I was fourteen years old on June 2, 1998, when The Smashing Pumpkins' album Adore was released. This was back in those halcyon days before the internet made everything instantly downloadable two weeks before the official release date; when a "release date" was actually an anticipated event. The local rock station in LA had been playing the pre-release single, "Ava Adore," on heavy rotation for weeks, and it seemed like the stars were aligning for another Smashing Pumpkins success three long years after 1995's Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness had gone eight times platinum. This new album was something that I could not live without.
But I was fourteen years old, and I did not have a car, and I did not have much money, and pretty much the only thing I could do was beg my parents to take me to the local music store and buy the CD for me. So I begged, and I begged, and I begged some more for good measure, and I was denied. In my frustration, I began to scrawl on bits of paper and tape them to various locations around the house. The front door. The door to my parents' bedroom. The landing at the top of the stairs. My fucking forehead. Each location, the same simple message:
"I WANT ADORE"
"I WANT ADORE"
"I WANT ADORE"
Mostly what I needed at that point was a blistering rock anthem capable of somehow expressing the ridiculous teenage torment I was feeling inside. A new Pumpkins album seemed like the perfect opportunity. And yet, and yet...when I finally made it to the store that next day, cracked the CD open, and began to listen, this is what I heard:
(I apologize for this shitty, unofficial video. It was all I could find.)
To Sheila
twilight fades
through blistered avalon
the sky's cruel torch
on aching autobahn
into the uncertain divine
we scream into the last divide
you make me real
you make me real
strong as I feel
you make me real
Sheila rides on crashing nightingales
intake eyes leave passing vapor trails
with blushing brilliance alive
because it's time to arrive
you make me real
you make me real
strong as I feel
you make me real
lately I just can't seem to believe
discard my friends to change the scenery
it meant the world to hold a bruising faith
but now it's just a matter of grace
a summer storm graces all of me
highway warm sing silent poetry
and I could bring you the light
and take you home into the night
lately I just can't seem to believe
discard my friends to change the scenery
it meant the world to hold a bruising faith
but now it's just a matter of grace
-----------------
Not exactly the anthem for which I had been hoping, but it really made me think about things in a different way. I'll get back to that later.
We talked last week about "Kill," which was a love song but-not-really a love song, a more emo-oriented expression of self-pity and inability to act on one's feelings. "To Sheila" is a love song wrapped up in a discussion of life changes. It's almost the antithesis of "Kill", which is hopelessly mired in inaction and in the past. "To Sheila" is all about moving forward.
The first verse deals with the fading of the old order, of whatever life Corgan feels that he's leaving behind. That day is just ending as "twilight fades". It's never easy to go through life changes, especially when it's impossible to tell what is coming next, and we very often resist this type of thing even if it might ultimately be good for us. "Into the uncertain divine/we scream into the last divide."
We can pretty much assume that the chorus is directed at "Sheila," since the song is called "To Sheila"-- whoever or whatever that may be. I like to think that Sheila is either a friend or a girlfriend helping Corgan with this difficult transition in his life. But "Sheila" might also be representative of Corgan's music as a whole, as he moves from the bombast of the Mellon Collie-era Pumpkins to the quiet, retrospective Adore-era. When Corgan sings "you make me real," it is directed towards his constant, whether that constant is embodied in a person or simply his passion for creating music; it's what is holding him together. The second part of the chorus is important too: "strong as I feel/you make me real". No matter how in-control he feels, or how much he feels he has his life together, he knows that "Sheila" is responsible for a large part of that, too.
The verse that comes next is packed with some fantastic imagery. Any reference to nightingales, at least for me, can't help but allude to that famous scene from Romeo and Juliet. In that scene, Juliet tries to convince Romeo to stay with her; that the birds they hear outside are nightingales, birds of the night, rather than larks, birds of the morning. Corgan's reference to "crashing nightingales" possibly also heralds the morning, the imminent breaking of a new day. The line "intake eyes leave passing vapor trails," apart from being beautiful, brings to mind jet engines leaving their trails across the sky. Sheila, whoever or whatever she may be, is leaving a mark on Corgan, "with blushing brilliance alive"-- a description of the exhilaration he feels and a subtle nod to post-sex blush.
The bridge of "To Sheila" is where Corgan but quietly but powerfully gets to the point of the song, singing about the changes occurring in his life: "lately I just can't seem to believe/discard my friends to change the scenery". Haven't we all reached a point in our lives where we want to just forget about everything we know? I'm definitely familiar with the impulse to go somewhere else, start anew, especially after a big life change. Some people are actually capable of this and some aren't, and who knows whether it's actually a good idea, but the drive is still there.
We finally come to the absolute heart of "To Sheila", and possibly of the entirety of Adore itself: "It meant the world to hold a bruising faith/but now it's just a matter of grace". The "bruising faith" that Corgan refers to here can be interpreted as both heavy rock anthems of the Pumpkins' past and the angry attitude of disenfranchised youth that Corgan seems to know intimately. The alternative to these two things is simple: "grace", practically embodied in this delicate album-opener.
I'm almost hesitant to get into the final verse, given that the bridge is so powerful. But I'll outline it quickly: Corgan has now come to accept and embrace the change that he was resisting in the first verse. "A summer storm graces all of" him, and the use of "grace," repeated from the bridge, is important; it lets us know that this isn't a violent tempest but a light shower of water, a sign of rebirth. His perspective has changed; he's now ready to give back to this relationship, promising: "I [can] bring you the light/and take you home into the night." The fading twilight and the end of the old perspective now ring with a note of hope.
Really, though, all of what's important here has already been stated. I'll write it again: It meant the world to hold a bruising faith, but now it's just a matter of grace. Corgan repeats this as the song beautifully trails off into nothing, into the future, into this new night, into the unknown.
Fourteen-year-old me tried to take in the advice that the song and the album as a whole was trying to convey: there is another way. Not everything has to be a tantrum, not everything has to involve striking out against the cruel world. Poise, grace, and tranquility can function just as well. Acoustic finger-picking instead of blistering guitar solos is an acceptable musical choice. It all ties together.
But I was fourteen. Even if I saw there was another route, that doesn't mean that I was capable of taking it.
And even now, it seems like still blindly throwing notes up on the wall, petulantly demanding whatever it is that I can't have.
"I want (you to) adore (me)". Isn't that right?
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