Written by Jax Warner. Graphic by Ananya Panchal.
It had been a long day, 16 hours by the time I got home. I sat on my bed and watched the videos I had taken of the night. Billy Corgan’s voice, James Iha’s rhythm, Jimmy Chamberlin’s drumbeat, and Kiki Wong’s energy. I could still feel it. The night had only just ended, and I was already mourning the loss of my anticipation that had carried me through the day.
I started a seven-hour shift that morning, not much of which I remember. It was a normal Saturday on Broughton, only with the added noise of the Savannah Southern University parade. The change in weather had brought in a wave of people wanting hot tea. After hours of smiling and helping customers, my friend and I hit the road to Jacksonville.
The two-and-a-half hour drive was full of conversation, music, and pure anxiety. Insane Clown Posse and Tyler, the Creator played as we drove, singing along and talking about everything from our coworkers to our upcoming plans. With every mile, our anticipation grew.
We pulled into VyStar Veterans Memorial Arena in Jacksonville, Florida, with about 20 minutes to spare before the concert started at 8 p.m. We rushed through security, scanned our tickets, and headed up to the third floor. Our seats, section 312, row A, seats 10 and 11, were perfect: the front row of the nosebleeds, directly across from the stage. More importantly, they gave us somewhere to sit after seven hours on our feet.
As soon as we settled in, the lights went out. The arena plunged into darkness for a few seconds before the opening notes of “1979” rang through the space. The crowd erupted. Then the lights rose, revealing the band beneath an enormous celestial stage design. Classical figures stood on either side of a towering arch, their arms reaching toward a sky filled with stars, planets, and a glowing sun. It was theatrical, almost mythological, as if the band had stepped into another world.
“The Smashing Pumpkins” have never been a band easily confined to one sound, and the production reflected that. The stage shifted between deep blues, radioactive greens, vivid reds, and blinding white spotlights. Neon lettering appeared against the darkness, while beams of light stretched across the arena like something out of a dream. At times, the band seemed almost swallowed by the scale of the visuals, silhouettes moving through clouds of smoke and color. Then a spotlight would catch them, bringing the music back to the center of everything.
The first set consisted of 16 songs from “Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness“, the band’s sprawling 1995 double album. Rather than completely running-through the record, the band selected songs that drew from the album’s many moods, moving between aggression, melancholy, and moments of almost overwhelming beauty. The heavier songs filled the arena with distorted guitars and pounding drums, while the quieter moments offered a welcomed contrast.
“Tonight, Tonight” was one of the evening’s most striking visual moments. The song’s title appeared in large white lettering above the stage, framed by ornate graphics that made the arena feel like an old theater. Elsewhere, the words “COOL KIDS NEVER HAVE THE TIME” glowed in pink against a green-and-blue backdrop. The imagery was bold without feeling disconnected from the music. Everything seemed to belong to the same strange, beautiful universe.
For a band whose music has spent decades soundtracking adolescence, alienation, and the feeling of being out of step with the world, the production felt appropriate. The songs carried the weight of years, but they never felt trapped in the past. The audiences sang along beneath elaborate visuals, bringing a familiar, human energy to a performance that could otherwise have felt otherworldly.
After 16 songs, the band took a 20-minute intermission before returning for a second set of 16 hits and rarities. The change in atmosphere was noticeable. The first half felt like stepping into a carefully constructed world; the second moved more freely through different eras of the band’s career. Kiki Wong brought an infectious energy to the stage, and the interplay between the guitars and Jimmy Chamberlin’s drumming gave the heavier songs a force that could be felt even from the third floor.
The second set balanced familiar favorites with deeper cuts, shifting between the dark electronic edge of “Ava Adore,” the emotional pull of “Mayonaise,” and the unmistakable opening of “Today.” There was no single mood to settle into. The music could be abrasive one moment, then expansive and almost dreamlike the next. That variety was part of the appeal, showcasing the range of a band whose sound has continued to evolve across decades.
Together, the two sets made for a nearly three-hour performance that balanced the familiar with the unexpected. The “Mellon Collie” selections showcased the album’s range, while the second set explored the band’s wider catalogue. It was an ambitious show that relied as much on atmosphere as it did on the music itself.
The drive back to Savannah was another two and a half hours of conversation, music, and slowly coming down from the high of the concert. By 1:30 a.m., we had made one final stop: Waffle House. After a seven-hour shift, a drive to Jacksonville, and nearly three hours of The Smashing Pumpkins, there was something almost poetic about ending the night over late-night breakfast.
By the time I finally got home, exhaustion had caught up with me. I sat on my bed and pressed play on another video. Billy Corgan’s voice filled my room again, and for a little while, I could return to Jacksonville, beneath the lights, with the music still loud enough to drown out everything else.
Then the video ended. The room went quiet, and the night was finally over.
