The Cure, Disintegration Deluxe Edition

By J Howell

Oh, to revisit the heady days of 1989. . . as a young person, two things (at different times, and both seemed to recur often) were the focus of my adolescent adulation. These were head and shoulders above everything else (and made a killing from my obsessive need for more and more merchandise): Star Wars and The Cure.

Before I give myself an opportunity to digress on the efficacy of the Lucas Merchandising Machine, let’s talk about The Cure. Rhino has just released a curated-by-Robert-himself reissue of Disintegration in three discs: the first, a remaster of the record; the second, a collection of rarities; and the third, an expanded version of Entreat, a live record from the “Prayer” tour following Disintegration that was originally released in 1990.

The deluxe treatment begins with the first disc, which is a straightforward reissue of the original, remastered by Robert Smith at home with a “final master” produced by Kevin Metcalfe at Soundmasters in London. Does it sound better than the original? That depends on one’s perspective.

Most of the differences are relatively minor. To my ears, the remaster sounds slightly louder, a little more compressed, but not radically so. Mostly, Smith’s vocals seem a little more forward to me, but with any record as monumental and lived-with as Disintegration, it can be a little tricky knowing how much is actually changed and how much of what seems slightly different is just the human mind’s tendency to remember things inaccurately.

Unfortunately, my original copy of Disintegration is missing, and I’m hesitant to compare mp3s or streaming audio to the remaster for historical accuracy, but there are a couple of subtle-but-noticeable changes.

Probably the most obvious is in “Lullaby.” Prior to the remaster, I hadn’t listened to Disintegration in quite some time, but when the “spiderman” voice comes around in the song, I was expecting subtle, layered processing on a slightly slurred voice, to creepy effect. The reissue surprised me with Smith’s regular singing voice all but covering the affected vocal. For a moment, I questioned whether the song was different, or if I’d just imagined the slurry, creepy voice all those years. A quick viewing of the video on YouTube assured me that I wasn’t imagining things, the voice was there. Or at least used to be.

I noticed some slight level differences on the drums as well, but nothing major. Overall, while there are some changes in the remaster, none (aside from the aforementioned change in “Lullaby”) are glaring or gratuitous, and most are so slight that without a direct A/B comparison, they’re likely undetectable. Unless you’re a very obsessive fan with remarkable ears and just can’t let go of a few little things that apparently bothered Robert Smith enough to warrant a little polishing after the fact, the Disintegration remaster sounds pretty good: like it always was, but a little cleaner and a little louder.

The second disc of rarities contains 20 tracks that chronicle the development of Disintegration, documenting the record’s evolution and ending with a wonderful, unreleased surprise. The first three tracks are instrumental four-track demos made by Smith solo in his apartment. What’s remarkable about these songs is how fully formed they were before Smith even brought them to his band, and demonstrate Smith’s remarkable skill as an arranger and multi-instrumentalist. While they’re not quite what they eventually became in a few months’ time, they are surprisingly close, especially “Fascination Street,” unforgettable bassline and all.

Following these is a handful of rough four-track recordings of band rehearsals and demos made during a couple of two-week stints at drummer Boris Williams’ Devon home. For serious fans, what’s intriguing here are two previously unreleased songs, “Noheart” and “Esten.” While they’re interesting enough, they lack vocals and as such leave the listener to wonder what they might’ve been had they been completed. It’s not difficult to understand why they were left at this stage, though, as neither song sounds as though it would’ve quite fit in the final tracklist of the album. The more familiar tracks can be heard taking shape, such as an instrumental take of “Lovesong” that sounds a lot like the final version, aside from being more animated by modulation effects, and even more like the live reading of the song on the third disc.

Where the second disc gets really interesting, though, is in the last eight songs. Six of these are rough studio versions, five of which contain guide vocals, one of which was unheard until now. It’s remarkable and a little disarming to hear Smith’s rough, raw early vocal takes, so much so that some of them may even be preferable to the final cut. There’s a certain less-polished quality in Smith’s voice that presents a link between the earlier, more spartan, cult-hero Cure with the increasingly-popular band that would soon fill stadiums, lending an earnestness even greater than the final versions.

Furthermore, the “spiderman” voice in “Lullaby”? Yeah, it’s there, and even thicker, creepier, and more heavily processed than the original album version. Seems like over time, Smith must care less and less for it. Also present is “Delirious Night,” a rough mix of an unreleased song that seems almost more “Tomorrow Never Knows” than “The Same Deep Water As You” or “Plainsong.” While it’s interesting, and not a bad song by any means, it’s also easy to understand why it didn’t make the cut, as it is completely incongruous with the autumnal feel that comprises Disintegration.

Disc two ends with what may be the best reason to pick up the deluxe reissue: a solo Robert Smith cover of Judy Collins’ “Pirate Ships.” Originally recorded as a possible contribution to Elektra Records’ 40th anniversary set Rubaiyat, it was shelved in favor of a cover of the Doors’ “Hello, I Love You.” While the Doors cover is enjoyable (and absent here), it seems completely trivial compared to the reading of “Pirate Ships.” While technically a rough mix, the song sounds fully realized, dreamy, and near-perfect. Smith’s voice has rarely sounded better, and the music, comprised mostly of what sounds like pump organ or harmonium, is austere and gorgeous. Mood aside, it sounds like Robert Smith without sounding like the Cure, which seems hard to imagine in theory but is remarkable in practice.

Disc three sums up the final stage of Disintegration, its presentation live on the 1989-90 “Prayer” tour. Upon its initial 1990 release, Entreat was an eight-song, not-quite-LP documenting that tour via its London stops, now expanded to include all 12 Disintegration tracks rearranged into album order.

Just as it was then, Entreat really is a great live record. While there are no real surprises—just Smith occasionally misplacing a lyric here and there and a short, instrumental intro to “Disintegration”—it’s a pleasure to listen to, and a testament to The Cure as a strong live act. There’s some nice, soulful piano improvisation in “Homesick” courtesy of Roger O’Donnell, but otherwise, the presentation of the songs doesn’t stray too far from the record. There’s some similarity between some of disc two’s demos and the live versions, such as some added effects in “Lovesong” that were streamlined out of the final album cut, but no radical departures.

While Entreat Plus stands on its own as a much better than average live record, it leaves those of us who were unable to attend the tour wondering how much different it would have sounded and felt being there as opposed to listening after the fact.

Like any contender for “best album ever” status, Disintegration is a deeply emotional, personal record for an unimaginable number of people, myself included. The Deluxe Edition will bring any Cure fan, particularly those of a certain age, right back to a place in time that may be a bit startling if you haven’t heard the record in its entirety in a while.

After that initial crush of bittersweet, the second and third discs present an intriguing dissection of how the band’s masterpiece came to be, some interesting tangents along the way, and finally a document of The Cure at the height of the band’s powers live. While it may be a bit much for casual listeners, for those hardcore Cure fans among us, it’s a must-have.

Just when you think you’re finally Cured-out after 44 tracks, you’ll realize that you’re actually anxiously awaiting Wish getting the same treatment. This deluxe revisiting of Disintegration stands as a reminder that, all these years later, on some level, The Cure still just may be your favorite band ever.

Disintegration‘s Deluxe Edition was released in North America on June 8 via Rhino/WMG. You may order it at the Rhino website.