Showing posts with label Robert Smith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Smith. Show all posts

Monday, October 14, 2019

I'd Love to Turn You On #242 - The Cure - Disintegration (1989)

            You’ve almost certainly heard of the Cure. And you’ve almost certainly heard at least one song off their 1989 album Disintegration. It’s hardly obscure; after all, we’re talking about the album that brought us “Lovesong.” But there’s nothing quite like listening to the whole thing all the way through for the first time. It’s brooding. It’s melancholy. It’s like watching a thunderstorm happen in reverse. This album is quintessential for the Cure; it combines the darker, moodier feeling of early albums like Faith and Pornography with the accessibility of albums like Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me. There’s a reason this album is a classic, which still earns acclaim thirty years after its release. If you’re gonna get into the Cure, this is the album to start with.
            Disintegration was written at a rather turbulent time for the Cure. During its production, the band’s keyboardist and one of its founding members, Lol Tolhurst, left the band and was replaced by touring keyboardist Roger O’Donnell. Robert Smith, the band’s frontman, was suffering from depression and turned to psychedelic drugs to cope. His introspection about turning 30, and about the legacy of the band, also influenced the album; they’d begun writing poppy tunes to avoid being pigeonholed as simply a Goth band, but Smith now wanted to get back to their roots. This resulted in an album which kept some pop elements, but returned to a darker sound.
            To start with, there’s the opening track, “Plainsong.” It starts out quiet, with gently ringing bells, and then explodes rather suddenly into an atmospheric, warm, shimmery intro that hits like the first burst of sunlight through the clouds at the end of a storm. Then comes the guitar, dripping with melody. By the time the vocals hit, you’re fully immersed. Their echoes complement the atmosphere of the song perfectly, and Smith’s voice blends in, rather than being sung over the rest of it.
            After “Plainsong” is “Pictures of You.” Like much of the album, the keys, the shimmers, and guitar sounds from “Plainsong” carry over to this track, but Smith’s vocals take on more of a leading role. Then comes “Closedown,” which continues the feeling, but brings in more of Simon Gallup’s bass and Boris Williams’ drums. By this point you can tell the album has been building up to something, but you’re not sure what.
            And then there’s “Lovesong.” It’s an achingly sweet declaration of love, written as a wedding present to Smith’s wife (and high school sweetheart), Mary Poole. With its heart-melting lyrics and yearning melody, it’s easy to see why this song is so well-loved by fans and casual listeners alike. I can’t hear it without wanting to sing along; it’s beautiful. It starts out softer and subtler than previous tracks on the album, with a catchy bass line and quiet keys. Then come the vocals and the iconic guitar and keyboard riffs, adding a new energy to the album and giving it new depth. This song is where Disintegration goes from good to great.
            "Lovesong" is followed up by “Last Dance,” a heart-shattering track that brings back the shimmery atmosphere from earlier in the album, but makes it colder and sadder. The tender nostalgia in the lyrics is matched by Simon Gallup’s melodic bass and the reverb-heavy guitar that seems to drift down like snow over the listener. There’s a subtle desperation conveyed that sticks with you long after the song ends.
            And then there’s “Lullaby,” easily one of the top three tracks on Disintegration. It’s a bit of a departure from the earlier sound of the album, but it’s a perfect fit. The frantic, paranoid vocals are whispered rather than sung, fitting perfectly with the eerie lyrics, which describe being eaten by a spider man in a nightmare. It’s isolation, it’s terror, it’s helplessness, and it’s so strangely pretty you can’t help but listen again.
            Next comes “Fascination Street.” The reverb-laden guitars are back, echoing in a kind of organized chaos over the bass that draws you in. It’s a while before the vocals come in, which gives the listener a chance to get used to the building tension. But when the vocals hit, the tension only continues to build, which keeps the listener engaged and yearning for more.
This leads into the angst-ridden “Prayers for Rain,” a dark, gloomy track, with bleak imagery in its lyrics and simple but captivating guitar. Of all the tracks on Disintegration, this one is the closest to the deliciously nihilistic, desolate sound on earlier albums like Pornography. It’s one of my favorite tracks on the album. The way it takes the warm elements of earlier tracks on the album and darkens them keeps me coming back to this track over and over again.
“The Same Deep Water As You” starts out with the sound of thunder and rain, which sets the pleasant but melancholy tone for the whole song. It’s not as dark as “Prayers for Rain.” Instead it’s a warm and mellow type of yearning, in striking opposition to the next song on the album, “Disintegration,” like the calm before a storm. It has a way of washing over the listener, bringing back the shimmering atmosphere that characterizes so much of this masterpiece of an album.
The title track, “Disintegration,” is much more fast-paced. It has a frantic, desperate feel to it, which persists until the last chord. It’s about selfishness, deception, and endings, and you can’t help being pulled into the narrative by Robert Smith’s deeply emotional vocals. The album has felt like it was building up to something, and with this track, it finally comes to a head.
After this is “Homesick,” for which Lol Tulhurst provided the basis before he left the band. It’s full of dramatic, aching sadness. Like most of the Cure’s work, it’s melody-driven. Disintegration feels like a breakup album, and this feels like the aftermath to the ending “Disintegration” represents.
Finally, the album ends with “Untitled.” It has a happier, warmer tone, in contrast to “Disintegration” and “Homesick.” This provides some closure, and ensures the listener doesn’t leave feeling too broken down. It’s still sad, but it’s less intense, and the lyrics echo back to the perception of unreality expressed in “Pictures of You.”
The Cure were one of the biggest bands of their era, transcending genre and crafting a legacy that will endure for generations. Disintegration is an album that captures all their best elements, and it’s the album that changed me from a casual listener to a fan. It’s melancholy and it can be dark, but it’s intensely beautiful. Is there really any better album for when you’re feeling down?
- Madden Ott

