Is the new Cure album thoroughly bleak? Yes, but that's what makes it the perfect remedy
Not only have fans of The Cure been waiting since 2019 when Robert Smith, prince of sad goth pop, first teased “Songs of a Lost World” but really since 2008 when they announced their last album, “4:13 Dream,” on their MySpace page.
The British band, masters of mope music that somehow sounds elegant rather than dour, has experienced a few alterations since then, notably the return of keyboardist Roger O’Donnell (who rejoined in 2011 after a six-year hiatus) and the full-time enlistment of guitarist Reeves Gabrels in 2012.
The eight tracks on “Songs of a Lost World” were entirely written and arranged by Smith, 65, the centerpiece of The Cure whose nest of hair and smeared scarlet lipstick remain his signature look.
Those who caught the band’s stunningly successful summer tour in 2023 heard a few of these songs since The Cure inserted them at every show during their first live run in nearly seven years.
Consider “Songs of a Lost World” the punctuation mark on five years of teasing.
Musically, it’s textbook Cure, alternately mesmerizing with minor key piano (“A Fragile Thing”) and screeching with harsh industrial beats (“Drone:NoDrone”).
But as always, it’s Smith’s idiosyncratic vocals and bleak poetry that induce repeated listens.
His voice is a quavering ball of emotion as he ponders mortality (“Cold and afraid/the ghosts of all that we’ve been/we toast with bitter dregs/to our emptiness,” he sings on “Alone”) and explores grief (“Something wicked this way comes/to steal away my brother’s life,” he laments in “I Can Never Say Goodbye”).
Among this dark sea of pondering, these are the two most memorable offerings on “Songs of a Lost World.”
‘And Nothing is Forever’
The second song on the album begins softly, with strings, piano and cymbals crashing like waves as they beckon and build to a lush, winding melody impossible to disregard.
Smith is hesitantly optimistic as he squares the reality that nothing is forever with an appreciation for the present. He concedes that though his “world is grown old,” he’s willing to open his heart “if you say we’ll be together, if you promise you’ll be with me in the end.”
As the song glides toward its finale, strings arranged in a halo of sound captivate as much as the lengthy intro, creating bookends of beauty.
‘Endsong’
The 10-minute-plus album capper, one of the epics the band debuted at last summer’s tour, is a masterclass in artistic instrumentation.
Drums sound as if they’re jogging, a rhythmic pattern as metronomic as sneakers slapping a sidewalk, before a squiggle of electric guitar chimes in.
Smith isn’t heard until past the six-minute mark, a distressed narrator realizing that the world he knew as a child has clouded and the future is listing toward desolation.
“It’s all gone/no hopes/no dreams/no world/no, I don’t belong here anymore,” he sings in a bruised voice.
It might be a grim conclusion even to an album saturated with contemplative sentiments, but it wouldn’t be authentic Cure without ending with a sob.