Billy Corgan and I have both been to LA, so Billy Corgan and I both know that LA is some rough stuff. When I went to LA, I tried to walk to Hollywood but took a wrong turn and ended up on Slauson. Which is basically like how when Billy Corgan went to LA, he tried to play a game with the audience but found that the people in LA are not telepathic with him so they don't know when he's decided the game is over.
While Corgan's attempts at levity are applauded, his audience's inability to discern between strained jocularity and passive-aggressive irritation (which is pretty inexcusable, being as this is an audience that has paid money to see Billy Corgan) earned them an early end to the evening. The mob's refusal to silently contemplate the spectacle of a bald man teaching himself the ukulele before their very eyes, followed with their half-hearted attempts to salvage Corgan's dignity by sparing his cover of Love is the Sweetest Thing the mortified silence it was so quickly earning, surely qualifies as the worst response to an impending tragedy in the entire history of the Viper Room.
By leaving the stage early, Billy Corgan missed the evening's highlight: a tragic soul yelling after him, "We never left you, Billy!"
Corgan, a long-time pro-wrestling fan, at last has his own "It's still real to me, dammit!" And not a moment too soon.