The mere mention of Disintegration instantly conjures images of dark bedrooms inhabited by sad imaginations; it’s the very era of stunted love and pain, defined. For the uninitiated, this is The Cure at their pinnacle, playing melancholic songs and ballads led by the most impassioned and tearful voice in music. With Disintegration, front-man Robert Smith combined every sound he was previously able to douse us with, from the throat-slashing hopelessness and tangled, fuck-all despair of 1982’s Pornography to the sugary sweet pop and joy of 1983’s Japanese Whispers. What emerges from that mixing is an entirely different beast; something uniquely depressive with a tinge of honest regret in its words (a wiser, more mature outlook than the absolute hatred and agony of the band’s earliest “goth” work). It’s something that was unprecedented at the time and something that will never, despite effort, be repeated. Spacious synths, driving bass-lines and a subdued, ambient guitar tone paint this dire, yet delicately beautiful landscape. And it’s a landscape for Robert Smith to mull over, to forge his strongest and most memorable lyrical effort. Lines like “Now that I know that I’m breaking to pieces/I’ll pull out my heart and I’ll feed it to anyone” were sure to be scribbled into the school textbooks of the slightly unhinged. But the most impressive thing about the album, after 21 years, is its stalwart cohesiveness, its perfectly paced drive towards its own bleeding heart. Each passing song adds a slightly different layer to the album while keeping up with its ambitious thematic nature, all the way up to the title track, which is where things, quite appropriately, unhinge and begin to disintegrate. What ultimately unfolds is an album that is both the sum of its parts and a realized whole, dishing out catchy singles while still forming a masterful 86 minutes of atmospheric songwriting. Now, with the reissue, there are two extra discs of material, produced by Smith himself. The first bonus disc contains both studio and home demos, most of which are instrumental. Even the most diehard of Cure fans will have trouble finding a reward in listening to these rarities. Seeing the construction of these songs is certainly interesting to a point, but with the excessive amount of this demo content, it begins to bore. The second bonus disc is where the reissue really comes to fruition, containing live versions of every song on the album. Some of the songs, especially “Prayers for Rain” and “Disintegration,” carry a new, more frantic weight, employing an exciting faster pace. As for the sound quality of the reissue, it’s as good as one would expect from Smith (who’s done an excellent job reissuing The Cure’s earlier albums). The songs sound clearer and crisper than ever, giving reason for those who’ve burned out every corner of the album to revisit, and, of course, it provides a chance for those who are unfamiliar to find out what the fuss is about. Overall, as a reissue, it’s excellently reproduced and, in spite of the uninteresting demos disc, is packed with a live disc that makes it well worth exploring, even for non-diehards. This is a classic, well-aged album that deserves to be celebrated, forever echoing and chiming gloom into an unforgiving void. |
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