Ever since Yoichi nearly banged my door down in glee on Tuesday brandishing the Smashing Pumpkins DVD he’d just bought, and we rushed downstairs and monopolized the TV room by sheer noise and enthusiasm and nostalgia, thumping out drumming climaxes on the tables, belting out choruses and air-guitaring ourselves into a frenzy, everything has been building up to this morning.
Sun. Breeze. Saturday. All you need is Rocket.
Around 1.00 the riffs start sliding into that wonderful progression and I realize the rules I learnt in Grade 5 music theory about how some progressions just work and always will were actually spot on.
Around 1.20 what I’ve always somehow thought of as the “Indian motif” comes in. It’s too insistent and compelling to feel sensuous, but it’s damn sexy in its own way all the same.
They haven’t hit us with the big chorus yet. It’s coming. At 2.00 the guitar wails steadily and inexorably upwards, Billy sings “the moon is out, the stars invite. Think I’ll leave toniiiiiiiiight…” and we’re off, up, away, employ all the rocket metaphors you want, baby, because they’re all good.