I reached the Great American Music Hall after riding my bike from the Marina, and was pleased that I did not get lost, as has been habit since moving to the city a month ago. I had not been planning on going to the show that night, but was excited, as the last time I was in the venue was to see Black Lips play a sold-out concert. Suffice it to say I wanted to re-live some of that night’s majesty.

By Tyler Corelitz

As this democracy unravels to the sound of a thousand welcome groans, from the mouths of a thousand angry rogues, the bristle of a violent electricity can be felt amongst the standing hairs on our collective neck. Some change is about to happen, some change is necessary, and the passive about to become active wait and watch for a sign from the great machine. Will it destroy itself rather then adapt? Is the status quo, heavy with years of negative karma, incapable of apology, never ready for forgiveness? And we few peasants, toeing the line between huddled mass and bourgeois fan club, look to our artists for guidance, and far too often there is none.

Oh, deceitful memory! Every show seen at protean Bottom of the Hill leaves an entirely different impression. Bottom of the Hill is not the seedy den of patched woolens and greasy-headed rockulidge of Sebadoh shows past! It is not the brightly colored, enthusiastic pop brilliance of AC Newman and the yuppies, blazered and bangled, cheerfully listening, smiling, ecstatic! Bottom of the Hill could be anything to anybody.

Two Gallants’ music is more inclusive than most. Historical and literary yarns, country- and folk-inspired indie rock, and independent ethics don’t often spell mass appeal, but it was clear at the Gallants’ latest local gig that their fanbase is a lot less predictable than their sound. Male and female, young and old, hip and square — they’re all drawn to Two Gallants.

These big, dumb rock songs — almost parodies of the self-aware glam and goth Corgan grew up on — put such a grin on his face that we knew he was dead serious: about himself, about the Smashing Pumpkins, and about dying for rock and roll. But we weren’t fifteen anymore. When the group finally wrapped up its three-hour show just past 1 a.m., we knew we had to be at work in the morning.

In fairness, Corgan has changed, too. Despite the dark mood of the Pumpkins’ comeback album Zeitgeist, released July 10, he’s not as angry or depressed as he once was. Singing Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage without a hint of a snarl both castrated the lyric and suggested Corgan has moved on to a happier place. Other things haven’t changed a bit. As ever, Corgan was flanked on his right by a cute female bassist picking simple lines on a Fender P-Bass, and on his left by a stoic, slight-of-frame rhythm guitarist. That’s too creepy to be a coincidence.

The meat of the evening played like a Smashing Pumpkins jukebox. Devoted fans were rewarded with blazing renditions of fuzzed-out album cuts like “Starla” and “Hummer,” while the rest were ecstatic just to hear the opening notes of “Today.” The performance wavered between thrilling and listless, as Top-40 singles mingled with ultra-rarities and previously unheard demos. Surprisingly, the set pulled lightly from Zeitgeist, with the band emerging to the political centerpiece “United States,” plowing through metal singles “Tarantula” and “Doomsday Clock,” and all but butchering pop standout “That’s the Way (My Love Is).”

From the very beginning, the night was designed for serious fans. Cheap tickets and ultra-strict ticketing schematics attest to that. “It’s a little tedious,” said Live Nation San Francisco chairman Lee Smith of safeguards like eliminating in-and-out privileges and requiring customers to claim their tickets in person the night of the show. These practices were put in place for all eleven nights to prohibit scalping and ensure fan access. Indeed, a follower from the early days couldn’t have been happier to watch Corgan from a few feet away and to sing along to so many songs for only $25. Others less inclined to cherish the frontman’s every move may have considered the concert a sprawling mess.

But you gotta hand it to Corgan. Despite dissing his group early in the set (“Welcome to our band practice”), and passive-aggressively suggesting that only seven people had bought the new album, he did his best to make it a memorable night. Mostly he let his music do the talking. Throughout three hours he never left the stage, except for a brief break before the Pumpkins’ baffling, unrecognizable half-hour encore. When his band departed mid-set for a rest, Corgan stayed behind to do four acoustic songs. Later, after he was finally warmed up, he issued some severe screams and slick solos that recalled his brilliant apex as an alt-rock icon.

The Smashing Pumpkins are back, but stuck banking on the past to propel them into the future. If Corgan is to achieve relevance beyond his hardcore fanbase, he still must win over a skeptical public. On Sunday, there was no escaping that these are different times. Not a faded old Zero T-shirt was in sight.

(Originally published in the East Bay Express 7/25/07.)

When Neon Bible was released in March, ravenous fans and frenzied press had already deemed it the most anticipated new release of the year. Kids and critics clamored for an advance taste of a new track over file-sharing networks, while media from The New Yorker to Pitchfork employed all the metaphors and religious allusions they could to summon the majesty of the moment. In 2004, following the release of Arcade Fire’s spectacular first full-length, Funeral, Pitchfork made the band one of the most-hyped of the digital music era. The second, more urgent, wave of adulation propelled Neon Bible’s first-week sales to 92,000 units and the No. 2 slot on the Billboard 200, trouncing Funeral’s climb to No. 131.

Arcade Fire songs are about feeling something and running with it. Twice on Saturday night, members of the band scrambled up a fifty-foot latticed stage support with instruments in tow. One carried his drumsticks halfway up and rapped on the metal structure as if it were a drum: a display of arena rock showmanship infused with the childlike joy that characterizes the group’s live show. Arcade Fire is equally adept at sadness. Funeral is rooted in the deaths of family members, and Neon Bible, recorded and self-produced in a church in Montreal, feels even darker. Neon Bible, neon Bible/Not much chance for survival frontman Win Butler chants on the title track. Closing song “My Body Is a Cage” is expressly funereal, with gothic organs swarming over a shattered death march. Set my spirit free, set my body free, he sings.

Built on word of mouth and signed to sturdy independent label Merge, Arcade Fire embodies the future of an embattled industry. The musical mass market is disappearing, and the bond the band shares with its fans is the new real deal. A fervent, albeit niche audience cherishes Arcade Fire for the plain reason that its music is, almost without exception, rapturous, cathartic, and profound. That’s all fans and the band will ever need — not a major label contract or a new sound or the support of Bowie and Byrne or even Bono. “This is a song about how people believe in whatever shit they wanna believe in,” Butler said Saturday to introduce new track “The Well and the Lighthouse” — and much of the audience believed in him.

The entire crowd sprang to its feet for “Rebellion (Lies),” Funeral’s lead single. No one knew it yet, but this was the last song of the set, the moment the whole concert had been impeccably approaching. When it ended and the band left the stage, something extraordinary happened. Instead of clapping or cheering for an encore, without provocation the audience began to intone, in perfect harmony, the violin melody from the end of the song. It must’ve looped twenty times. The crowd plucked the tune from the air and claimed it as its own, as much in a call for the band to come back as in a spontaneous expression of joy and togetherness.

The musicians reappeared after a few minutes and the moment passed, yet in a sense it never really did. “Thanks for a very memorable night,” Butler said between the ensuing two encore songs. He was right again. It must’ve been the best show we had ever seen.

(First published in the East Bay Express 6/13/07.)