved is even more obvious after listening to “Hearsay,” a song that addresses the same topic in a completely different way.

It isn’t as if the change in language translates to a lack of power in the song. Much like “Who’s Makin’ Love” by Johnnie Taylor, there’s a cautionary tale here. The conflict even gets ratcheted up a couple notches around 2:03 when the singer’s woman puts her two cents in, and the two begin fighting. Both of them are clearly angry, but there’s never the sense that one or the other is about to endure some physical harm. The discussion here feels far more like “real talk” in part because the woman’s voice is heard, both figuratively and literally. Though the same issue is at work in this relationship as in Kelly’s, you get the sense that both people have an equal say in what happens next.

Even in his magnum opus on troubled relationships (Trapped in the Closet) Kelly couldn’t find room enough for a woman’s voice to air a woman’s concerns. Unlike other artists, Kelly can’t legitimately distance himself from his work by saying he’s merely playing a role. The Robert Kelly that owns a house in the Chicago suburb of Olympia Fields is the same R. Kelly who at one moment speaks of fucking…er, flirting with girls in a club and at another moment gets angry at his woman for confronting him about it. More often than not, the discourse R. Kelly has with women isn’t so much conversation as it is a declaration.

Fuck me? Girl, fuck you!
I don’t give a fuck about what you’re talking about…

When I discussed the five year anniversary of R. Kelly’s child pornography charges, at TOC’s blog recently, I forgot to mention one thing: the actions that caused charges to be filed against Kelly can only be described as alleged, while his actions since then are nothing but the truth. How Kelly treated the woman at the center of his legal dispute is in question, but there’s more than enough proof available to know how R. Kelly thinks women, in general, should be treated. And none of it’s hearsay.

***

Incidentally, if you want more from Soul Children, check out the Chronicle collection. I’d also recommend you buy this Stax 50th Anniversary collection pronto. (Kerry, is that enough promotion to not get me in trouble with the powers-that-be for posting the Soul Children MP3?)

Oblivious Living Part 1.10 "Guilty" by Classix Noveaux

Uncategorized, ,

MP3 – “Guilty” by Classix Nouveaux
Lyrics – “Guilty” by Classix Nouveaux

Though most of the songs I’ve reviewed so far have their roots in Euro 80s pop, and we’re at the tail end of a rip-off renaissance of this time period, “Guilty” is the best candidate for “Song Most Likely To Make People Think It Was Recorded In The Last Few Years.” If the Editors covered this, I might start liking them again.

Classix Noveaux has a story that’s become a bit rote for me at this point, and I’m only ten songs into this little project: Band forms, band records song that becomes hit, band releases album, band’s album sells moderately well and band follows it up with second single that does the same, band tours various European countries that don’t have a whole lot else going for it in the early 1980s except for touring English synth bands, band ekes out two more albums that are hits in countries that aren’t the U.S. or the U.K, band breaks up.

But Classix Noveaux did have a few other things going for it. Though they formed via an ad in Melody Maker, like many other bands of their time, they boasted two members of X-Ray Spex (“Oh Bondage! Up Yours”). Also, unlike most of the other bands on this comp, their first single was not their highest-charting. That honor goes to “Is It A Dream.” Yeah, I didn’t know it either, but YouTube has it here. Between the scary looking lead singer, the weird guys following him around, the castle and the fencing, this is one of those videos that isn’t actually scary, but if you see it at a young age, it totally gives you the willies and will cause you to proclaim that it still freaks you out way into your 20s. Kinda like “Somebody’s Watching Me” by Rockwell. Seriously, what is with his dog? Even without the pig mask on, it’s weird. And that bathroom? The mailman in the diaper? Yeagh, I need to call my mother.

Not to belabor a point here, but someone in the comments of the video mentions Richard O’Brien, who played Riff in the film version of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and the resemblance can’t be coincidence. Especially since they’re performing in and around a castle that bears a remarkable similarity to the one in the film. Sans Transylvanians, of course. Although the Transylvanians seem to make an appearance in the video for “Guilty,” in which the lead singer looks like what happens if you cross Marilyn Manson with Judas Priest’s Rob Halford (post-gay revelation).

