Curiouser & Curiouser: The Cure, Cerebrally Speaking

A CURIOUS MANIFESTO

2050-07-08T10:22:00.002-04:00

"Truly fertile Music, the only kind that will move us, that we shall truly appreciate, will be a Music conducive to Dream, which banishes all reason and analysis. One must not wish first to understand and then to feel. Art does not tolerate Reason." (Albert Camus)

(Kick-ass graphic courtesy of Rev. Heron. Check out her Cure blog: Underneath The Stars)

When I first learned about The Cure in 1985, it was an epiphanal event. It was as though up to that point I had simply swum through counterfeit experiences. For me, The Cure offered a refreshingly surrealistic take on life, both musically and appearance-wise. Physically, the band members' stylistic proclivity toward untamed coiffures, cartoonish clothing, and cosmetic countenances was jolting to my more conservative sartorial sensibilities. But that swiftly changed, as an era of fashion experimentation was inaugurated upon my Cure discovery.

But of course, it's the tunes that matter most, and when the strains of my first Cure song caressed my ears, it delivered a raw punch to my whole conceptualization of pop music. I had theretofore been enamored of middle-of-the-road radio titans, with their fairly straightforward pop renderings, and while I still hold a place in my heart for such bands, The Cure's more subtle, whimsical, and inventive aural and lyrical approach changed my life.

I learned about The Cure on accident - I was simply rifling through tapes at my local record haunt, when I happened across The Head on the Door. The cover was so intriguing I just had to purchase it, despite the fact that I had not yet heard the music contained therein. Don't judge a book by its cover, we are told - and yet the musical contents of the Head on the Door masterfully matched the tantalizingly bizarre cover. It was one happy fluke, discovering a band like this.

Twenty-three years later, I am still besotted with The Cure, and continue to be mesmerized by this off-kilter and cerebrally enthralling band. Indeed, I am more obsessed than ever with The Cure, for reasons that are rather murky to me. Better not to delve too deeply into a deconstruction of such a pathological compulsion, and just enjoy it for what it is!

This blog features as its piece de resistance an essay I have written linking The Cure with artists such as Miro and Rimbaud. It will also contain reviews by me of all Cure albums, reviews by me of selected Cure shows I have attended (14 total), and miscellaneous cerebral musings about the band. An Aesthetics section will also be added eventually, which will feature pictures of the boys, plus my favorite Cure-related artwork.

Hopefully you will find something compelling here; feel free to leave constructive commentary of your own as a contribution to the ongoing discourse about the best band of all times, The Cure.

CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER PART I: THE CURE AND THEIR ARTISTIC SIBLINGS

2050-07-07T10:49:00.000-04:00

CURIOSER AND CURIOSER: THE CURE AND THEIR ARTISTIC SIBLINGS
by ALISON ROSS

All art is linked: literature finds its fraternal twins in music and visual arts, and film manages to meld all three into a seamless whole. For me, the Cure has certain spiritual siblings, if you will, in the literary and visual art worlds. For me, The Cure is the musical personification of Edgar Allan Poe, Arthur Rimbaud, Dr. Seuss, Alice in Wonderland (the book and Disney movie), Joan Miro, Salvador Dali, Edvard Munch, and Francisco Goya. The idea I’m striving for is to create a kind of artistically synthaesthetic portrait of The Cure.

ART

Spanish artist Joan Miro is the visual artist whose work I think most closely resembles the Cure’s pop music. His paintings have a whimsical, childlike style, yet there is a maze-like complexity that lurks beneath their simple facade. A lot of Cure pop music is also deceptively simple, boasting a childlike joviality. Yet, underneath it all is an intelligent design - an accomplished musical sense that is decidedly un-childlike. A Miro painting like “People and Dog in Sun” is paradoxically both impetuously childlike yet intensely intricate. That’s how I see a lot of Cure pop songs, such as “Why Can’t I Be You,” “Inbetween Days,” ‘Close to Me,” “Like Cockatoos,” “Let’s Go to Bed,” “Boys Don’t Cry,” “Caterpillar,” “High,” “Friday I’m in Love,” “The End of the World” and “(I Don’t Know What’s Going) On.” Other Miro paintings that capture quaint Cure-pop quirkiness include, “A Smile of the Flamboyant Wings,” “Pintura,” and “Red Sun.”

On the other hand, Miro can also resemble more melodic, softer Cure fare. Paintings like “Bleu I, II, and II,” are less intricate and more abstract pieces, and contain a soothing spaciousness, not unlike some Cure songs from the albums “Seventeen Seconds” or “Faith.”

The Cure’s lyrics and playfully offbeat pop music - the piano tinklings, swirling synthesizers, chiming guitars, Smith’s boyish howl - also evoke Miro colors and images - stark reds and blues, and whimsical faces and shapes.

