Robert Smith didn't just want to make a record in 1987. He wanted to make the record. That sprawling, messy, neon-soaked, and occasionally terrifying double album we now know as Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me. It’s the kind of project that shouldn’t work. It’s too long. It’s too loud. It jumps from the claustrophobic sexual tension of "The Kiss" to the sugary pop bliss of "Just Like Heaven" without so much as a warning. But that's exactly why it became the turning point for The Cure, transforming them from moody cult leaders into global stadium superstars.
Honestly, if you look at the tracklist, it’s basically a dare.
Eighteen songs. Seventy-four minutes. The recording process at Studio Miraval in the South of France was fueled by excessive amounts of alcohol and a genuine sense of creative liberation. Robert Smith has often mentioned in interviews, specifically with Rolling Stone and NME over the years, that the band felt they could do absolutely anything. They weren't just a "goth" band anymore. They were a psychedelic band, a funk band, and a pop powerhouse all at once.
The Chaos of the Opening Act
Most albums try to hook you with a radio-friendly hit. The Cure did the opposite. "The Kiss" opens the album with a six-minute instrumental build-up. It's abrasive. It's distorted. Smith’s guitar wails like it’s being tortured before he even utters a single word about being "sickened" by a kiss. It’s a bold move that sets the tone for a record that refuses to be background music.
There’s this misconception that Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me is just a collection of pop hits. It isn't. For every "Catch" or "Why Can't I Be You?", there is a "Torture" or "If Only Tonight We Could Sleep." The latter is a masterpiece of atmospheric tension, heavily influenced by Smith's interest in Eastern sounds and psychedelic textures. It sounds like a humid night where you can't quite tell if you're awake or dreaming.
The band's lineup during this era was arguably their "classic" quintet: Robert Smith, Simon Gallup, Porl Thompson, Boris Williams, and Lol Tolhurst. Though Tolhurst's contribution was famously minimal due to his worsening struggle with alcohol—eventually leading to his departure during the Disintegration sessions—the core musicality of the others was at an all-time high. Boris Williams’ drumming, in particular, provided a sharp, crisp backbone that allowed the guitars to swirl into chaos without the songs falling apart.
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Why Just Like Heaven Changed Everything
You can't talk about this album without talking about "Just Like Heaven." Even people who hate 80s music usually have a soft spot for this one. It’s been covered by everyone from Dinosaur Jr. to Katie Melua, but the original has a specific magic.
Robert Smith has gone on record saying it’s one of the best pop songs he’s ever written. The structure is deceptively simple. That descending bassline from Simon Gallup is the heartbeat. The synth hook is iconic. But it’s the lyrics—inspired by a trip to Beachy Head with his future wife, Mary Poole—that give it that bittersweet edge. It’s a song about a moment so perfect you almost can't stand it.
The Contrast of Catch and Why Can’t I Be You?
If "Just Like Heaven" is the soul of the album, "Catch" and "Why Can't I Be You?" are its playful, frantic limbs. "Catch" is a short, breezy story about a girl who would "fall down a lot." It’s charming and slightly melancholy. Then you have "Why Can't I Be You?", which features a horn section that sounds like it was pulled straight from a Motown record, filtered through a kaleidoscope. It’s a manic, sweaty dance track that showed Smith had a sense of humor about his own image. He wasn't just the "Prince of Darkness"; he was a guy who could put on a bear suit for a music video and have a blast.
The Production at Studio Miraval
The choice of location for recording was vital. Miraval was a sprawling estate in Provence. The band lived there. They ate together, drank together, and played together. This communal atmosphere is baked into the DNA of Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me.
Producer David M. Allen, who had worked on The Head on the Door, returned to help capture the band's sprawling ideas. The goal was clarity amidst the clutter. You can hear every layer—the acoustic guitars buried under "One More Time," the frantic scratching in "Icing Sugar," and the haunting flute-like synths in "The Snake Pit." It’s a dense listen, but it never feels muddy.
