The Cure

Just when it seemed the Cure had become as widely accepted as possible with Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, they released this album in 1989. Disintegration brought the band into arenas on the strength of the tracks "Pictures Of You" and "Love Song." It showed what long-time fans already knew -- Robert Smith was a fantastic guitarist who wrote beautiful songs.

With the transmutation of junk a species of junk itself, an evasion available to any charlatan or nincompoop, it's tempting to ignore this patent arena move altogether. But by pumping his bad faith and bad relationship into depressing moderato play-loud keyb anthems far more tedious than his endless vamps, Robert Smith does actually confront a life contradiction. Not the splintered relationship, needless to say, although the title tune is a suitably grotesque breakup song among unsuitably grotesque breakup songs. As with so many stars, even "private" ones who make a big deal of their "integrity," Smith's demon lover is his audience, now somehow swollen well beyond his ability to comprehend, much less control. Hence the huge scale of these gothic cliches. And watch out, you mass, 'cause if you don't accept this propitiation he just may start contemplating suicide again. Or take his money and go home. (Grade - C+)