The maniacally dark art of Francisco Goya’s Black Period finds its musical parallel, I think, in the Cure’s darkest work: “Pornography,” “Bloodflowers,” and bits of “Faith.” The psychedelic song “Bloodflowers,” in particular, is evocative of Goya’s brooding colors and eerie subject matter. The song lyrics are rather existential, recalling a Goya piece like “Old Men Eating” whose subject matter - two old men, one in a state of decay and one clearly already a corpse, with hollowed out eyes - parallels the song idea of the inevitable, if sometimes horrific, transience of life. The song also acts as dialogue between two people, one who negates life’s transience, and one who affirms it. The withered old man in Goya’s piece could be the person who negates it, while the corpse figure could represent the one who affirms it. The painting also features dim, earthy colors, reminding us of the dirt and flesh intrinsic to the Cure song title.

“Watching Me Fall” is another intensely dark Cure song from “Bloodflowers” that calls forth nightmare landscapes the likes of which Goya might paint. The Middle Eastern psychedelia of “Labyrinth” (from the Cure’s eponymous album), also evokes a Goyan anguish.

And on “Pornography,” nearly all the songs are like Goya’s paintings from his Black Period. A piece like “The 3rd of May 1808” acts as a nice visual partner to the political terror screaming out of “100 Years,” and “Old Men” eerily echoes “A Strange Day,” with the old, seemingly blind man and a haunting figure creeping closely behind him. “Goat” and “Saturn Devouring His Children” are additional Goya paintings that are easily paired with the horror-laden “Poronography” songs.

Some Cure songs also evoke scenes much like Edvard Munch paintings, with their thick, colorful swirls that highlight repressed agony. The infamous “Scream,” whose central character releases a silent howl of unbearable intensity, could be linked to many “ominously” melancholic Cure songs, especially some on “Disintegration,” such as “Plainsong,” “Prayers For Rain,” and “Same Deep Water as You,” as well as “The Loudest Sound,” from “Bloodflowers” and “Going Nowhere” and “This Morning” from The Cure’s self-titled effort.

“Last Dance” of course, could find its artistic kin in Munch’s “The Dance of Life,” both for the thematic link as well as the colors that the song evokes. All the synthesizer-laden songs on “Disintegration,” indeed, evoke yellows and reds, colors that Munch seems fond of, and are tied lyrically to the desperate themes inherent in Munch’s work.

The lyrics and mood of “The Walk,” plus most of the songs from the bizarrely experimental “The Top” bring to mind the surrealism of Salvador Dali. “The Walk” contains lyrically odd juxtapositions and wildly hallucinatory imagery, just as Dali paintings seem to pull their juxtaposed antithetical objects and images straight from drug-induced dreams.

The lyrics and music from “The Empty World,” among others on “The Top,” are strongly evocative of imagery the likes of which Dali might paint. Dali’s “Woman With Drawers” could symbolize the unstable protagonist of “Birdmad Girl,” as both pieces possess a disturbingly wacky sense of reality.

Furthermore, Robert Smith’s crooning on most of “The Top” songs sounds as though he was attempting to achieve a “melting” singing style, which calls to mind Dali’s infamous melting clocks picture, “The Persistence of Memory.” Indeed, many Dali paintings would seem to be the visual manifestation of Smiths’ voice - landscapes of dreamy despair.

LITERATURE AND FILM

Lyrically, songs from “Pornography, “The Top” as well as scattered Cure songs on “Disintegration” and other albums resemble the abstract surrealistic style of French poet Arthur Rimbaud. Indeed, Rimbaud himself felt that in order to reach one’s creative zenith, that person would need to indulge in a “total derangement of the senses.” Robert Smith seems to have done that during the recording sessions of “Pornography” with his infamous LSD binges. Rimbaud had a proclivity for crafting jolting juxtapositions that created startling imagery, as does Robert Smith.

The imagery that some Cure songs evoke is decidedly Edgar Allen Poe-esque, with their lyrical dwellings on wintry seasons and the sea. Poe, indeed, was obsessed with the sea, as Smith seems to be. Poe’s poetry is also suffused with themes of love and death, as many of Smith’s lyrics are. Songs such as “Pictures of You” inspire images of passion and death in snow-drenched surroundings.

Edgar Allen Poe also dealt extensively with the ideas of night, shadows, angels, the stars, and the moon in his poetry; Smith’s lyrics have a similar preoccupation with such symbolic imagery.

Robert Smith’s voice is how I would imagine Edgar Allen Poe might sing - in a kind of haunting wail. And at times, the silly, faux-opera style that Robert invokes (“Why Can’t I Be You,” “End of the World,” “Taking Off,” “(I Don’t Know What’s Going) On,” others) reminds me of how a Dr. Seuss character would sing. As has been noted by other writers, his voice also has the uncanny ability to evoke seasonal moods, and I think it even has the ability to call forth imagery. For me, the texture of Smith’s tear-soaked voice calls to mind wintry landscapes and surrealistic impressions.

