7/26/2023 0 Comments The cure disintegration lyrics![]() However, as was typical of The Cure, a generous helping of twinkling melodies provided perfectly-spaced gulps of oxygen and ensured Disintegration contained some of The Cure's finest songs, be it the ominous plod of 'Lullaby', the cascading emo-pop of 'Pictures Of You' or the utterly monumental vent spleen of the title track.ĭespite its decided lack of jollity, I was smitten with Disintegration. Weighing in at over 72 gloriously claustrophobic minutes, Disintegration was a mass of self-pity, crocodilian remorse and existential angst set to a backdrop of ocean-sized keyboards, dense guitars and a relentless intensity that pulled the listener under. In a year of mighty albums, Disintegration was The Daddy. The fact that much of Disintegration was a funereal dirge, with lyrics reeking of self-absorbed self-flagellation, mattered not a jot. ![]() But for me, who had only ever previously flirted with The Cure's musical output, it sounded like one of the greatest albums I'd ever heard. In May 1989, The Cure would release their eighth studio album, Disintegration, which was described at the time by tQ's Chris Roberts in his Melody Maker review as being "as much fun as losing a limb". However, even set against these rivals, one album would rule them all. Genuinely marvellous albums by Lou Reed ( New York), Kate Bush ( The Sensual World) and The Beastie Boys ( Paul's Boutique) would barely get a look in. I also was infatuated by De La Soul's groundbreaking Three Feet High & Rising, NWA's incendiary Straight Outta Compton and the cool vibes of Soul II Soul's Club Classics Volume 1, while also finding time to swoon over Hunkpapa by Throwing Muses, Technique by New Order, Spaceman 3's Playing With Fire and Neneh Cherry's indefatigable Raw Like Sushi. Like most doting indie kids, I loved both records with a fanatical passion. ![]() In 1989, Pixies gave us Doolittle and The Stone Roses unleashed their debut album. Perhaps unsurprisingly, 1989 was my annus mirabilis for new album releases, twelve months of incredible albums that I would cherish as only an obsessive youth could. ![]() Wednesday mornings were set aside to read NME, Melody Maker and Sounds cover-to-cover, and a lifetime of tinnitus was launched by my five-gigs-a-week habit. In 1989, I was a callow nineteen year-old intent on devouring as much new music as his ears would allow. ![]()
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