I have wanted to listen to The Cure for a while now and thought that this 1982 album would be a good start. One of the most intriguing things about this work is the extreme disparity in its reviews. For example, Blender gives it five out of five stars while Rolling Stone gives it just one and a half. Needless to say, I was eager to find out where my own opinion fell on the analytical continuum.
To put it mildly, this album’s lyrics murkily wind there way through a dark and twisted hell. At least that’s the impression angst ridden if not, melodramatic lead singer Robert Smith would like you to have. The Cure provides a virtually endless amount of morbid lines about death and life’s futilely ripe for the teenage picking. Unfortunately, Smith’s excessive as well as overly grotesque usage of these phrases is indicative of someone who is trying far too hard for attention. This is especially observable in light of his unconvincing performance. To be fair, some of the lyrics which appear trite become less so when the album’s age is taken into consideration. After all, Pornography was released almost thirty years ago and long before the advent of emo when a lot of these all-too-common phrases were original. Another favorable quality can be seen in songs such as “The Hanging Garden” and “Siamese Twins,” which contain lyrics that are ambiguous at best leaving their lyrics open to interpretation. This shows a higher level of skill compared to the litany of rock groups who write shallow, obvious, lyrics that are far too restrictive in their scope. Smith’s voice is iconic as well, something quite crucial for any rock group trying to form a unique sound while remaining distinctly identifiable.
Musically, I found this album a lot harder to take. For the most part, the sound and style of the songs on this album are far to similar. In addition to this lack of diversity, the tracks come off as ordinary and unmemorable as well. As a result, it was hard to distinguish individual tracks or remember the ‘different’ melody lines even after repeated listens making for a fairly bland and repetitive album. Because of the morose nature of this album, the listener really needs to be in a precise mood before hearing it. Some classify this sound as gothic rock. With this much angst and pretension they come off more like the fathers of emo. This album does provide a few moments of musical interest. For instance the cello intro that kicks off “Cold” (played by Smith no less) or the collage of manipulated voices that begin the album’s title track. Indeed these short but unexpected instances make this album at least listenable. One thing that I didn’t notice until my second listen is how eminent a role the percussion plays. Most of the songs in the first half of the work start off with drums. In fact, the album itself starts off this way. On the second half, a heavy 80’s drum sound can be heard on numbers like “A Strange Day” and “Cold.” Even in the final track the percussion plays a vital role, building up tension with its thumping, heartbeat like sound. One things for sure, this certainly doesn’t sound like the group that brought you “Friday I’m in Love” or “Just Like Heaven.”
The prevalent theme to this album is angst ridden macabre. While there is nothing wrong with a darker album (some of my favorites are down right miserable), The Cure goes out of their way, musically, lyrically, and otherwise, to go over the top with this theme. As a result, they sometimes come off as being less then genuine. At some points the theatrics become so much and the substance so little, that Smith comes off sounding like nothing more than a whiny little bitch. I realize that some people will be disdainful as well as incredulous, claiming that I just don’t ‘understand’ this album. And they’re right. I don’t. All I hear is forty-three and a half minutes of morose monotony, one overly gloomy song nearly indistinguishable from the next. Which, for me, is depressing on multiple levels.
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