Billy Corgan has never been great at playing nice. If you followed the Chicago rock scene in the early 1990s, you already knew that. By the time Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness turned the Smashing Pumpkins into the biggest band on the planet, Corgan had already alienated half of his peers and most of the indie-rock establishment. The saga of Smashing Pumpkins friends and enemies of modern music isn't just a list of industry feuds; it’s a blueprint for how the 90s alternative explosion actually functioned behind the scenes.
It was messy. Rock music in that era was obsessed with "purity" and "selling out," two concepts that Corgan basically treated with open contempt. While Pavement was busy being ironic and cool, the Pumpkins were unashamedly trying to be Queen. Or Pink Floyd. Or Black Sabbath. That ambition created a massive rift.
The Pavement War and the Death of "Cool"
Let’s talk about Stephen Malkmus. To a certain segment of Gen X, Malkmus was the king of the slackers. When Pavement released "Range Life" in 1994, they took a direct shot at the Pumpkins with the lyrics: "The Smashing Pumpkins, nature's kids / They don't have no function / I don't understand what they mean / I could really give a fuck." It sounds like a throwaway line. It wasn't. For Corgan, it was a declaration of war. He famously used his leverage to get Pavement kicked off the Lollapalooza lineup in 1995. He didn't just want to win; he wanted to exclude. This wasn't just a spat between two singers; it represented the fundamental divide in 90s rock. On one side, you had the "friends" of the industry—the bands that played the game of being too cool to care. On the other, you had the Pumpkins, who were the perceived "enemies" of indie credibility because they actually wanted to be rock stars.
Corgan once told Uncut that Malkmus "didn't have the balls" to say it to his face. That kind of friction defined the Smashing Pumpkins friends and enemies of modern music dynamic for an entire decade. You were either in the camp that valued lo-fi authenticity, or you were in the camp that wanted to spend $1 million on a double album with a Victorian-era aesthetic.
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Soundgarden, Nirvana, and the Seattle Cold War
It’s a common misconception that all the 90s alt-rock bands were one big happy family. They weren't. Kurt Cobain reportedly couldn't stand the Pumpkins, famously calling them "careerists." In the insular world of the Pacific Northwest, the Pumpkins were outsiders. They weren't "grunge," even though they had the fuzzy guitars. They were too theatrical. Too ambitious.
Courtney Love is the bridge here. Her relationship with Corgan predates her marriage to Cobain. She has been, at various times, Corgan’s closest collaborator and his most public antagonist. When you look at the Smashing Pumpkins friends and enemies of modern music list, Love occupies both columns simultaneously. She helped write parts of Celebrity Skin with him, yet they’ve spent years trading insults in the press and on social media.
Then there’s Soundgarden. Kim Thayil has been vocal in the past about the difference between the Seattle ethos and Corgan's approach. There was a sense that Corgan was a "control freak"—a label that stuck because, well, he was. He played almost all the guitar and bass parts on Siamese Dream himself, essentially sidelining D'arcy Wretzky and James Iha during the recording process. That didn't sit well with the more egalitarian bands of the era.
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The Nu-Metal Pivot and Unexpected Allies
By the late 90s, the landscape changed. The friends and enemies shifted. Surprisingly, Corgan found common ground with artists that the indie elite hated even more than him. He became a sort of elder statesman for the nu-metal and shock-rock crowd. Marilyn Manson became a close friend, then a bitter enemy, then a friend again. They shared a certain "villain" energy. They both understood that in the world of modern music, being hated is often more profitable than being liked.
Fred Durst of Limp Bizkit once cited the Pumpkins as a major influence, which probably made the Pitchfork writers of the time have an aneurysm. But it makes sense. Corgan was a gear-head. He obsessed over "Big Muff" distortion pedals and layered guitar tracks. That technical obsession influenced the heavy, wall-of-sound production of the early 2000s more than the "three chords and the truth" punk aesthetic did.
Why the "Enemy" Label Stuck
Why was Corgan so often the villain? Honestly, a lot of it was his mouth. He never learned the art of the "diplomatic interview." If he thought an album was garbage, he said it. If he thought the industry was rigged, he complained.
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- The Radiohead Incident: Corgan once claimed he would "jump out a window" if he had to compete with Radiohead’s level of critical adoration. He viewed the praise heaped on Kid A as a slight against his own experimentation on Adore.
- The Industry Grudge: He has frequently attacked the "Old Guard" of the music business, even as he worked within it. This made him an enemy of the very structures that funded his massive tours.
- The Fans: Even the fans weren't safe. Corgan has a famously prickly relationship with his audience, often refusing to play the "hits" during live sets, choosing instead to play 20-minute synth jams or obscure B-sides.
The Modern Redemption?
Ironically, time has turned many of these enemies into reluctant admirers. In the 2020s, the influence of the Smashing Pumpkins is everywhere. You hear it in the shoegaze revival. You hear it in the maximalist production of artists like Olivia Rodrigo or Willow Smith. Even the indie kids who used to worship Pavement now admit that Siamese Dream is a masterpiece of production.
Corgan’s "enemies" were often just people who were intimidated by his work ethic or put off by his ego. But as he’s noted in several long-form interviews (most notably on the Joe Rogan Experience), he doesn't regret the friction. He believes that "modern music" needs friction to survive. Without the "enemies," the art becomes stagnant.
Actionable Takeaways for the Modern Listener
If you want to understand the Smashing Pumpkins friends and enemies of modern music landscape, don't just look at the headlines. Look at the discography.
- Listen to "Range Life" by Pavement followed immediately by "Cherub Rock." You will hear the two poles of 90s culture. One is mocking, the other is a desperate, soaring cry for validation.
- Research the "Big Muff" Pi Op-Amp pedal. This is the "secret sauce" of the Pumpkins' sound. Understanding the technical side helps you realize why Corgan was often at odds with the "slacker" musicians of his day—he was a perfectionist in an era that celebrated mistakes.
- Read the liner notes of Hole's Celebrity Skin. It's the best example of Corgan acting as a "friend" to the industry, using his songwriting prowess to help another band achieve massive commercial success.
- Watch the Vieuphoria documentary. It captures the band at their peak of "us against the world" energy. It shows the internal and external pressures that made them such a polarizing force.
The legacy of the Smashing Pumpkins isn't one of universal love. It's one of survival. Corgan outlasted most of his detractors. Whether he’s a friend or an enemy depends entirely on what you want out of music: comfort and community, or a brilliant, difficult, and often lonely pursuit of greatness.