Words by

John Rogers

Photo by

Mummi Li

Smashing Pumpkins play Reykjavík 30 years late, but firing on all cylinders

“I don’t wanna go to the fucking Blue Lagoon,” spits Billy Corgan, spikily. “I wanna go to the black lagoon, where all the goths go.” He breaks out into his trademark wolfish grin. “I did go to some tourist spa today, and did the seven circles of hell, or whatever.” James Iha, the band’s guitarist, looks on. “You didn’t enjoy it?” he asks, plaintively.  

Billy grins again, lurking at the mic like an edgelord Nosferatu. “Fucking…. no.” 

It’s fun to see The Smashing Pumpkins — reunited, except for estranged OG bassist D’arcy Wretzky — in such good spirits. The band were, of course, one of the big beasts of the ‘90s, releasing a string of visionary, widescreen records that helped define the era, and propel alt-rock into the mainstream. But when grunge washed up on the shore of the new millennium, they splintered. Billy used the name, for a while, in various iterations — but The Smashing Pumpkins is more than just Billy. Without the metronomic precision and jaw-dropping flair of drummer Jimmy Chamberlain, and Iha’s subtle, silvery, moonlit guitar sound, it just wasn’t the Pumpkins. 

Feline whine 

It was hard to know what to expect from the reformed band, who’ve been playing on and off since their 2018 reconciliation. I’d seen them before — touring Mellon Collie, then Adore, and then Machina — and they were always impressive, even as the venues shrank. But since the breakup, Billy has seemed jaded about the band, and his fame, and the music industry in general. A prickly, domineering type, he seems eternally wounded or irked by one little thing or another, when he isn’t harping on conspiracy theories, or hopping onto Joe Rogan. 

Given all of that personality, one imagines this could be a fragile peace. But at their first-ever show in Iceland, the Pumpkins played to the capacity crowd with eye-watering volume, virtuosic flourish, and tangible spirit. Billy’s voice — from feline whine to sandpaper growl — is impressively intact. It was tight, it was vibey, and they were having fun. If you closed your eyes, it was almost like they were never apart. 

Honey-coated noise 

The show opened on an odd off-note, with a deep cut called “Glass” — a track so obscure that many in the crowd thought it was the dreaded New Material. But from that moment on, the set was loaded with hits. We got the breezy crowd pleasers like the eternally youthful “1979” and the tuneful radio smash “Today.” We trundled through the acoustic anthems “Tonight Tonight” and “Disarm.” We got the effervescent, heart-piercing “Muzzle,” its lyrical optimism — “My life has been extraordinary… I know that I am meant for this world” — made all the more touching for being written in the pitch black ink of Billy’s nihilistic pen. 

While it was fun to hear the classics, the show really sprang to life when the band showed their teeth. For all the grandeur of their wistful pop songs, the Smashing Pumpkins have always been a searing rock band. “Heavy Metal Machine” — played second, here — was a heartening statement of intent. The savage riffing of “Bodies” shook the walls. The stone-cold classic “Mayonaise” [sic] and the spacious, epic “Porcelina” hit just right, and “Cherub Rock” is a slab of summery, honey-coated noise that still sounds fresh, 30 years on. 

Pumpkins smashed 

I came to this concert a lifelong Pumpkins fan with low to no expectations for what I’d witness. Billy, I imagined, might be phoning it in, and the band’s volatile chemistry might overspill into a fraught atmosphere — like those desolate, miserable Pixies reunion shows of the ‘00s.

But to my own surprise, I quickly found myself lost in the distortion, swaying, sweating, and staring into the flickering lights as if I could catch a glimpse of this shimmering, immersive sound. The Smashing Pumpkins have done the seemingly impossible, and bucked the trend of rusty reunion tours. They’re not a period piece, or a nostalgic grey-vote curiosity, or a late-career cash-grab. They’re a thrilling live band with a strong pulse, a snarling edge, and some gas left in the tank. The Smashing Pumpkins are — as Billy insisted on the closing number, “The Everlasting Gaze” — not dead.