In the song “High,” from “Wish,” Robert Smith seems to be channeling the playful spirit of Dr. Seuss, as the song lyrics feature Seussian wordplay. In particular, Smith uses nouns as adjectives (“sky as a kite”) adjectives as nouns (“the how you move”), and nouns as verbs (“the way you fur”). Seuss was fond of these grammatical idosyncracies also; for example, he has a story whose title uses a verb as a noun - The Thinks you Can Think - and in Oh Say Can you Say, Seuss speaks of “the quacks Blue quacks,” using the first “quack” unusually as a noun and the second “quack” in its more ubiquitous usage, as a verb.

Also in “High,” Smith makes use of the absurd logic and nonsensical similes that that Seuss might use: “When I see you sticky as lips/as licky as tricks/I can’t lick that far.”

The Cure singles “Boys Don’t Cry,” “Friday in Love,” “Cut Here” and “Taking Off” and “(I Don’t Know What’s Going) On” also have Seussian similarities. In “Boys Don’t Cry,” “Taking Off,” and “(I Don’t Know What’s Going) On” the Seuss spirit is alive in the meter, childlike tone, and lryical execution. “Taking Off” contains examples of internal rhyme (“But tonight I climb with you / Tonight / So high with you / Tonight I shine with you/ Tonight / Oh I'm so alive with you” ) are similar to Seuss’s own rhyme scheme.

And “Friday I’m in Love” contains the meter and childike cataloging the likes of which Seuss might employ: “I don’t care if Monday’s blue/ Tuesday’s gray and Wednesday too/Thursday I don’t care about you/it’s Friday I’m in love,” and “Monday you can break my heart/Tuesday, Wednesday fall apart/Thursday doesn’t even start/it’s Friday I’m in Love.” Compare this to “Yes some are red/And some are blue/Some are old/And some are new,” from One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish or “I do not like them in a house/I do not like them with a mouse/I do not like them here or there/I do not like them anywhere,” from Green Eggs and Ham.

In “Cut Here,” even though the lyrics focus on loss and the anger that trails that loss, the lines “Dizzy Mr. Busy/Fizzy” and “Silly Mr. Dilly” remind us of the Seussian invention of rhyming characters (Yertle the Turtle, Daisy-Head Maisey, etc.).

Smith’s singing on these singles sound like pre-pubescent warblings, sometimes even like the anguished yelps of small boys. This serves to further the Seussian parallels; young children’s tender voices often erupt from the pages of Seuss’s works.

The boyish, dreamy hand and facial gestures that Robert makes on stage and in videos remind me of Alice in Wonderland creatures, like the mischievous Cheshire Cat and his disappearing smile, or the characters at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. Indeed, many Cure videos are a lot like the Disney movie of “Alice in Wonderland.” They have an inherent upside-down logic to them, their own absurdist sense. “The Caterpillar,” my favorite of all Cure videos, embodies Lewis Caroll-inspired imagery - the snaky caterpillar puppet at the beginning, the wobbly piano, the glimpses of butterflies fluttering around in a glass garden. Even Robert Smith’s make-up smeared visage, tumultuous, towering coif and sinuous dream-like movements call to mind Carroll’s “through the looking glass” world of misshapen logic. Smith seems like an otherworldly creature in this video, a not-quite human character out of some warped children’s book. In many of the Cure videos Smith assumes a comic book persona that is both joyously naive yet quaintly impish.

“The Love Cats,” “Why Can’t I Be You” and “Friday I’m in Love” videos are also parallel to the “Alice in Wonderland” movie, the first two with their slightly sinister playfulness, and the last one with its capricious, ever-changing backdrop and costumes.

Certainly a more exhaustive treatment of The Cure and their artistic kin could lend an even more dramatic understanding of how the band’s magical music manages to weave in the sensibilities of the visual and literary arts.* The preceding can only scratch the surface of such intriguing analogues.

*Filmmaker David Lynch and visual artist Heronymous Bosch are two artists whose Cure-kinship remains as yet unexplored by me; look for an update sometime soon!

CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER PART II: THE CURE ART PARALLELS

2050-07-06T11:08:00.000-04:00

MUNCH/DALI/MIRO/GOYA

MUNCH

Girl on a Bridge

Vampire

Dance of Life

Ashes

DALI

Woman with Drawers

Persistence of Memory

The Temptation of St. Anthony

MIRO

People and Dog Under Sun

Bleu II

Pintura

GOYA

The 3rd of May 1808

Two Old Men Eating

Saturn Devouring His Children

Two Old Men

CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER PART III: THE CURE LITERARY PARALLELS

2050-07-06T10:59:00.002-04:00

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RIMBAUD/POE/SEUSS

Arthur Rimbaud: Selected lines

“The wolves howl back from the violet forest: and on the horizon the sky is hell-red”

“You will close your eyes, so as not to see through the glass, the evening shadows pulling faces”

“a thousand dreams burn softly inside of me”

“oh! how I wish i were laid among the Dead who are drenched in the waters of the night!”

“I was full young, and Christ tainted my breath”

“I have dreamed of the green night of the dazzled snows, the kiss rising slowly to the eyes of the seas.”

“Ecstasy, nightmare, sleep in a nest of flames.”