Anyway, why “Is It A Dream” charted higher is a mystery to me because “Guilty” rules.
Classix Noveaux’s sound is probably best described as goth-punk and you’d have trouble convincing me that there’s a better example of it here. This is another somebody done somebody wrong song, and the singer’s clearly to blame. Yet there’s still defiant whining to be done (“I wonder why you haven’t the time for/The reasons why”). Bring aggro hasn’t seemed to work for angry-boy bands so most of them have turned to being pissy over loud guitars. So it’s refreshing to remember pomposity used to have a nice beat you could dance to. Also, if the writer of “Betty Davis Eyes” didn’t steal its shimmering guitar/keyboard sound from this song, I will eat a gym sock.

But what’s with the name? It is supposed to mean the band was destined to be a new classic, like those really lame movies they show on TNT that we’re all supposed to think are really good, even though many of them star Kevin Costner? See, this why no 80s bands are around anymore: hubris.

Jessica Alba, Sue Storm and the wisdom of experience

Comics

I was all set to write a post about how stupid both the thesis and supporting arguments of this USA Today story are, when I checked the comments section of the story, and noticed the folks there did my work for me. Using Catwoman and Elektra to say that comic fans don’t like women in hero mode is like saying the poor sales of Crystal Pepsi and Van Halen III mean that soda and rock and roll are on the wane. But there’s little use in me throwing another log on that fire, so thanks for stealing my thunder, Internet. And way to figure out the new media, USA Today. Jerks.

Frankly, I’d be the first one to trumpet Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer as the herald (ahem) of a new age of women-centered hero films if it weren’t for the fact that Jessica Alba’s Sue Storm isn’t the heart of this team and there’s little the actress can do about it. For now.

This isn’t to say that the fault lies with who Alba is. She’s a decent actress in the right role; her Nancy Callahan in Sin City is the kind of woman that men would kill for, and Dark Angel gave Alba a role that allowed her to deliver a mix of poutiness and sass, backed with a sharp boot heel. It’s fair to say she was born to play Max.

But Sue Storm is a mother figure in a family of super heroes. And while Alba has many charms, projecting a maternal instinct isn’t one of them. She gives off the air of a woman who’s still taking in the world – no crime there for a woman in her mid 20s – but the role requires someone who’s able to suggest with her eyes that she’s seen enought to know what’s right for her boys. If anyone, it’s Michael Chiklis’ Ben Grimm who carries the right amount of world-weariness on his shoulders to be the team’s moral compass.

Despite Scott Knowles’s protestations to the contrary, the only thing that’s woman-centered about Surfer is that there’s a woman in it, surrounded by men. Can Alba’s Sue Storm hold her own in the ass-kicking department? Sure. But she isn’t gifted with the Athenian wisdom necessary to carry the role. Not yet.

Speaking of which, I’m on record with saying that a certain female super hero should be given her due. If Scott Bowles’s article can make it easier to get Wonder Woman a green light, I’ll forgive him his blindness. I’m just hoping he’s not in charge of casting the thing.

Press release of the day: Striking While The Iron Is Hot category

Music,

Kudos to Journey’s publicist for her excellent timing. Issuing this on the heels of the Sopranos finale, which ended with the strains of “Don’t Stop Believing” is a brilliant move. I hope she treated herself by leaving early for the day, after a long lunch. Because honestly: raise your hand if you even knew Steve Augeri had been replaced as lead singer of Journey. Hell, raise your hand if you thought Steve Perry was still the lead singer of Journey. Steve Perry certainly seems to.

Also, can we get a moratorium on the use of the phrase “no pun intended” when clearly a pun was intended?

