"Look at the bands that are out there now, crap like Radiohead. You can't tell us that we don't deserve to be more than that." On the eve of the release of Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, Smashing Pumpkins wanted to take on the world

"Everyone keeps telling us how pretentious this album is without even hearing it. Yet doing a double album is the most suicidal thing we could do at this point. We're certainly not sucking anybody's dick. We've earned the right to do whatever the fuck we want."

It's the afternoon of August 23, 1995, and the Smashing Pumpkins are having lunch at Dublin's five-star Shelbourne Hotel ahead of the second of their two sold-out gigs at the city's 1,000 capacity SFX (Saint Francis Xavier) Hall, on their first ever visit to Ireland. The shows are the Chicago quartet's first appearances onstage in six months, inserted into their itinerary in order that the group can warm up for their headline slot on the opening night of Reading festival on August 25, where they'll perform in front of 60,000 fans, atop a bill featuring Green Day, Hole, Beck and more.

Last night, as part of their 16-song set, Billy Corgan's band performed no fewer than seven unreleased songs from their forthcoming third album, Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, which the world won't hear for another two months, as it's scheduled for release on October 23, 1995. Post-gig, after midnight, the band's UK press officer handed me two advance cassettes featuring the 28 songs which will make up the follow-up to 1993's Siamese Dream, a lot to absorb ahead of a lunchtime interview about one of the year's most anticipated records.

Not that the Pumpkins seem overly keen to get into the minutiae of the album anyway, as they dine on leek soup and vegetarian pasta dishes. And the somewhat chilly temperature in the hotel dining room plummets several few degrees lower when, in a discussion about the group's current mood, I make the mistake of mentioning that on Siamese Dream, Corgan put noses out of joint by personally over-dubbing a significant number of the bass and guitar parts originally recorded by, or earmarked for, D'arcy Wretzky and James Iha.

"Oh, that's nice," says D'arcy icily.

"Everyone always had their part to play," adds James Iha after an uncomfortably long silence. "For anyone to say differently is really insulting."

"I was being really unfair to the band at that point," Corgan admits. "I was going through a very bitter, angry period. [Debut album] Gish was very successful, and we were thrown straight out on tour for a year-and-a-half without a break. In that time, we had to learn how to deal with one another, and get along.

"Then, when we came to do the second album, it was post-Nirvana, and there was so much expectation on us to follow up their success. We were never a hit single type of band, but that's what everyone wanted us to be. Suddenly there was the implication that we were some kind of dinosaur."

"Under those circumstances, I kinda flipped out because I couldn't handle the pressure, and everything that was going on," he concedes. "In hindsight, I said and did things that were really hurtful and inappropriate."

Silence falls heavily once more.

"But that's history now," drummer Jimmy Chamberlin says finally, bringing the subject firmly to a close.

For the most part today, Corgan's bandmates are content to let their frontman do the talking. Even if he himself isn't always in the mood to do so. When I seek some insight into lyrics such as "Despite all my rage I'm still just a rat in a cage" (Bullet with Butterfly Wings) and "God is empty just like me" (Zero), there's another awkward silence, finally broken by Corgan asking a waitress, "Could we get some more bread please?"

That's a 'No' on the lyrics then?

"That's a 'No'."

"People can work it out for themselves," Corgan says. "Once you explain songs, you get asked about that explanation 500 times."

"This album has come pretty close to being the definitive Smashing Pumpkins album," he says more brightly, changing tack. "Maybe we were a better rock band in 1991, and a better psychedelic band in 1993, but overall this is the best that we can be as the Smashing Pumpkins as people know it."

"The original idea was to make the album like a soundtrack of a day and a night," he continues, "but I kind of went away from that a bit. Obviously you don't go through 28 different emotions in one day. It's about life in a general sense. We felt that we hadn't achieved certain things on Siamese Dream because of the situation at the time, so we tried to take up some of the threads that hadn't been explored fully."

Noting the band's somewhat guarded disposition today, I ask Billy Corgan whether he feels that, in the past, he has been too open and honest in interviews.

He nods enthusiastically.

"Definitely, and all it's ever done is hurt us," he replies. "We are constantly portrayed as this dysfunctional band, yet most bands operate in similar ways. I've grown out of being a dick, but I know plenty of stories about Kurt [Cobain] being a dick, or Eddie [Vedder] being a dick. They just were smart enough not to let journalists know. We've paid for our naivety, but we've come out the other side."

"What's sick is that my childhood was turned into a cartoon," he adds. "I won't demean my experiences by turning them into public fodder any more. People think I created my past to sell records."

Isn't dysfunction what people expect from their rock stars in the '90s?

"It's more revolutionary to be yourself in a rock band than turn yourself into a fucking cartoon," he spits. "The rock star guide books have already been written. We absolutely refuse to play rock star. Wer don't want to be anybody's heroes."

But you're already a hero to millions. It's a bit late to say that now.

"Of course, but I want those kids to know that the difference between them and us isn't that great. We're just fucking mid-Western kids who happen to have a good band."

"If you're good, you deserve to have everything that comes alongt with being good," Corgan continues. "Look at the bands that are out there now, fucking crap like Bush and Radiohead. You can't tell us that we don't deserve to be more than that."

Do you feel pressure trying to live up to your own high standards?

"Not anymore," Corgan replies. "If people don't recognise us for what we are at this stage, there's nothing more we can do. If a double album isn't going to do it, if world tours aren't going to do it, then what else can we possibly do? We can't look any better, we can't be any cooler, because we are what we are.

"We fucking care, and if that's bad and unglamorous, I don't give two fucks. We haven't hid, we haven't got addicted to dope, and sat drooling in a corner. We've kept working and kept fucking rocking. We know we're good. We make great albums, people like us, and that's all that matters."

Fast-forward seven hours, and the Pumpkins are onstage at the SFX once more, in a considerably more relaxed and playful mood. At one point, as applause rings around the venue for his new songs, Billy Corgan steps up to his mic, gazes stage left, and speaks solemnly to his band's guitarist.

"Do you still believe in the power of rock James?" he asks.

"I still believe Billy, I still believe," James Iha replies earnestly.

When you hear Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, you will too.

Smashing Pumpkins - 1995-08-23 - SFX Centre - Dublin, Ireland - [3 Songs + Clips] - (Night 2) - YouTube

Watch On

A version of this feature appeared in Kerrang! magazine in 1995.