“Hooray!” is squelchy high-plains Hi-NRG, replete with Syndrum hits and an organ tone I last encountered on the Carrie Cleveland reissue. Sometimes that vibe is simply Muse, as on the bombastic, backing vocalist-heavy “Empires” or “That Which Animates the Spirit.” Other times, it is unexpectedly peculiar.
The result is a rock opera that coasts on vibes. His couplets scan like palindromes extracted from Coheed and Cambria lyrics. “In parried odes to thy mountains/The spirit of us was pungent laughter,” he declares on “Intergalactic.” On the squelchy, plaintive “Night Waves,” he muses, “Are we null at keel/Where mistakes appeal?” Oh shit, are we? Always inclined toward quaint turns of phrase, he’s reached a syntactical point of no return. Even the larger plot points-or just the characters-of Corgan’s techno-libertarian saga are submerged at a level below subtext. When discussing ATUM with his solicitous co-hosts-both employees of the Corgan-owned National Wrestling Alliance-Corgan lavished far more attention on the text than the compositions.Īll that extracurricular effort is necessary, because almost none of the narrative makes it to the actual recording. Thirty-Three combines buzzy guests like Willow Smith and the voice of Roger Rabbit with Corgan’s Twitter Blue-grade takes on current events.
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The full story is sketched out in ATUM’s “lyric handbook,” but throughout this album’s protracted rollout ( Part I was released in November, Part II in January), Corgan has been recapping the narrative on his debut podcast. As Shiny makes his unexpected return to Earth, a cadre of admirers and hackers desperately tries to remind the public of his significance, while the perfidious ruling class schemes to co-opt him for its own ends. Over 33 songs and two-plus hours, he presents the saga of Shiny, a has-been rocker (and incarnation of a character known on Machina as Glass, and on Mellon Collie as Zero) exiled into space for unspecified thoughtcrimes. The cover art suggests a space-rock album illustrated by Roger Dean the stuffy subtitle places it in the distinguished lineage of Corgan’s beloved Savatage. But on ATUM (pronounced, maddeningly, like the season) he sells the storyline like never before.
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Corgan’s previous attempts to cast Mellon and Machina as something more than good-to-magnificent alt-rock albums-he once teased Mellon Collie as The Wall for Gen Xers, and recruited professional animators and amateur sleuths to flesh out the story of Machina-were, in wrestling terms, a work.
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