JOURNEY ANNOUNCES DEPARTURE OF JEFF SCOTT SOTO

June 12, 2007 — Journey has parted ways with their recently named lead singer Jeff Scott Soto. Jeff’s first appearance with Journey was July 7, 2006 in Bristow, VA. He had been filling in for Steve Augeri, who had to leave the tour shortly after it began on June 23 due to illness. Jeff’s last performance was May 12, 2007 in Leesburg, VA.

According to guitarist Neal Schon, “We appreciate all of Jeff’s hard work and we can’t thank him enough for stepping in when Steve Augeri got sick last year. He did a tremendous job for us and we wish him the best. We’ve just decided to go our separate ways, no pun intended. We’re plotting our next move now.”

Keyboardist Jonathan Cain continues, “We were lucky to have a friend who was already a Journey fan step in on a moment’s notice during the Def Leppard tour to help us out. Jeff was always the consummate professional and we hope that he remains a friend of the band in the future. We just felt it was time to go in a different direction.”

Journey–Neal Schon (guitar), Ross Valory (bass), Jonathan Cain (keyboards) and Deen Castronovo (drums)—is taking the rest of 2007 off to spend time with their families, write new songs and map out plans for 2008.

From the archives, vol. 2

Music,

It’s not as if I haven’t had things on my mindgrapes this past week (specifically the full-on revival of girl group rock and the end of the 2nd season of The Ultimate Coyote Ugly Search). Due to lots of work-related stuff and some technical difficulties*, I haven’t been blogging. Right now, my PC is in safe mode (throw ’em up, geeks!) as I type this, due to a busted video card. It’s like using a computer with no peripherals whose display is rendered by a sloppy child wielding a crayon. So it’s making blogging a less than enjoyable undertaking.

And much as it pains me, I’m not going to get up this week’s Oblivious Living post, which is a shame because it’s a really solid track, though sung by a band with a very unfortunate name.

Still, it’s been a solid week since new stuff went up here so I’m again posting a piece I wrote last year around this time.

This piece was written in June 2006 for a series of readings and events that fell under the banner of Music With Meaning, which was a fundraiser for Rape Victim Advocates and America’s Second Harvest. I was asked to read for this event by two of the Machine Media folks, and immediately agreed before I realized I had nothing to read that would fit the format. So over the course of a week (though mostly during a caffeine-fueled Friday night), I composed the following.

The piece deals with the often difficult relationship Chicago has with its rock star past, and specifically with Billy Corgan. I’ve been meaning to go back to it, and do some additional editing, but I’ve never quite gotten around to it. The last lines’s amusing considering what I wrote on TOC‘s blog last week, and it’s also a little dated now, what with the Smashing Pumpkins reunion/Zwan 2.0 relaunch. But I still think it’s worth it for the line about Corgan and Jimmy Chamberlin running a series of bait shops.

Enjoy, and I promise more this week.

Where Have You Gone, Billy Corgan?
(A City Turns Its Lonely Eyes To You Then Proceeds To Give You The Finger)

For a long time, Chicago rock fans have been a lot like the guy in his mid 30s who won’t shut up about the year he made the game-winning catch in the Homecoming game then proceeded to take the hottest girl in school with him to Prom. That is to say, we’re having a really hard time getting over the year 1993—the last time Chicago was both a critical and commercial force in the music industry. But more than that, we’re having a hard time adjusting to life without Billy Corgan.

There’s no denying that Chicago is responsible for some of the best rock music of the last forty years, and Richard Marx. But in the summer of 1993, Veruca Salt, Urge Overkill, Liz Phair and the Smashing Pumpkins all released the albums that, for better or worse, defined their careers and created the last great movement in Chicago rock music: American Thighs, Saturation, Exile in Guyville and Siamese Dream.

Now in actuality, Veruca Salt’s American Thighs didn’t actually come out until October of 1994, but I think in the minds of most people who bother to care about such things, that release date got swapped with the August 1993 release date of its doppelganger, the Breeders’ Last Splash, because it makes for a much tidier story. So that’s what I’m going with here. Truth is important, but it doesn’t always make for good entertainment, which is why Lifetime movies based on real events, but starring Tori Spelling are so much more fun than that A&E show with Bill Kurtis.

