MACHINA/the machines of God

MACHINA/the machines of God is, mostly, a wonderful rock album.

The album is not without its flaws (some of the songs are less than memorable, and as always, the proceedings are dampened somewhat by Corgan's nasal drone of a voice), but it's a welcome return to form for one of music's original alt-rock heroes.

From its thunderous beginning to its quiet, echoing end, MACHINA/the machines of God is perfect dancing-in-the-dark-with-yourself-'cause-you-have-angst-in-your-pants music.

The songs go back to the basics of would-be hit singles: riffs, hooks, bridges, choruses, often with voice and guitar tossing the same short phrase back and forth. Corgan hasn't radically changed his songwriting; he still goes for anthems, riff rockers and dirges. But there are no more fantasy epics or muses named Daphne, and there's hardly a keyboard to be heard. Guitars rule: distorted electrics and hard-strummed acoustics, sitarlike drones and orchestral reverberations, tolling Pink Floyd tones, and jabbing, wriggling leads, with plenty of echoes of the Cure and U2.

The record does go on a bit long, flagging at the end. But there are enough wonderful songs on this disc to knock at least a couple of boy bands off the radio.

Confused and lapsed Pumpkins fans have reasons to rejoice... this is a necessary, welcome return. Unfortunately, MACHINA does linger a bit too long on the softer side of things. But every time the tempo veers towards screeching to a halt, there's a well-timed boost of adrenal sound.

Producing an album that distorts time so each second is the temporal equivalent of War And Peace is almost a perverse triumph.

Overall, MACHINA meanders due to a combination of amorphous songs and precisely detailed production.

Everything about MACHINA is capital-I Important, with virtually every element delivered in gaudy excess?

The heavy-handedness is as bald as Corgan's dome, and often just as unappetizing.

Though never dragging its feet, it rarely stretches its creative muscles.

Billy Corgan needs someone on his shoulder to whisper "no."

Rather than highbrow art-rock, we just get a really pretentious heavy metal album.... the Pumpkins' worst album to date.