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People often compare this album to Prince’s Sign o' the Times, which was released the same year. Both are double albums that act as a "state of the union" for their respective artists. They both showcase a restless creativity that can't be contained by a single disc.
The Darker Side: Torture and The Snakepit
It wouldn't be a Cure album without some genuine dread. "Torture" is a grinding, industrial-lite track that highlights Simon Gallup's aggressive bass style. It feels like a precursor to the heavier moments on Disintegration. Then there’s "The Snakepit." This song is a slow burn, a spiral into a hazy, drugged-out landscape. It’s one of the longest tracks on the record and serves as a reminder that the band hadn't abandoned their post-punk roots.
The variety is what keeps it interesting. You never know if the next track is going to be a three-minute pop gem or a sprawling epic about internal decay. This lack of cohesion is actually the album's greatest strength. It feels like a journey through a very specific, slightly fractured mind.
The Legacy of the 1987 Tour
The tour for Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, documented in the film The Cure in Orange, was legendary. Performing in a literal Roman amphitheater, the band looked like they had truly arrived. The visuals—Robert’s teased hair, the baggy clothes, the oversized instruments—became the blueprint for an entire subculture.
But it wasn't just about the look. The live versions of these songs were heavier, louder, and more intense. "The Kiss" live was a revelation, often extended into an even longer jam that tested the audience's patience and then rewarded it. This era cemented the band as one of the best live acts in the world, a reputation they still hold today in 2026.
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What Most People Get Wrong
A common misconception is that this was the "sell-out" album. Just because it had hits doesn't mean it was compromise. If anything, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me is one of the least compromised albums in their catalog. Smith had total control. He chose to include the weird stuff alongside the hits. He chose the 18-track length.
Another myth is that the album is "all over the place" in a bad way. While it is eclectic, there’s a thematic thread of desire—both physical and spiritual—that ties everything together. Whether he’s singing about a perfect day at the beach or the feeling of being buried alive, Smith is exploring the extremes of human emotion.
Key Tracks You Might Have Skipped
- "How Beautiful You Are": Based on a prose poem by Baudelaire, it’s a sophisticated, slightly bitter track about the realization that you can never truly know the person you love.
- "All I Want": A driving, guitar-heavy song that feels like a spiritual successor to the Pornography era but with a brighter production sheen.
- "One More Time": A delicate, heartbreaking song that often gets overshadowed by the bigger ballads but contains some of Smith’s most vulnerable vocal work.
- "Like Cockatoos": Atmospheric and strange, it uses percussion in a way that feels almost tribal, creating a sense of unease.
Actionable Insights for New and Old Fans
If you're looking to dive deeper into the world of Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, don't just stick to the Spotify "This Is The Cure" playlist.
- Listen to the Deluxe Edition: The "Cure Rarities" disc included in the 2006 reissue contains home demos that show how these massive songs started as tiny, fragile ideas in Robert Smith's bedroom. It's an incredible lesson in songcraft.
- Watch "The Cure in Orange": If you can find a copy or a high-quality stream, it's the definitive visual document of this era. It captures the band at their peak of "cool."
- Read the Lyrics as Poetry: Take a moment to read the lyrics to "How Beautiful You Are" alongside Baudelaire's The Eyes of the Poor. It gives you a huge amount of respect for Smith’s literary influences.
- A/B Test the Vinyl vs. Digital: This is one of those albums where the sequencing—the way side one leads into side two—actually matters. The physical experience of flipping the record provides a natural break that the digital experience lacks.
Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me isn't just an album; it’s an environment. It’s a messy, beautiful, loud, and quiet masterpiece that proved The Cure were much more than just the "goth" band the media tried to label them as. It remains a essential pillar of alternative rock, a bridge between the post-punk 80s and the shoegaze-infused 90s.
To truly understand modern alternative music, you have to spend time in the snakepit. You have to get lost in the distorted guitars and the sugary choruses. It's a long trip, but it's one worth taking every single time.