Anyway, it’s probably unfair to expect a band to stay together for more than ten years but I can’t help but think most people in town are disappointed with the fact that the four great white hopes of the last Chicago rock movement have all fallen apart in one way or another. Both Veruca Salt and Urge Overkill followed up their breakthrough albums with solid, but underappreciated records that failed to build on their previous success.

This left Liz Phair and the Smashing Pumpkins to battle it out for the hearts and minds of the city of Chicago. Though Liz has outlasted the Pumpkins as a working artist and just about matched them in terms of output, if you asked most people in Chicago, “Which artist more accurately represents the city?”, they’d undoubtedly say the Smashing Pumpkins. Ask them which is the more influential artist and most people will still probably say the Smashing Pumpkins. Yet I don’t think this is the case outside of Chicago, at least in terms of the albums that launched each into national prominence.

While writing this piece, “Never Said” off of Exile came on Sirius’ “Left of Center” satellite radio channel. I swear this actually happened. I always thought writers made up bullshit coincidences like this just to make their work more organic or something while at the same time allowing them to prattle on about topics that wouldn’t fit anywhere else. And while the latter isn’t any less true, maybe those coincidences aren’t so bullshit after all.

But here’s the interesting thing. Not once have I heard a Smashing Pumpkins song on Left of Center. Not once. On the off-chance that I just wasn’t listening at the right times, I asked my roommate (who practically has Left of Center’s playlist jacked into his brain in the same way that Keanu Reeves learned kung-fu in The Matrix) how often he’s heard a Pumpkins song. “Maybe twice,” he replied. How often do they play Liz Phair? “All the time,” he said.

This makes absolutely no logical sense to me and probably most other Chicagoans. While “Never Said” is a fine enough song (though not near as good as two of her other singles: “Polyester Bride” and “Supernova”), the Pumpkins probably outsold her by at least 10 to 1 (I’m completely guessing here but that sounds about right, doesn’t it?). Plus, most people would argue that the Pumpkins albums all remained challenging, while Liz’s albums eventually got played on The Mix.

While judging an artist’s total accumulated sales is hardly a measure of influence, chart position at least indicates what audiences were willing to digest at the time. Exile’s highest chart position was 196, barely cracking the Billboard Top 200. Siamese Dream? #10. But really, this makes perfect sense. The alt rock revolution was in full swing by the time Siamese Dream came out so audiences were already primed for Corgan’s metal-meets-psychedelia breakthrough. A woman talking about being your blowjob queen? Not so much.

Critically speaking, the Smashing Pumpkins, as important as they were to the larger alternative rock movement, were really nothing more than an amalgam of other influences, while Liz Phair was a phenomenon that no one saw coming and is therefore more influential as a result.

Yet people in the city still identify more strongly with Corgan and the Pumpkins and are still wishin’, hopin’, and prayin’ for a Pumpkins reunion. For better or worse, we have decided that Billy Corgan and the Smashing Pumpkins represent the last time Chicago was a major musical touchstone. Despite the litany of great Chicago rock acts that are revitalizing the sound of this city, we continue to cling to him as our cultural ambassad
or. If the Pumpkins reunite, it means we as a city are relevant again and New York and the Strokes can both go and suck it.

How did this happen? How did a band that took a smattering of admittedly awesome but not exactly groundbreaking metal and rock influences become the symbolic White Knight? I’ve grown up in the Chicago area my whole life and the only explanation I can offer for this is that people are very particular about what gets chosen as the unique Chicago cultural experience. If it doesn’t reflect THEIR experience, then it isn’t REALLY Chicago and is derided as false. This is ridiculous, but it’s true. My Chicago experience is way different from yours and way different from some dude in Pilsen, Portage Park, Roseland, or Lakeview.