“...behold that it ends with angels of fire and ice”

“Afterwards, a ballet of well-known seas and nights...”

(From the books Saison en Enfer and Les Illuminations)

Edgar Allen Poe: Selected stanzas

Dim vales - and shadowy floods -
and cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can’t discover
For the tears that drip all over:
Huge moons there wax or wane -
again--again--again”

(From “Fairy-Land”)

At midnight, in the month of June
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim
Exhales from out her golden rim
And softly dripping, drop by drop
Upon the quite mountaintop
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.

(From “The Sleeper”)

The angles, not half so happy in Heaven,
went envying her and me-
Yes! That was the reason (as all men know,
In the kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud
chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

(From “Annabel Lee”)

Dr. Seuss: Scattered Lines

Yes, some are red. And some are blue.
Some are old. And some are new.

Some are sad. And some are glad.

And some are very very bad.

We see them come.
We see them go.
Some are fast.
And some are slow.
Some are high.
And some are low.

(From One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish)

There are so many Thinks
That a Thinker can think!

Think of Light.
Think of Bright.
Think of Stairs
in the Night.

Oh the thinks you can think up if only you try!

(From The Thinks You Can Think!)

Robert Smith: Scattered lyrics

I drown at night in your house
pretending to swim

(From “In Your House”)

Sleeping children in their blue soft rooms
still dream

(From “Primary”)

Rape me like a child
christened in blood
painted like an unknown saint

(From “Faith”)

Scream
As she tries to push him over
Helpless and sick
With teeth of madness
Jump jump dance and sing
Sideways across the desert
A charcoal face
Bites my hand
Time is sweet
Derange and disengage everything

(From “A Short Term Effect”)

Catching haloes on the moon
gives my hands the shapes of angels

(From “The Hanging Garden”)

And dust on the lips of a vision of hell
I laughed in the mirror for the first time in a year

(From “The Figurehead”)
Give me your eyes
that I might see the blind man kissing my hands
The sun is humming
my head turns to dust as he plays on his knees

(From “A Strange Day”)

I was cold as I mouthed the words
and crawled across the mirror

Ice in my eyes
and eyes like ice don’t move
screaming at the moon
another past time
your name
like ice in my heart

(From “Cold”)

An image of the queen
echoes round the sweating bed
sour yellow sounds inside my head

Pushing my life through your open eyes

(From “Pornography”)

I called you after midnight
Then ran until I burst
I passed the howling woman
and stood outside your door

I kissed you in the water
and made your dry lips sing
I saw you look like a Japanese baby
In an instant I remembered everything

(From “The Walk”)

The sky coloured perfect
As the man slipped away
Waving with a last vanilla smile...

(From “Lament”)

But we slept all night in the virgin's bed
And dreamed of death
And breathed like sick dogs

(From “Shake Dog Shake”)

Shapes in the drink like Christ
Cracks in the pale blue wall

Flowers in your mouth and the same dry song
The routine from laughter land
Sixteen white legs and a row of teeth
They watch you in secrecy

(From “Piggy in the Mirror”)

She flies outside this cage
Singing girlmad words
I keep her dark thoughts deep inside
As black as stone

(From “Birdmad Girl”)

Get away from me
Leave me alone
Like the pig on the stairs
Hanging
In a groovy purple shirt

Slit the cats like cheese
Then eat the sweet sticky things

Blood thick swimming round your feet
As you're choking
Choking
Choking on the fleshy words

(From “Give Me It”)

As stiff as toys
And tall as men
And swaying like the wind torn trees
She talked about the empty world
With eyes like poisoned birds

(From “The Empty World”)

A nightmare of you
Of death in the pool
I see no further now than this dream
The trembling hands of the trembling man
Hold my mouth
To hold in a scream

I am paralysed by the Blood of Christ
Though it clouds my eyes
I can never stop

(From “Kyoto Song”)

If only tonight we could sleep
In a bed made of flowers
If only tonight we could fall
In a deathless spell
If only tonight we could slide
Into deep black water
And breathe
And breathe...

Then an angel would come
With burning eyes like stars
And bury us deep
In his velvet arms

And the rain would cry
As our faces slipped away
And the rain would cry

(“If Only Tonight We Could Sleep”)

You
Soft and only
You
Lost and lonely
You
Strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You're just like a dream...

I opened up my eyes
And found myself alone
Alone
Alone above a raging sea
That stole the only girl I loved
And drowned her deep inside of me

(From “Just Like Heaven”)

I found you
In a chain of flowers
Sleeping like a marble girl
Sleeping in another world...

