I cannot think of an art form that communicates with more clarity the emotions of the artist than music. Melody gives a body to the concept of suffering; rhythm imbues joy and celebration with mobility. Music translates the language of the heart into that of the body, and sometimes, a song is so laden with feeling, with humanity, that it conjures its own life. This true for many pieces of music, but I have yet to find another composition to rival the vivid in emotion and expression of “Shame” by the Smashing Pumpkins.
The first time “Shame” crept into my ears, I was overwhelmed by the sheer feeling of the song. Across a sonic tundra outlined by a firm but aimless drum machine, the band wanders along at a sluggish, almost drugged tempo. Billy Corgan's guitar riff is distant and brooding, establishing the gentle and mourning theme while James Iha's infinite notes (a product of the EBow) open up like distant wails. Aside from the soulless percussive piece, D’Arcy Wretzky's bass is the only constant, corporeal presence in the song. Her cold notes stick to me like a chill in my bones, embodying the cobblestones of the lonely road the band is following. The instrumentation of “Shame” feels defined by sadness, and the Smashing Pumpkins seem overwhelmed by it, continuously moving without knowing where to go or when to stop.
While in most songs, the vocal melody acts as a focal point that focuses the song, Billy’s vocal part does the exact opposite for “Shame.” His voice floats in and out almost randomly, placing a human context onto music that is pure feeling. His lyrical choices reflect themes of loneliness and depression: “You’re gonna walk on home / You’re gonna walk alone.” Billy’s stuttering repetition of the word “shame” in the chorus feels simultaneously like accusation and appraisal, sometimes blaming, other times acknowledging, but always facing failure.
Whether or not you’re a Smashing Pumpkins fan, one listen makes it clear that “Shame” stands far away from most other pieces of music. Every instrument is present like a puff of smoke, visible but not dominating, wafting in the massive negative space that forces each guitar note and bass boom to ring like a distant siren. No part demands to be heard, but every part plays a role in embodying the deep, dolorous abyss that gazes back at the listener. Even the songs that surround it on Adore, its parent album, sound nothing like it: aside from a few sparse keyboard accents, the only presence comes from the three band members and the disappointed, utterly base drum beat. There is more room in “Shame” for a human presence than any other song I’ve ever heard, and I can’t help but collapse into it each time I spin the tune.
Although the song has been attributed by some as an ode to the late Michael Hutchence of INXS, Billy Corgan has attributed a far more personal meaning to “Shame.” Being the first song recorded for Adore entirely sans-drummer, Billy describes recording the tune as a “spell,” a conjuring of a “ghost” that exists only as the band performs the song for the first time. “Shame” is the first time in years that the Smashing Pumpkins again exists as a true three-piece, returning to their roots “not just sonically, but emotionally as well” by playing along with a drum machine, just as they had when they formed a decade before. Except that this time, the drum machine is a replacement, a mannequin in place of Jimmy Chamberlin, who Billy has often described as his “musical soul mate.”
As the aching guitars and raw vocals of “Shame” fill my ears, it is apparent that the “ghost” the band is conjuring with this song is that of their former fourth member. Lines like “love is drunk all the time” reflect with sharp honesty the serious drug habit Jimmy had been dealing during the band’s timeline, one that eventually led directly to an overdose and indirectly to the death of touring keyboardist Jonathan Melvoin. Similarly, the lyrics of the haunting coda, “Hello, goodbye / you know you made us cry” ring like the parting words between friends who can no longer support each other. Even the sterile drum beat, normally the foundation of a song’s rhythm, serves far more to acknowledge the loss of a true drummer than to fill his shoes.
“Shame” is a song laden with longing and full of emptiness. Its transient basslines and specrtred vocals rip through me with each listen, reminding me of my own aching humanity. And yet, its elegaic presence and feel remind me that music is a wholly human act, an expression that can embody the heart and all its humors more fully than any other art form. “Shame” holds enough feeling and personality for an entire album, and never fails to drench my body and soul fully in both. It is my favorite Smashing Pumpkins composition, and one of my favorite songs, for each listen feels like a conversation with an old friend, and a desperate wish that they would remain after the last note fades to silence.