So why did we pick this guy, rather than say…Nash Kato? It’s very simple. I think it’s because he likes the Cubs. And he doesn’t just like the Cubs. He LOOOOOVES the Cubs. Do you think ‘XRT thought “Hey, let’s get Billy Corgan to do Cubs commentary for us?” Of course not. You and I both know Corgan talked himself into that job just like he did the time he subbed for a Chicago Tribune sports beat reporter. It’s almost as if one day in gym class, Corgan’s gym class was picking teams for baseball and he was picked last. And at that moment, little Billy knew he would never display enough athletic ability to play for the Chicago Cubs. So he figured the easiest way to get himself a spot in the Cubs organization would be to become a famous rock star and then they’d have to let him participate. The entire Gish album was essentially a request to start spring training and if there’s a song other than “Suffer” that better describes being a Cub fan then I haven’t heard it.

That’s a very Chicago kind of fandom. Think about it: Even if you yourself are not a Cubs fan, you’ve probably encountered people who are as ravenous about them as Billy. And because you’re probably a Sox fan, you can’t stand them (or at least that aspect of their personality). But this doesn’t take away from the fact that they are your people. Sox fans need Cub fans. We are the yin and the yang. We are Chicago. And therefore, Billy is Chicago. I am he and you are he and we are all together.

Oddly enough, I think we as a city were just about ready to take our Smashing Pumpkins albums out of our collective hope chests and move on until last summer when Billy Corgan started acting like a total rock tease. At that point, Corgan was like an emotionally distant ex-boyfriend. He had started dating somebody else (some slut named Zwan) and then decided he needed his space to find himself so he started working on a solo album.

Then all of a sudden he makes the equivalent of a drunken phone call to us 3 in the morning in the form of a full-age ad in the Trib and the Sun-Times. Not since Lloyd Dobler held a boom box under Diane Court’s window had a suitor made such a nakedly bold declaration of love. In the ad, he said, “I moved away to pursue a love I had, but got lost.” At first, we didn’t believe it. Did he still love us? Did he still care? He must have because he then he started leaving cryptic comments on his MySpace page. “The surprise I have in store for you all will be announced soon enough….hold on to your horses. After all, good things surely comes to those who wait….Don’t you just love the suspense?”

But we didn’t start getting wet until it was rumored that the Pumpkins would be reuniting, first at Coachella (which turned out to be false) and then Lollapalooza. The latter rumor was fueled by one line in an article from Billboard magazine that said “Chicago media reports have suggested a primary target for a headliner is Smashing Pumpkins.” Intrigued, I emailed the New York editor who wrote the piece and asked about his source. It turned out to be nothing more than an aside muttered by a Billboard intern who used to live here. And there it was. Chicagoans so wanted Corgan to reunite the Pumpkins that they were willing to furnish a reunion themselves in the same way that William Randolph Hearst helped fan the flames of the Spanish-American War.

The problem with all this now is that a reunited Smashing Pumpkins isn’t going to look anything like the Pumpkins of old. No, a reunited Pumpkins is going to end up looking more like a reunited Styx, which is really just a reunited Damn Yankees and holy shit, nobody wants that. Unless The Nuge is involved. Then maybe.

See, Corgan hasn’t spoken to D’arcy since 1999 and James Iha found out about the plans for the reunion the same way you and I did when the Tribune ad ran. Jimmy Chamberlain’s in, but you get the feeling that if Billy Corgan asked Jimmy Chamberlain to help him start a chain of bait shops in Northwestern Indiana then he’d probably do it. Essentially, our old flame has invited us over to his place to rekindle our passions over a romantic dinner, but once we arrive he’s had the game on, a couple of his buddies are passed out on the couch and someone is in the corner trying to get the dog drunk. Plus? While we were there? That skank Melissa Auf Der Mar called and left a message saying, “My services are there for him whenever he needs them.” Bitch.

So fine, Billy. You go. We’ve had our affections toyed with for the last time. You do your own thing with your fancy new friends. Anyway, we’re seeing someone else now. His name is Fall Out Boy and he’s young, and hot, and sends us naked pictures of himself over the Internet. And he’ll probably love us forever.