(From “Chain of Flowers”)

And in my dreams I was a child
Flowers in my mouth and in my eyes
And I was floating through the colours of a sky
Up to the stars and angels

Up up up to heaven
Up up up forever
Up up up to heaven
Up up up forever

(From “To the Sky”)

On candystripe legs the spiderman comes
Softly through the shadow of the evening sun
Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead
Looking for the victim shivering in bed
Searching out fear in the gathering gloom

(From “Lullaby”)

Remembering
You standing quiet in the rain
As I ran to your heart to be near
And we kissed as the sky fell in
Holding you close
How I always held close in your fear
Remembering
You running soft through the night
You were bigger and brighter and wider than snow
And screamed at the make-believe
Screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your courage
To let it all go

Remembering
You fallen into my arms
Crying for the death of your heart
You were stone white
So delicate
Lost in the cold
You were always so lost in the dark
Remembering
You how you used to be
Slow drowned
You were angels
So much more than everything

(From “Pictures of You”)

Dropping through sky
Through the glass of the roof
Through the roof of your mouth
Through the mouth of your eye
Through the eye of the needle
It's easier for me to get closer to heaven
Than ever feel whole again

(From “Disintegration”)

As I spitting splitting blood red
Breaking windows in my heart
And the past is taunting
Fear of ghosts
Is forcing me apart

(From “Fear of Ghosts”)

Hopelessly drift
In the eyes of the ghost again
Down on my knees
And my hands in the air again
Pushing my face in the memory of you again

(From “Untitled”)

When I see you sticky as lips
As licky as trips
I can't lick that far
But when you pout
The way you shout out loud
It makes me want to start
And when I see you happy as a girl
That swims in a world of magic show
It makes me bite my fingers through
To think I could've let you go

And when I see you kitten as a cat
Yeah as smitten as that
I can't get that small
Tthe way you fur
The how you purr
It makes me want to paw you all
And when I see you happy as a girl
That lives in a world of make-believe
It makes me pull my hair all out
To think I could've let you leave

(From “High”)

And so we watch the sun come up
From the edge of the deep green sea
And she listens like her head's on fire

I've never been so
Colourfully-see-through-head before
I've never been so
Wonderfully-me-you-want-some-more

(From “The Edge of the Deep Green Sea”)

I don't care if Mondays black
Tuesday Wednesday heart attack
Thursday never looking back
It's Friday I'm in love

(From “Friday I’m in Love”)
Remember how it used to be
When the stars would fill the sky
Remember how we used to dream
Those nights would never end
Those nights would never end

(From “To Wish Impossible Things”)

I lift my lips from kissing you
To kiss the sky
Cloud soft and blue
And slow the sun melts down
Into your golden words for me

(From “This Twilight Garden”)

"Oh don't talk of love" the shadows purr
Murmuring me away from you
"Don't talk of worlds that never were
The end is all that's ever true
There's nothing you can ever say
Nothing you can ever do... "
Still every night I burn
Every night I scream your name

But every night I burn
Every night I call your name
Every night I burn
Every night I fall again
Every night I burn
Scream the animal scream
Every night I burn
Dream the crow black dream

(From “Burn”)

THAT WAS THE JUPITER CRASH
DRAWN TOO CLOSE AND GONE IN A FLASH
JUST A FEW BRUISES IN THE REGION OF THE SPLASH...

SHE LEFT TO THE SOUND OF THE SEA
SHE JUST DRIFTED AWAY FROM ME
SO MUCH FOR GRAVITY...

(From “Jupiter Crash”)

THERE'S A THIN WHITE COLD NEW MOON AND THE SNOW IS COMING DOWN
AND THE NEON BRIGHT TOKYO LIGHTS FLICKER THROUGH THE CROWD
I'VE BEEN DRIFTING AROUND FOR HOURS AND I'M LOST AND I'M TIRED
WHEN A WHISPER IN MY EAR INSATIABLE BREATHES
"WHY DON'T YOU FOLLOW ME INSIDE?... "

(From “Watching Me Fall”)

NOTHING I AM
NOTHING I DREAM
NOTHING IS NEW
NOTHING I THINK OR BELIEVE IN OR SAY
NOTHING IS TRUE

(From “The Last Day of Summer”)

"I SAID I LOVE YOU" I SAID... YOU DIDN'T SAY A WORD
JUST HELD YOUR HANDS TO YOUR SHINING EYES
AND I WATCHED AS THE TEARS RAN THROUGH YOUR FINGERS
HELD YOUR HANDS TO YOUR SHINING EYES AND CRIED...

(From “There is No If”)

"THIS DREAM NEVER ENDS" YOU SAID
"THIS FEELING NEVER GOES
THE TIME WILL NEVER COME TO SLIP AWAY"
"THIS WAVE NEVER BREAKS" YOU SAID
"THIS SUN NEVER SETS AGAIN
THESE FLOWERS WILL NEVER FADE"
"THIS WORLD NEVER STOPS" YOU SAID
"THIS WONDER NEVER LEAVES
THE TIME WILL NEVER COME TO SAY GOODBYE"
"THIS TIDE NEVER TURNS" YOU SAID
"THIS NIGHT NEVER FALLS AGAIN”

(From “Bloodflowers”)

BUT HOW MANY TIMES CAN I WALK AWAY
AND WISH "IF ONLY... "
HOW MANY TIMES CAN I TALK THIS WAY
AND WISH "IF ONLY... "
KEEP ON MAKING THE SAME MISTAKE
KEEP ON ACHING THE SAME HEARTBREAK

