The Cure: Pornography
The Cure: Pornography — The warnings were all there, written clearly, and deafeningly audible. Robert Smith, fast delving into a spectral, spiritual collapse, ignored every single one of the red flags being raised. Instead he remained focused ceaselessly dripping and creating rows of wax altars, chanting softly at first, then as patience wore thin, a hair louder and louder… Perhaps foolishly thinking that blood sigils were merely discardable toys, useless fluid. The logical escalation from Ouija Board to Bloody Mary to being within reach of the demon that nearly swallowed him Smith was not only burned but was nearly condemned, damned.
These were heavy, warped hands grabbing for him, wrapping around his neck slowly, scrunching the loose skin tightly. Pornography is the unobstructed, unfiltered view of legions of filth and shambling desecration. The plumes of charcoal smoke pleading to be free of itself. These were once veiled threats now rushing toward Smith. The windows have been breached and the glass shrapnel pins him to the ground. Labored breathing and blood clouds his retina. Choice no longer Smith’s, his possession is now permanent. He now wages a war fought in flashes, piece by piece gathering whatever he can find to defend himself against his paralysis and his now nourished powerful, blinding fears. The only way back is through the doors he himself flung open, and seal it once more from the other side.
It’s to be noted that even though Smith did come free of his sickness, rightly, he was never the same. Pornography delves so deeply into the wretched stench of perdition that it’s inevitable the chains that bound Smith there will always clang behind him as he shuffles weakly in his return from the barrow ground.
This is not a record for the passerby, the uninitiated or children. It unflinchingly details sins, acts of cowardice and selfish gluttony. It’s also because of this severity of wound that the record remains a defining, sordid cautionary tale in the fields of punk rock. It asks for no permission to enter, nor will it answer your wishes for it to cease its torment of you. This is with no shred of doubt one of the most violent and cursed records to ever be made. 30 years later it still seethes with an impenetrable, excessive iniquity that still has the power to confound and overwhelm. Be warned. 10/10