The Smashing Pumpkins
– Siamese Dream
This is what happens when control freak perfectionism meets unfiltered adolescent emotion and somehow doesn’t implode. Billy Corgan, obsessed with every overdub and drum fill, bled himself into Siamese Dream—and the result sounds less like a polished product and more like a beautiful, slow-burning breakdown with fuzz pedals.
Best of…
There’s a tension throughout this record—between soft and loud, grace and fury, restraint and catharsis. Corgan’s voice doesn’t care if you like it; it’s nasal, urgent, aching. He sings like a man whispering secrets and then screaming at the ceiling. James Iha and D’arcy Wretzky may have been mostly sidelined in the studio, but their presence still haunts the album. Jimmy Chamberlin’s drumming, meanwhile, is almost absurd in its precision and ferocity—he doesn’t play the drums, he throws them down the stairs in rhythm.
What makes Siamese Dream hit so hard—still—isn’t just the songwriting or the production (though Butch Vig clearly helped aim the chaos). It’s the sense of reaching for something—peace, love, childhood, destruction—and never quite grabbing it. The guitars stack endlessly, like walls built for protection that also trap the person inside. Somehow it sounds massive and claustrophobic all at once. For all its bombast, this is music made by someone who wants to be left alone—but also wants you to understand why.
Choice Tracks
Cherub Rock
The opener kicks down the door with a sneer. Corgan taunts the indie scene while leading with one of the greatest drum intros and guitar riffs of the ’90s. It’s a full-throttle mission statement: loud, snotty, and undeniable.
Today
A deceptively sweet ice cream truck melody masks lyrics about suicidal ideation. That dissonance—pop sheen over gut-punch honesty—is where the Pumpkins live. A radio hit, yes, but also a perfect example of darkness wrapped in a sugar cone.
Disarm
No distortion, no solos—just strings, bells, and a voice that sounds like it’s breaking in real time. “The killer in me is the killer in you” lands like a nursery rhyme written in blood. Somehow both delicate and devastating.
Geek U.S.A.
An explosion. Chamberlin is a one-man war machine, while the guitars go full nuclear. Corgan tosses cryptic imagery like a preacher on acid, and the whole thing nearly flies off the rails. Nearly—but never does.
Mayonaise
Probably the most emotionally resonant track on the album. The guitars swell and shimmer, like light bleeding through closed eyelids. It’s heartbreak set to six strings, with no clear subject—just a deep ache. And it never tries to explain itself.
Siameses Dream isn’t just a cornerstone of ’90s alt-rock—it’s a fragile, furious exorcism wrapped in layers of distortion and melody. It’s not clean. It’s not balanced. It’s not supposed to be. And that’s why it still sounds like truth.