(From “Cut Here”)

I had to think to breathe
my heart burst
we moved in silence really slowly away from the world
as we drove a strange silence
that moment
nothing will ever be the same
nothing will ever be the same
nothing will ever be the same

In his eyes as we turn no eternity of life
In his eyes as we turn no infinity of why
In his eyes as we turn no beautiful goodbye

(From “This Morning”)

Say it's the same sun spinning in the same sky
Say it's the same stars streaming in the same night
Tell me it's the same world whirling through the same space
Tell me it's the same time tripping through the same day
Oh tell me it's the same boy burning in the same bed
Tell me it's the same blood breaking in the same head
Say it's the same taste taking down the same kiss

But the sun is cold - the sky is wrong
The stars are black - the night is gone
The world is still - the space is stopped
The time is out - the day is dropped

(From “Labyrinth”)

A Pornographic Cure: Pornography Review

2010-04-12T12:50:00.010-04:00

The idea of pornography is one that is abhorrent for some, and titillating for others. Still others exhibit muddled feelings about it, grudgingly acknowledging its ability to arouse while at the same time harboring shame over the arousal.

The Cure’s Robert Smith gave the “Pornography” title to his dour 1982 masterwork in order give a recreated feeling to the notion of pornography. Typically, pornography is shocking to the senses; even those who like it are jolted from their mundane reveries into a violent, vulgar world. Of course, this is WHY they like it – it proffers a blunt antidote to bland reality. And the very properties of violence and vulgarity are also the reasons it repels others.

Smith’s conceptual experiment in “didactic diction” was a success. By taking a word laden with overtly "perverse" sexual associations and audaciously affixing it to an assemblage of tunes that, surface-wise, anyway, have very little to do with the original concept, he transformed the word’s meaning, or at least imbued it with daringly new dimensions. Whereas before the word “pornography” had a connotative atmosphere of disturbingly graphic eros, now it took on an aura of existential terror.

“Pornography” The Cure album positively drips with dreariness. And yet, it wouldn’t be fair to pigeonhole it as JUST an exercise in eerie pathos. Otherworldly, mercurially transcendent, harrowing spirituality... these words and phrases encapsulate the complex compelling nature of the album, because it is so much more than just the ponderously murky, suicide-inducing effort it's often made out to be. It clashes with nuanced contradictions... it is at once sparse and dense, clamoring and quiet. It gives rise to the paradoxical idea of poetic cacophony. Discordance never sounded so sublime.

To be sure, “Pornography” might have veered recklessly into the terrain of overwrought kitsch, like much gothic output of the 80s. But instead Robert Smith was able to reign in the histrionics and craft a remarkably mature post-punk classic. “Pornography” is frequently cited as the paradigmatic album of 80s goth, and indeed, no other album of that genre can hope to measure up to its gorgeously grandiose gloom.

The album itself is quite compact, with a total of 8 songs clocking in at around 30 minutes. Its brevity lends it its gravity. All of the songs are imperative here in order to sculpt a cohesiveness and give the album a thematic seamlessness, but for me, six are absolute stunners, while two (Short Term Effect and Cold) are merely "very good." So I will touch on those six, keeping in mind, nonetheless, the necessary nature of the others.

One Hundred Years - An opener of invigorating ferocity. Its militant fervor is matched with lyrics about the nihilistic futility of combat and of life in general. The opening line, "It doesn't matter if we all die," is jarring for its almost beatific negation of existence.

Hanging Garden – The tribal menace of this animal-themed song invokes a primitive sensibility. It was the lead single for "Pornography" and gave early Cure fans a terrorizing taste of the more belligerent side of the band, which had theretofore exuded a calm solemnity, but never such bestial brooding.

Siamese Twins – With its death-march beat, Siamese Twins lyrically mirrors this doom-infused rhythm, exploring the topic of loveless sex with a prostitute which results in a strangely zombified state. “Is it always like this?” is the depressively wailed refrain that haunts long after the song has ceased.

Figurehead - The centerpiece of “Pornography,” and the best “dark” song in The Cure’s catalogue. Figurehead is a baroquely morose opera whose startlingly surrealistic lyrics summon repressed guilt that gnaws like "spiders inside" and that creepily calls forth "the dust of a vision of hell." Figurehead sounds like it was recorded in a dungeon before time began.

Strange Day - This song is seductively mystical with its lushly dark tones and apocalyptic lyrics. Here, Smith revels in the "eye/blind" motif, seeming to suggest that slipping away into oblivion can be an almost lucidly blissful experience.

Pornography - A perfectly trippy and creepy coda. The album's architecture builds from exhilirating bellicosity (100 Years), to bleak tirades (Short Term Effect through Figurehead) to sullen metaphysics (Strange Day and Cold) to a final foray into aggressive avant garde aesthetics. The song is one part actual sonics and one part manic flurry of TV sounds... apparently a televised debate about pornography, but the voices are reversed for added freaky effect. Here, as elsewhere, deteriorating mental states is the central lyrical topic, explored through viciously bitter vocals and driven home by a horror movie synth line and insane asylum drums. The song radiates a truly terrifying vibe of psychosis, as the singer has clearly disintegrated into lunacy.

