My Bloody Valentine's "Loveless" came out in 1991. The music was strange, powerful and druggy. Full of violent reds, soothing purples, dips into black and the whitest white lights. Feminine and masculine-feminine voices buried in murk and starlight. Kevin Shields, the perfectionist behind this outing, essentially dissolved the band following this release, and the band was never to come out with an album again.

The Smashing Pumpkins' "Siamese Dream" came out in 1993. The music is strange, powerful and druggy. Full of violent reds, soothing purples, dips into black and the whitest white lights. Feminine and masculine-feminine voices buried in murk and starlight. Billy Corgan, the perfectionist behind this outing, essentially dissolved the band, playing all the instruments himself aside from the drums. He, too, came out with a masterpiece. And the Pumpkins lived on.

I am not for one moment going to compare My Bloody Valentine and Smashing Pumpkins under the same microscope. My Bloody Valentine essentially crystalized and killed the shoegazer movement with one album, because there could be no follow-up, no followers to such a lasting, impossible-to-imitate offering. The Smashing Pumpkins, on Siamese Dream, defined and extended some of the outer borders of what could be heard on the radio in '90s rock, and crystalized themselves, not a whole movement. However, this album can still change lives. It seems to be the only music that exists while it's playing, and that's what I'm here to talk about.

The template for this album is deceptively simple. Though it is credited to all the Pumpkins, in reality, it was mostly just Corgan and drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, as guitar hero James Iha and bassist D'arcy were falling out and everybody hated each other. This leads to an album from the Pumpkins that remains their most cohesive statement. Corgan built and layered guitar track after guitar track onto tape in time to Jimmy's brick-beat (and when called for, nuanced) playing. Voices are looped forwards and backwards. Whispers, bells, samples of television shows flit through the aural textures. And really, that's all there is to this album.

Luckily for us, Billy was writing some killer tunes, with melodies that stood as monoliths, his slowly ingratiating whining singing style signaling the impenetrable signposts as something coming from a human being. In this album, Billy whines/screams/sings angry diatribes at the Chicago indie scene ("Cherub Rock"), thinks of killing himself ("Today"), remembers childhood abuses ("Disarm") and wallows in existential angst on too many songs to mention. He also loves and loses in sad-eyed lullabyes that turn into frenzied storms of electrical collapse when they're not busy crying themselves to sleep.

I could go through this album, track by track, as each song plays into the next one, building and receding with sounds like a volcanic sea. This is an album of implicit and beautifully laid out designs fraying and wearing at the edges. Since there's already more than 30 reviews of the album on this site, I'm instead going to share with you the moments that make this album a release I go back to again and again, rather than explain at length the breadth and depth of each song.

* Cherub Rock's opening drum roll, which leads to a guitar pulling a melody out of the air, to a maelstrom of guitars surging and burning. Also, the chorus of "Yes ... let me out," and the incisive, biting lyrics at the expense of hipsters and indier-than-thous. This song personally offended Stephen Malkmus of Pavement. That's all you need to know to hold this close to your heart.

* The backward-masked guitars that open Quiet, leading to a riff of ear-splitting volume. The way Corgan's voice turns to a yelp at "Be ashamed of the mess you've MADE!"

* The pretty, melancholy melody that brings Today into focus, doing its best to hide lyrics of self-loathing and -destruction. "I'll burn my eyes out/Before I get out." The sprawling "I want to turn you on ..." section.

* Hummer's fluctuations between quiet, minimal sections and guitar nitemares, leading to the nonsense lyrics "Life's a bummer/when you're a hummer/Life's a drag." Then Corgan's falsetto as he begs the listener to "ask yourself a question, anyone but me ... I am free."

* Corgan slurring "No more lies" on Rocket. The moment near the end with nothing but guitars picking out the same riff. His slowly building "I shall be free!"s that grow more and more frenzied until the music overtakes what remains.

* Disarm's use of bells, echo and strings. The tear in Corgan's voice as he sings "cut that little child/inside of me and such a part of you." How his voice sighs as he sings "O-o-oh, the years burn." (reminding me of "your city to burn" on the previous album's I Am One) The clumsy rhyming of "what I choose is my choice" and "what I choose is my voice." The refrain "The killer in me/is the killer in you/I send this smile over to you."

* Soma, beginning gently, insistent and teary-eyed. Corgan's voice slowly fraying from a soothing lament to an open-throated howl, his guitars following down, destroying the poetry and leaving holes.

* The explosive, multi-layered Geek U.S.A., where the anguish of the frenzied playing is more important than the blurry, spat-out words. How the music slows down for "Siamese twins/at the wrist" to be sung-sprawled before Corgan kicks the melody into a grinder and enters solo guitar overdrive.

* The open-air melody of Mayonnaise, which makes no attempt to hide its self-loathing. How the guitar mirrors Corgan proclaiming "When I can/I will."

* Spaceboy, stumbling, mumbling, breaking in soft words that soothe and hurt at the same time. The mellow, dreaming strings and slow drums, bringing the song to sleep as Corgan coos "I want to go home/I want to go home."

(between this song and the next is an interlude of a talk show, where a woman laments that her boyfriend's masturbating "is really coming between us" -- it's either tacked onto the end of Spaceboy or opening Silverscrew, depending on the pressing you've got)

* Silverscrew, which hammers repeated notes that continually turns into nothing but Corgan's own voice, before spattering open in violent, thrumming guitar meltdowns. The backwards echos in the "Bang bang you're dead/Hole in your head" section.

* Sweet Sweet's compressed songwriting, feeling like a breeze lifted from the sea and into your room. The multi-tracked, acoustic Corgan singing "And they all want you to change" and "Where are we going?" at the same time.

* Luna's quiet, subtle, gentle, bass-imbued lullaby. It builds and builds but remains buried in dreams. The hopeful, pleading "I'm in love with you .... so in love ..." as everything fades.

As you can see, this album is full of moments that reward the listener. This is not only an album to know, it is one to love, dearly, passionately. It's not often that something this good comes along. Consider it a gift to yourself. You should definitely be listening to this rather than reading about it.

Recommended: Yes