It's an unimaginable feat of greatness that Smith and the Cure had made with this timeless album. And almost everytime I listen to it, I can take the lyrics and the melodies and the containment of anger and frustration resulting in powerfully challenging vocals, and relate it to everything and anything I am feeling myself.
It's a movie soundtrack of our lives, or at least the life of the melancholiness; an emotional toll on the mind and the wonderous orchestrated backdrop to a winter not-so-wonderland. It's a spirit killer; an overly sensitive piece of work, which only makes the emotionally disbound, more distraught. It's a magical journey into the mind. It forces one to think hard and think long. Believing becomes difficult, and clouds of darkness swirl about the inner workings of the human soul. It's this that makes Disintegration that beautiful, that powerful, and that timeless.
I only write this essay because I am touched by this album in many ways. It pummels me down to the ground when I'm already low, and when I need to listen to something as elegant and subtle, it also works, but in mysterious ways. When I feel like the world is coming down on me, I can take a ride on the Cure bus and search for some truth, and some outright hope and inspiration. Sure, the album takes a ride down a tragic path, but there's always hope in Robert Smith's voice. He never gives up, and he never let's his emotions overtake him too much. Hence, the song "lovesong" -- a classic, and personal favorite, which is a heaven-sent song after the deathly beautiful and emotional bomb, "Pictures of You."
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