Sexual vice is what most people think of when they hear the word "pornography," but with his 1983 album, Robert Smith effectively metamorphosed the meaning of the word, digging out its nuances and steeping it in an aura of metaphysical torment. "Pornography" captures the sinister eloquence of a controversial concept and in so doing gives us some of the best and bleakest music of the 1980s.

DECEMBER DREAM: Review of Carson Daly and MySpace Secret Show

2008-12-23T01:46:00.003-05:00

When it comes to the Cure, I am, indeed, a Hungry Ghost. My appetite is never sated where they are involved. The difference, of course, between Robert’s Hungry Ghost and mine is that RSX’s is more focused on materialistic gains, whereas I am concerned only with the spiritual sustenance that The Cure serves up in luscious abundance.

So when I planned my flight to California for the weekend of 12/12/08, it was merely to attend a mini-concert given by the Cure on the Carson Daly show, as well as to commune with treasured COF friends in La-La-Land. I had not yet learned about all of the other talk show events or even the KROQ festival. When I did learn of those events, I considered that I might change my flight in order to at least attend the festival. But I decided to wait on that decision until I got to LA.

Upon landing in LA on the night of Thursday, 12/11, and meeting up with my wacky twin Chris and the adorable Sara, we learned via Tina Marie that people were already camping out at the Daly show. This threw us all into a frenzy of nerves, as we had been hoping to catch some precious zzzzzzzzz’s before lining up early the next day. Agitated, we snagged our rental car and flew across town to our hotel. After checking in, we whizzed over to the NBC studios to find about 15 people camped out. These were hardcore campers, equipped with sleeping bags and blankets and prepared to suffer the LA winter chill in order to see their favorite band in action.

We hung around for a bit, mingling with lovely Cure peeps and being treated to The Curse’s rocking renditions of Cure faves. Being the near-senior citizens we are, Chris and I finally decided to doze for a bit back at the hotel, while vibrant youths Sara and Andy camped out. We felt guilty lest the hardcore campers feel resentful at our laziness, so we came back as soon as possible.

There are zonky drive-through stories to relate, but I won’t; suffice it to say that severe lack of sleep had taken its toll on all of us and we (perhaps especially I) acted like inebriated teenagers as we ordered our food. Indeed, I had to apologize to one of the workers: “We’re not drunk, I swear,” I stammered out amid guffaws. Oh, and there was the incident of the “big-ass diet coke,” which I am sure the order-taker appreciated very much. She seemed rather relieved as we hauled our car outta there.

There was also the fortuituous moment of turning on KROQ at the exact moment that Boys Don’t Cry started up, and of us grooving to it in the car as we made our way back to NBC. See incriminating video evidence here.

So yeah, back at Daly, we met up with more fabulous COF/miscellaneous Curey peeps.

And really, the wait in line went by fairly quickly, all things considered. There was much mirth as we mingled and phoned friends like DJ and so on. And of course, Keith Uddin and guitar tech Jeremy made an appearance, and so that was a treat. Time zooms by when you’re having fun with friends.

What was excruciating, actually, at least for me, was enduring the taping of the god-awful Carson Daly show. This was NOT the way to be initiated into talk show tapings. I have long wanted to attend a taping of the David Letterman show, and perhaps I will one day. But Daly could never dream to rise to the quirky caliber of Letterman. His show is pukeable, in all candor; the only highlight besides the Cure was when Rev’s husband, Sean, joined a dance contest and actually won, owing more to his easy charm and humor, perhaps, than actual dance skillz.

So throughout the insufferably bad Carson Daly taping, every time The Cure was mentioned, the audience erupted into giddy screams. The place was teeming with Cure fans, and even Carson Daly acknowledged that we were the best audience he had ever had. Yeah, dumbledork, it certainly wasn’t because we like YOU; Cure fans just happen to be a wildly fanatical bunch.

So anyway. The Cure finally came on, and zipped through three songs: The Only One, Sleep When You’re Dead, and Boys Don’t Cry. We were hoping that the Daly producers would allow The Cure to play longer, and indeed RSX was ready and willing, but noooooooooo. Not only did we have to suffer through the most staggeringly dumbed-down, embarassingly humorless talk show around, but they cruelly deprived us of more crunchy, gooey Curey goodness. Bastards.

But the songs sounded great, the Cure boyz looked fanfuckingtastically fuckable, and the audience grooved giddily. A good time was had by all, and several COFy peeps can be seen in the Carson Daly video, to be found here. The backs of Chris and me are to be witnessed at 1:35 - we were rocking like dorky dorks and slurping up every yummable Curey moment.

