When I was a younger, I watched the video for ‘Today’, oh, about 1000 times. I lay in the dark with a girlfriend, swooning to the majesty of ‘33’. I should have been soaking up Leaving Cert mathematical theorems, but instead I soaked up every note of the gorgeously gothic Adore album for month after month of ’98. The Smashing Pumpkins were, for want of a superior cliché, the soundtrack to my teens.

A few sunsets and sunrises later, and – presto! – there we are, Concerto For Constantine, soundchecking at the RDS in front of a city of silver guitar cabs, with the initials “B.C.” covering almost every alley way and grill.
Corgan himself, the alien from Planet Rock, was nowhere to be seen at that point – yet his presence, the band’s presence, their undeniable importance hung in the air.
From the catering dining-room window, we spied the leading battalion of Pumpkins fans waiting for the doors to open. We were those young foot soldiers, once. In some ways, we still are.
Where to go... back to the dressing-room or outside to the other Smashing Pumpkins fans? For purely professional reasons, the dressing-room was chosen.
Our backstage area was awash in the bluest blue of carpets, and an absurdly long couch. PERFECT. It added to the surrealism. With a wink and a good-luck smile from a leather clad Pumpkin, we took to the stage.
Silver beams sliced through 30 minutes of absolute freedom. We owned the stage, Mr. Corgan’s amps shook, and thousands of ribs rattled at every thump of Binzer’s demon drums. I addressed Dublin, our Dublin. I think I said the words
“Pumpkins, legendary, dream, true, thank, you”.
The next day we travelled to Belfast, where we were to support the Pumpkins at King’s Hall. Billy and co’s spaceships and shuttles towered outside our dressing-room. Myself, Gavin and Binzer shared a hug – we bounded forth into the arms of Belfast.
I wonder how many silver skirts Billy Corgan owns? As the red plastic seats rumble to the rhythms of ‘Machina’, I bear witness once again to my favourite band, led by a true rockstar roaming his domain, stalking the stage, stooped and snarling. I stood on that stage an hour earlier with my two friends, in the words of a hero of mine, “wearing influences on a sleeve”.
Goodnight to Belfast and to Dublin, at least until our next dream comes true.