Asylums with doors open wide,
Where people had paid to see inside,
For entertainment they watch his body twist
Behind his eyes he says, ‘I still exist.’

This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.

In arenas he kills for a prize,
Wins a minute to add to his life.
But the sickness is drowned by cries for more,
Pray to God, make it quick, watch him fall.

This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.

This is the way.
This is the way.
This is the way.
This is the way.
This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.

You’ll see the horrors of a faraway place,
Meet the architects of law face to face.
See mass murder on a scale you’ve never seen,
And all the ones who try hard to succeed.

This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.
This is the way, step inside.

And I picked on the whims of a thousand or more,
Still pursuing the path that’s been buried for years,
All the dead wood from jungles and cities on fire,
Can’t replace or relate, can’t release or repair,
Take my hand and I’ll show you what was and will be.

People might choose Unknown Pleasures but sometimes it seems that one gets the nod more for enigmatic cover art than for the music. Not that it isn’t an incredible statement, but Closer, I believe, goes deeper into that place. From the opening track, Atrocity Exhibition (cheers for the J.G. Ballard reference) they just mine deep into something bigger than just the introspection of some of the other post-punk artists. They’re going in specifically for the things that we don’t want to look at. They weren’t poseurs. It wasn’t a costume party. It was like they were saying, look, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. This isn’t about shock. It’s what’s behind the shock. We’re not here to giggle while the old birds clutch their pearls. It’s deeper than the spectacle. It’s about why you’re drawn to the spectacle. We are making you complicit in the horror (as if you weren’t anyway).

It’s immersion, not catharsis, okay? And for your part, since you helped create the monster, swear to fuck you’re going to have to look at it. You’re going to have to look at me! (This is what they’re saying, if you ask me.) You paid to look. Now we’re not going to let you look away. Deal with it.

I do think that albums like Closer closed the door on the bloated hedonist exhibitionism of the rock and roll 70s. It dissects pop music and strips away the fat and glamor. You wanted to eat. Okay, well then we’ll feed you but you’re going to eat it raw. And it’s been left out and gone off. It’s not going to allow you that same old crass voyeurism (consider how Pink Floyd fans romanticized Syd Barret’s disintegration). It’s going to bring you “Closer.”

Art isn’t always about escape. It isn’t always about feeling good. If you can’t handle it you can always go back to flower power and television.