Three Imaginary Girls

Seattle's Indie-Pop Press – Music Reviews, Film Reviews, and Big Fun

Oh man, Zwan. What the hell.

Need I remind you, Mr. Corgan, that you're the man responsible for Melloncollie and the Infinite Sadness? Remember that album? Full of dark, sad, moody pre-emo rock songs, a band of freaks prancing around in black lace and top hats and all manner of melodramatic nonesense? Or what about Adore and Machina with your floor length black bishop robes and caked eyeliner? Did you forget all that?

What the hell is this! "I dream about you every night / and when I do you're holding me tight / I'd love somebody like you in my life"? Did someone slip you some Zoloft when you were in the potty? Look, I understand that you're probably not as dark and dramatic as your music suggests, but when you've built up a reputation for being a pale, skinny vampire with a gigantic bald head that shreds on the guitar and rattles windows with your barely human joy-buzzer of a voice, there are certain roads you really shouldn't travel as an artist. Namely the "let's all get in here for a big ol' hug" road; leave that for someone who makes their money dancing in a big foam animal costume. Do us a favor and get your old band back together, at least that Chamberlain guy, he was fuckin' far out on the drums, and start playing face-melting guitar tunes again. No more of this rainbos and happiness crap.


Oh, you already did that didn't you.

Well Zeitgeist was pretty ok I guess.

I hope you've learned your lesson, young man.