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The Cure
I believe that virtually all negative reviews are borne from prejudice, and this one is no different. When I say “borne from prejudice” I mean that pre-formulated impressions or an innate inability to understand the artist’s intent are usually a factor in developing negative opinions, so it is imperative that all negative reviews be interpreted with the understanding that it is more than likely the reviewer is completely full of shit.
Regarding “The Top,” the fifth album credited to the Cure, I already had my mind made up about the record before I even heard it. In their earliest years, I thought the Cure were an interesting band with little technical ability but a unique sensibility that set them apart from other bands. I sort of liked them for their first three albums. Then, during a trip to England in 1982, I found myself in a London record shop on the day that the band’s fourth album, entitled “Pornography,” was released. Oh, lucky me.
I hated that record. To my ears, it sounded like somebody took the band’s first three albums and blasted them through a garbage compactor and into a canyon, resulting in an unbearable noise that never relented (you can read my review for “Pornography” elsewhere, if you wish…). I never really forgave the band for this, and as a result, I more or less abandoned them…which is why I never heard “The Top” until twenty years later.
Do I think I missed much? No, unless I can quantify the comedic aspect of listening to something so bleak, self-obsessed, and disorganized as if it were meant to be funny. I am sure that my attitude will only add to the alleged horror that is experienced on a daily basis by Robert Smith and his uber-depressed fans, but parts of “The Top” are so ‘over the top’ that I can’t help but laugh out loud.
The affectation of Smith’s voice when he sings “Dressing Up” is one of the most un-deliberately funny moments I’ve ever heard. “Give Me It” shares the relentless penchant for noise that made me hate “Pornography” so much, only it adds disgusting imagery into the mix, with lyrics like, “Slit the cats like cheese, then eat the sweet sticky things. Suck Harder! Suck Harder! Suck your insides out…”
“Piggy in the Mirror” is meant to convey an emotionally harrowing moment of self-loathing, but it comes off like another bad-hair day for Robert Smith. The album never gets any more emotionally compelling than this, either, and the extra disk of ‘bonus’ material adds little except half-baked demo versions of songs that should never have been extrapolated on in the first place.
The album’s best track, “Shake Dog Shake,” opens with a self-mocking “Ha Ha Ha” that more or less defines my own attitude about the entire album; It’s funny, but it isn’t ‘Ha ha” funny…or, at least, this is what my predisposed prejudice has me thinking about “The Top.”
Grade: 
 
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