My point is simple. Pumpkins kind of went to pieces, and Billy Corgan breaks my heart. He’s a talented guy who was very good at making some interesting and attractive sounds. He was also talented enough to want to do something more. Something different and iconic, but he never succeeded in purveying that new sound successfully. Unlike the similarly situated Kurt Cobain, however, Billy chose not to kill himself. Instead, he moped about with his bald head and shiny clothes whining and whining and whining. Occasionally, he appeared for photos like this:
That’s what killed Smashing Pumpkins. Billy Corgan. A talented, geeky, suburban kid who dreamed of greatness. Who achieved it. But who fell when he tried to become more than a talented musician. When he tried to be an icon. He wanted 14 year old girls to swoon. He wanted black and white graffiti of his visage on the Berlin Wall. He wanted the kind of rock star celebrity that is very rare and often created only by untimely death. Kurt Cobain is an icon. Jim Morrison is an icon. Jimi Hendrix is an icon. Billy Corgan is not. (Even though I think he’s more talented than two of those three guys. Can you guess which?) Billy, if you’re reading this, which you aren’t, but hey, this is a literary device, let me make a request: just be content with what you’ve done. A lot of it's great. I wish that made you happy. I wish you’d grow out your balding hair, sit down with your guitar, and record some tunes with no agenda. And don't be sad. I’m pretty sure I know the number of at least one waitress who would still totally sleep with you.