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“Where did he go?” The Cure’s Robert Smith cries at the start of Songs from a lost worldhis band’s first album in 16 years. With his voice intact, he resembles the Rip Van Winkle of alternative rock, a scarecrow-haired, lipstick-smeared, childish-yapping character who wakes from his slumber to find himself in a strange new world. The last time a new Cure studio album was released, the financial crisis was in full swing and Generation Z was singing children’s songs.
Being out of step with the times is generally a bad thing in pop music, with its “hot until you’re not” philosophy. But The Cure has moved beyond these daily concerns. Approaching their half-centenary, they are an institution. There is a living connection to bygone eras of post-punk, gothic rock, 1980s indie music, and 1990s alternative rock. They are not out of print, to invoke an anachronistic concept: no sale of back catalog to a private equity group, minimal commercial license of songs. When Smith sings of the certainty that “we would never change” in Songs from a lost worldour response is a sigh of relief: please don’t do it.
Time since their last album, 2008 4:13 Dreamwasn’t actually spent sleeping. Since then, they have performed more than 250 shows, monumental events that can last well over three hours. Anniversaries have been commemorated in style, such as a residency at the Sydney Opera House dedicated to the 1989s. Disintegration in 2019. That year, they also performed a memorable track at Glastonbury. “The last 10 years of playing shows have been the best 10 years in the band,” Smith recently told Uncut magazine.
Little of this contentment surfaces Songs from a lost world. Aging and death are recurring themes. Smith, now 65, addresses these topics with a voice that has barely changed since “10:15 Saturday Night” from their 1979 debut album, in which he played the role of a young man waiting in vain that his missing girlfriend calls on him. the phone. Its protagonist is trapped in an eternal present with only a dripping faucet and his tormenting thoughts for company.
On the other hand, Songs from a lost world is afflicted with a painful awareness of wasted time. Smith’s cry: “Where has he gone?” in the opening track, “Alone” receives a circular response in the closing number “Endsong”, when he repeatedly sings “It’s all gone” in a tone of anguish. These two songs are majestic. “Alone” has a long intro as Smith keeps us waiting for his reassuring and persistent voice, with its perversely reassuring message of despair. “Endsong” extends the singer’s wait even further, to over six minutes. Both have a measured pace, thick instrumentation, insistent drums and immense waves of emotion. Time passes as Smith laments his passing.
The six pieces in between don’t match these tops, although they fit together well. “And Nothing Is Forever” lifts the gloom with touching reflections on lifelong companionship; Smith’s crunchy riffs and high-pitched vocals dispel a slight hint of synthesizer chintz. In “I Can Never Say Goodbye,” the singer mourns the death of his older brother amid a low piano melody and brooding guitar solos.
There is a live feel to the sound mix. Instead of the spacious feel of older Cure songs, the instruments blend into each other, as demonstrated by lead guitarist Reeves Gabrels’ enthusiastic but dexterous use of the wah-wah pedal. Simon Gallup, veteran of the 1979 line-up, brings heavy bass lines. Jason Cooper’s drumming is powerful. This slow, powerful album about aging is proof of The Cure’s endurance.
★★★★☆
“Songs of a Lost World” is released by Polydor/Fiction
