503. Pornography - The Cure

Other than their singles, the only music of The Cure's that I know well is their 2004 eponymous release, recorded and produced by Rick Rubin. That is actually much closer thematically and in sound to this album than their poppier singles in-between would suggest. Poppier singles I love, it must be said. However, I was looking forward to fully throwing myself into the band's darkest recording to see what they sounded like at their rawest, thinking that it might be a bit Joy Division-esque.

Pornography was the band's fourth album, and nearly led to their demise. Heavy drug use fuelled the recordings, with in-fighting between the group an almost daily occurence. The desire for intensity, and a lack of funds, led to the band staying for long hours in the study, supplied by their local off-licence. The album was commercially their most successful, reaching number 8 in the UK charts. Simon Gallup, the bassist, let the group after the album was finished, and Robert Smith, the vocalist, believed it would be the band's final recording before their seemingly inevitable collapse. 32 years, Nine albums, and twenty million record sales later, they are still going strong.

One Hundred Years could only every have come from the post-punk era of almost anti musicality. Waves of fuzzy, distorted guitar rush over the listener, with Robert Smith's clear voice the only salvation. It is a very strong opener, and led me to feel quite excited about the rest of the album when I first heard it. Short Term Effect works well too, a claustrophobic style of reverb adding the recording a real intensity, although the rhythm is slightly too pedestrian to carry it off for the duration. Hanging Garden is much more percussion-led, and desperate rather than the despair of the opening two tracks, and this change in speed helps give the album some variety. Siamese twins slows things back down, and the bassline is a close sibling to anything off Joy Division's Unknown Pleasures, although slightly fuzzier and drudgier. The song could be a couple of minutes shorter, as it grinds you first into submission to its repetitive nature, and then out the other side into mild irritation. The Figurehead continues this alightly annoying theme, with the only changes being that the bass is quieter, and the guitar louder. A Strange Day has some brilliant moments in it, where the guitar riff seems to cut through the dirge, and you can almost picture the band looking skywards at the shock of sunlight as it does. This juxtaposition really helps break up the song, and wouldn't have gone amiss elsewhere. Cold makes interesting use of an organ playing over what sounds like a drumset made of wet cardboard. The title track and album closer, is even more dischordant and complete with sample statements, it really does sound like Milton's Paradise Lost performed by three British lads on a substatnital quantity of LSD.

The album shows glimpses of great things, but struggles to sustain it for the duration. It's all terrily depressing, which is all fine to a point, but depressing records need a touch of relentless intensity to them, I feel, and this is a bit moany and navel-gazing to really get away with it. Smith's vocal performance is good, but almost identical on every song, which means that it can become somewhat irksome. This album would make a great soundtrack to a computer game set in hell, the point being that it would add to the experience of other stimuli, rather than being the sole focus. It is an interesting contrast to later belters like Boys Don't Cry and Lovecats, but it isn't a record I will spend much time coming back to. 

Chloe's rating: 5
Chloe's favourite track: 1. One Hundred Years
Olly's rating: 6
Olly's favourite track: 6. A Strange Day

Next week we have 466. Iron Maiden with their self-titled debut from 1980; not the musical respite Chloe was hoping for.