Nick Young:Listened to: MP3
I can’t think of a better word than seductive to describe The Cure’s “Disintegration”. “Plainsong,” the album’s gorgeously sprawling two-chord (twin-hearted) opening track, is the sound of melting into sound- the closest substitute to an orgasm anyone could have heard circa 1989. Morbid romance and aching desire pervade this shimmering monolith of a record. Lyrics are used economically, only afforded at the moments when monumental sound is not quite enough. “Disintegration’s” third track, “Closedown,” is deceptively instrumental before frontman Robert Smith belts out the song’s lonely verses, which sound like a grief-stricken rant:
“I’m running out of time, I’m out of step and closing down and never sleep for wanting hours the empty hours of greed and uselessly always the need to feel again the real belief of something more than mockery if only I could fill my heart with love.”
Smith woefully yearns for what he already has. He’s got enough love in his heart for two people. He just needs someone to share it with (unfortunately he’s very picky). It’s been said that the game of love is a two hearted dream, and I think Robby Smith would agree as evidenced by “Disintegration’s” openly emotive single “Love Song.”.
Sex and death wincingly mate on tracks such as “Lullaby” and “Fascination Street”. “On candystripe legs the spiderman comes,” bemoans Smith, “Softly through the shadow of the evening sun.” The two fascinations wed in the lyric, “Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead, looking for the victim shivering in bed.” Just like all the other lovesick teenagers out there, it’s like he can’t seem to tell the difference anymore as to what’s good for him and what’s bad for him. He is lost in the sound.
-Nick
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Mike Natale:
Listened to: MP3
Look, I’m not an 80’s music fan. When Jeff Buckley reportedly declared at the Chicago Cabaret Metro that the entire musical landscape of the 80’s was shit “except The Smiths, while I thought it was a little too strong a statement, I pretty much agreed with him (much after the fact, of course. The rant took place in 1995, and I was a little busy being 5 years old at the time). So when the 80’s synth overture of Plainsong came on, I hunkered down and prepared to fight the urge to cut my wrist like every 80’s Cure fan probably did at one point or another. From the first track, you can already tell that Disintegration is much less pop-y than their more popular tracks, like the ones my 14-year-old-sister adores. Actually, that’s kind of what I always thought The Cure was there for. Sad 14-year-olds.
Then we got to Pictures Of You. Sure, I don’t like the 80’s production sound, but underneath all the synth crap, it’s a really moving song. Closedown too, actually. I’ll be honest, that’s the really feeling I got from this album. These songs are fantastic, but the sound of them sucks. Strip them down, give the band a couple of acoustic guitars and a grand piano, and you could have a really powerful album. Unfortunately, all the emotion gets lost in the shuffle.
I know, it’s a short review, but what can I do? If I go on to praise the album for the songwriting, I have to ignore the crappy 80’s-feel that’s almost unavoidable. If I rip on the terrible sound of the album, I’m not giving Robert Smith’s songwriting the credit it deserves. Sure, I could switch this album out, as I didn’t really enjoy it, but it’s not just about my opinion. I’m sure millions of people out there did enjoy it, nor do I think it’s horrific or insignificant. It’s clear how this album helped shape the musical landscape, and indeed, where would Hot Topic shoppers be today were it not for Disintegration? So rather than take it off, or praise it immensely, I’ll just say that it deserves the slot it has, in the bottom half of the 500 albums list. I didn’t enjoy it thoroughly, but I appreciate it. Though after every track, I can’t help the fact that I want to watch The Crow. But then I have to follow it up with Straight Outta Compton for tomorrow’s post. This is gonna be a weird-ass day ahead of me.
-Mike
Alright. Till tomorrow, with #144: Straight Outta Compton by N.W.A.
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