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Disintegration is the eighth studio album by English alternative rock band The Cure, released on 1 May 1989 by Fiction Records. The record marks a return to the introspective and gloomy gothic rock style the band had established in the early 1980s. As he neared the age of thirty, vocalist and guitarist Robert Smith had felt an increased pressure to follow up on the group's pop successes with a more enduring work. This, coupled with a distaste for the group's new-found popularity, caused Smith to lapse back into the use of hallucinogenic drugs, the effects of which had a strong influence on the production of the album. The Cure recorded Disintegration at Hookend Recording Studios in Checkendon, Oxfordshire, with co-producer David M. Allen from late 1988 to early 1989. During production, founding member Lol Tolhurst was fired from the band.
In spite of Fiction's fears that the album would be "commercial suicide", Disintegration became the band's commercial peak. It charted at number three in the United Kingdom and at number twelve in the United States, and produced several hit singles including "Lovesong", which peaked at number two on the Billboard Hot 100. Disintegration remains The Cure's highest selling record to date, with more than three million copies sold worldwide. Disintegration was also a critical success, eventually being placed at number 326 on Rolling Stone magazine's list of the "500 Greatest Albums of All Time". Stephen Thomas Erlewine of Allmusic called it the "culmination of all the musical directions The Cure were pursuing over the course of the '80s."
Rolling Stone readers have selected the album their number 9 pick of The 10 Best Albums of the Eighties in which Rolling Stone writes "In an early episode of South Park Kyle Brofloski expressed a rare musical opinion: 'Disintegration is the best album ever!' He may have been giddy over Robert Smith's recent defeat of the evil Mecha-Streisand, but the sentiment has been shared by goths and non-goths for over 20 years."
User Album Review
In one of music's longest and strangest careers, perhaps the most peculiar twist of all was that – after six years of bombarding the world with giddy, oddball pop – it was 1989's Disintegration which propelled The Cure to true global success. After all, this is an album of near relentless gloom, dark grey in texture and sprawlingly epic in structure. It's not exactly Automatic for the People.
Its three million sales can partly be put down to the ferocity of their 80s fanbase, but mostly to its singles. The sexual-revulsion nightmare of Lullaby was the strangest of the three, but its sticky strings and peculiar addictiveness smuggled it into the UK top five. Pictures of You was more conventional, a glorious widescreen epic which Bono would have eaten his firstborn to write, while the downbeat but insidious Lovesong (written for Robert Smith's new bride, surely the most sullen wedding gift in history) even wormed its way into the hearts and top two of the USA.
But the singles are like the prettily twinkling peaks of icebergs, and the gloomy power of Disintegration is truly revealed in the vast slabs of synth-soaked, spectrally dense introspection beneath. Opening with the whimpering, windswept loneliness of Plainsong, and taking in the snarling, bass-driven misanthropy of Fascination Street and the shuddering, incantatory misery of Prayers for Rain, Disintegration is like taking a long bath in someone else's despair, and finding it cathartically enjoyable.
It is, of course, a touchstone goth album, with its relentless death imagery, dramatic sweeps of synth and eight-minute drowning-metaphor symphonies; but such is its single mindedness of intent and vanquishing beauty that it somehow avoids risible self-indulgence. And at its very peak – in the unbearably sad, hypnotically shimmering lament of The Same Deep Water as You and the raging tour of emotional destruction that is the title-track – no other album has ever matched its morose magnificence.
This being a deluxe reissue, there are the obligatory demos, live versions and out-takes. But although it's interesting to see how fully developed songs like Prayers for Rain were before Smith even took them to his bandmates, and the madcap B side Out of Mind deserves another chance to be heard, none of the extras rival the terrible beauty of the main feature. A beauty which has only deepened with 21 years and the knowledge that Robert Smith would never again be as ambitious, inspired and creatively courageous.
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