1 [FROM THE CRATES #16] The Cure - Pornography (1982)

Review by Matt Abramson

The Cure - Pornography
(Fiction 1982)

I am not a huge Cure fan. In fact, I make it a point to mercilessly mock hardcore (male) Cure fans that I encounter. The Cure have made some solid fuckin' tunes though, and a couple really solid albums to boot. Most folks will point to 'Disintegration' as the standout in their catalog

(Extensive paragraph-interrupting side note: here’s a classic example of a band and an album getting tagged by the masses because of a huge commercial hit - "Love Song" was on 'Disintegration'. This mentality about music is completely retarded. It's like associating Judas Priest solely with "Breakin' the Law". If a band lasts longer than a couple albums, their catalog deserves consideration. However, there is a huge exception for bands like The Rolling Stones, U2 and AC/DC that should have hung it up long ago but continue to crap out fuckin' sellout commercial shit records.)

but 'Pornography' and the Ross Robinson-produced eponymous 2004 album (very much worth a listen as well) are the real winners.

'Pornography' is an album marked by violent disassociation colored with visceral sonic texture. The album opens with the frantic, mechanical drums and dizzying noise guitar of "One Hundred Years". From there it's all drums that aren't washed out in lame digital reverb (unlike most albums in the 1980s) with guitars and bass completely drenched in flange and modulation effects. Many of the sounds are uniform throughout, but presented in such a thoughtful matter (claustrophobic drums, harsh treble-heavy bass) that they do not ever seem repetitive. The songs brood like only The Cure can, yet feel markedly introverted instead of whiny. Robert Smith's "oh help me I am such a poor little injured English fellow" wail functions more as a support and counterpoint to the instrumentation than vice versa. I should give Robert Smith a little more credit for badassness though, legend has it he was so strung out on smack that he has no recollection of writing or recording any of the record.

The production on ‘Pornography’ is so in tune with its themes of isolation and utter weirdness that it's almost spooky. This is even more so on the 2005 remastered version, which remains true to the original but sounds much clearer and louder - as any respectable remaster should. The unusual blend of cello, synths and almost trashy-sounding drums (possibly recorded at double speed then played back normally to create a slow, murky drawl and add to the overall sensory disinformation that permeates the album) on "Cold" works better than most would think. By the time you reach the title track, which is also the final track, everything is completely inside-out and foreign. The album ends disturbingly in a frantic avalanche of backward tape edits and gradual total noise saturation which builds to a sudden cut off. 'Pornography' is a dark, fucked-up drug album and an entirely strange head space altogether.