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

I’ve Never Been This Old Before

Growing old is so weird. Don't get me wrong, I dig it. You're not likely to hear me ever complaining about it. But it's just so weird the random changes that can take place over the course of 30 or so years. Like, I used to hate onions. But one day, as an adult, I loved them. I used wear black on the outside cuz black was how I felt on the inside. Now I'm lucky if I can find more than five pieces of black clothing in my so-called wardrobe. When I was young, I thought nobody understood me. Now I think there's not a thought in my head that someone around me won't identify with. I remember sitting by the radio waiting for Pink Floyd's “Comfortably Numb” to come on so I could tape it and then try to identify as many of the lyrics as I could, filling a whole notebook of lyrics to my favorite songs. Now I find that the instrumentation of a song is much more important to me than the lyrics, to the point of liking a lot more wordless "post rock" than most. And Lord knows I used to listen to my Jesus & Mary Chain Psychocandy cassette tape to the point of dementia. Now I can't bear more than one song from it....What the?? Does that mean I'm gonna start loving New Age? Um, no, cuz I find that I actually get bored with a lot of music unless it starts rocking my socks off (Kinski anyone?). Well who knows, it's hard to pinpoint what's going on. There's no identifiable trend. No rules to abide by. One thing's for sure: it's impossible to stay the same. So it's kinda weird that I still get giddy about The Cure after 23+ years. I've been a huge fan since 1985 when I discovered Faith and Pornography to be the most perfectly fitting soundtracks to a certain drugless mood I often found myself in. And even though I eventually pulled through the devastations of that mood and "grew out of it," the importance of the music that went with me on that journey has never faded. And even though I've not always adored what The Cure has done since Disintegration, I'll never NOT be a Cure fan. I now understand that with age comes unexpected changes. I'm not at all the same person as back then. And neither is Robert Smith. I should never expect him to write music that would impact the person I used to be. So I made sure to listen to the new album with the ears that are attached to the current me.

It seemed odd to tour North America without first finishing the new album, but it was actually a brilliant move for The Cure and it created a shitload of anticipation for the new album (remember back when we actually allowed ourselves to anticipate?). They trudged tirelessly around this nation giving us 3-hour sets filled mostly with those fantastic classic Cure songs, showing us that yes they've changed while aging as well: they're older and bolder, and still those crazy-good musicians who can outplay any of today's younger rock stars and can still whip their old fans into a frenzy, causing many to take charge of virtual chatrooms and swear at "Anonymous" for having the nerve to criticize Robert's thinning hair. And after finally hearing the album, I'd say they're just as deserving of such defensiveness as they've ever been. "Underneath the Stars" is a spectacular opener and I still can't listen to it without imagining that I'm under the skies at Red Rocks watching them play it. It's got the most atmosphere of any song on the album, with Robert's floating vocals surrounded by the mood of the instruments. From there, the songs are more singles-oriented, although one thing hasn't changed: mainstream radio still sucks, so who knows if we'll hear any of them on the FM airwaves. The four songs that were previously released as CD/7" singles are catchy and playful. "Freakshow" in particular is such a fun song, seemingly written by Robert Smith's quirky dance moves. And it feels like "The Only One," "Perfect Boy" and "Sleep When I'm Dead" are old familiar favorites, since they were sprinkled into the set lists on the pre-album tour. Many of the other songs are getting better and better with every listen and I can't tell you how happy I am to have Porl "Wah Wah" Thompson back home. But the last two songs have already claimed their top spots on my favorite-songs-on-the-album list. "Scream" is a fantastic, slow-building song with a mid-song fade and re-entry that adds even more drama to an already impacting song. And "It's Over"... holy crap. This is exactly how my current self wants The Cure to sound: guitars and drums up in the mix equal to the vocals, with everyone just slamming it. Jason creaming the drums and Simon pounding the bass and the guitars going crazy and your heartbeat wants to keep up with the music until your insides explode and you're out of breath. Makes you just long for the live version, eh? And who knows - maybe in a month I'll wonder why that was ever my favorite song, cuz clearly "This Here and Now With You" takes the cake. And maybe tomorrow I'll hate onions again. But nowadays it's easier to just let it all go and allow whatever changes necessary to get me through this life. As long as The Cure are still in it.


It's Over - Live in Rome

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