The Smashing Pumpkins
– Gish
Before Siamese Dream blew the roof off alt-rock expectations and Mellon Collie went full baroque, Gish was the raw, unfiltered opening salvo. It’s not a debut that tiptoes in—it kicks down the door and invites you into Billy Corgan’s strange, fuzzed-out cathedral of noise, mysticism, and sneering ambition. This isn’t grunge, despite the era. It’s too shimmering, too intricate, too enamored with psychedelia and guitar god histrionics to stay grounded in flannel.
Best of…
What Gish does better than most debut albums is swing big and land more than a few hits. Jimmy Chamberlin’s drumming is absurd from the jump—jazz-tight and arena-ready. James Iha and D’arcy Wretzky’s textures weave in and out of Corgan’s guitar walls like smoke. And Billy, forever the control freak perfectionist, sounds like he’s got something to prove with every pick scrape and whispered snarl. The album sways between heavy-lidded dream states and tightly wound bursts of distortion, always on the edge of spiraling out.
But for all its layers and spirals, there’s a strange clarity to Gish. It’s the sound of a band trying to define itself while refusing to pick a lane. There’s no shortage of ego here, but it’s the good kind—the kind that dares to make loud, beautiful messes before they’re even sure they’re allowed in the room. This is a band staring down the ‘90s with a scowl and a smirk, ready to build their own universe one fuzz pedal at a time.
Choice Tracks
I Am One
A furious opener that sounds like a band erupting into existence. Corgan’s vocals ride a thick riff like a stormcloud, and Chamberlin sounds like he’s drumming for his life. The groove stutters and snarls—half metal, half mantra.
Siva
Trippy, crunchy, hypnotic. “Siva” is the Pumpkins in miniature: heavy riffs, cryptic spirituality, soft-loud dynamics that feel almost ritualistic. It’s got that early-’90s studio grit that makes everything sound like it was recorded at midnight under flickering fluorescent lights.
Rhinoceros
This one floats. It swells, it fades, it drips with melancholy and late-night dread. The beauty is in its restraint—it teases an explosion that never quite comes. Instead, it just vibrates quietly in your chest like a memory you’re not sure is real.
Bury Me
A furious swirl of distortion and rhythm. Corgan doesn’t just sing—he demands. The track feels urgent and unhinged, the kind of song that sounds like it was written during an argument with a mirror.
Snail
Possibly the sleeper gem on the record. It starts small, builds slow, and then kicks into something massive and heartfelt without ever losing its dreamy core. A blueprint for where the band would go next.
Gish is the sound of a band halfway between a garage and a temple. It’s not polished. It doesn’t need to be. It’s a messy, beautiful storm of ambition and distortion that still hums with strange energy over 30 years later. The Smashing Pumpkins weren’t fully formed yet—but that might be what makes Gish feel so alive.