After the show, Rev got a special treat. Before the mini-concert, she had given Keith her specially-made and frankly darling Nightmare Before Curemas t-shirts (to be seen here) to pass to the band. Upon exiting the show, Rev was handed one of the shirts, signed by each member of the Cure. She burst into joyful tears as all crowded around to bask in her ebullience.

So after the show and a bit of wild-goose chase stalking across LA, Andy, Sara, Chris and I decided to grab a bite of grub. While gobbling down our overpriced, puke-inducing munchables, we began discussing in cavalier fashion a few of the “hints” we had heard earlier in the day about The Cure’s Saturday activities. Keith Uddin had asked a few of us what we were doing on Saturday, and we replied that of course we would be seeing The Curse. Keith had slyly responded, “That’s what you THINK you’re gonna be doing.” And another person in line had said that someone had told her to “keep Saturday open.”

These tantalizing hints enticed us to check COF when we returned to the hotel. We furiously refreshed the page for about an hour as Craig naughtily teased us with post titles such as “Get Ready!” “It Could Be Anything!” and so on. Anticipation began to mount as it dawned on us that this was to be something truly magnificent, not a mere appearance at a record store or something akin to that.

I was actually becoming a tangle of nerves as I was starting to realize I would get very little sleep that weekend. Normally I can deal with a sleepless night once in a while, but an entire weekend of no shut-eye can really exact its toll. “Godfuckingdammit, I’m not gonna get any sleep this weekend, am I?” I shouted in mock annoyance.

So when COF finally announced that the Cure would be playing a Secret Show at famed LA club The Troubabdor on Saturday night, we all launched into manic shrieks - boisterousness that actually earned us a “visit” from one of the hotel managers. LOLLABLEZ.

And actually, truth be told, we immediately began feeling badly for The Curse, as we had been looking forward to seeing their show, and knew that they likely could not get out of their commitment to play, and that their audience size would severely dwindle.

So once we read the details that told us that the Troubador line-up would begin at noon, I suggested that we attempt to snooze for a while and start camping out at around 6 am. But middle-aged level heads were not to prevail that weekend - thankfully. The adorable and vivacious twenty-year old AndytheCurefan stated firmly, “I’m gonna camp out now. Drop me off.” After a bit of wrangling back and forth, we all decided that it would be best to camp out together, in the car, and attempt to doze there. It was about 1 am at this point.

Naturally, very little sleep was to be had in the car, as we were by turns delirious and anxious. Anytime we would finally sink into sleep, in my zombified state I would begin to sing verses from “The Reasons Why,” which would break us all into giddy giggles. And then of course there was Sara’s infamously vulgar pronouncement about Porl, which out of courtesy to her I will not reiterate here. Suffice it to say it was hysterically funny and became an oft-repeated phrase throughout the rest of the weekend.

As other people began showing up, Midnight and her Cure group devised a brilliant numbering system. Andy, Sara, Chris and I were the first to show up so naturally we were the first four numbers. Everyone who followed complied with this savvy system.

The wait for the Secret Show wristbands was fun in its way, but it also had its frustrating moments. At one point we learned that we might have to have a print out our MySpace pages that showed The Cure and MySpace Secret Shows in our top eight friends. Naturally this threw everyone into a frenzy, as people began scrambling to find ways to print their pages. But, alas, it was all for naught, as soon enough Keith Uddin nixed that idea.

Once we received our wristbands, we learned just how cruel the Troubadorians could be. Instead of allowing us to wait patiently by the side of the building according to our numbering system, they told us to scatter from the premises until 7pm, a mere hour before the show. This forced us into yet another anxiety mode, as we had waited eleven fucking hours for the rare privilege to be first in line! They had even told us that they would cut our wristbands if they caught us on the Troubador property. My natural feistiness kicked in at the mere mention of this inane idea: “What,” I demanded, “they’re gonna risk assualt charges just so they could prove a point about loitering on their oh-so-precious property?”

But yeah, I stayed the hell away anyway. I am, after all, a wimp.

Late in the afternoon, clusters of people began forming at various spots close to the Troubador. Finally, at one point, we all gathered across the street, and when the sacred hour of 7 pm tolled, we made a mad dash to the Troubador line. It was really quite humorous, but ulimately egregiously ridiculous, as there was no coherent logic in the Troubador staff forcing us to make such fools of ourselves, and risk injury in the process.

Once inside the venue, Chris, Sara and I quickly found coveted spots in the front on Porl’s side, since Sara is enamored of him and his playing. And really, at this point, we all are. This feels weirdly disloyal to say, but for me these days Porl somewhat eclipses Robert. And if you manage to eclipse Robert Smith, that is nothing short of a miracle. There is something so charismatic and yet so REAL and grounded about Porl: his lusciously inked physique, his punk-glam sartorial style, his sweet smile and shimmering eyes, and of course his flamboyant fret-shredding that is mesmerizing to witness up close.

Andy, on the other hand, was hankering for some Simon action, so he positioned himself in front of the sexy bass-chuggers’ stage spot. Later on during the show, however, Andy worked his way to Porl’s side to be with us.

As we waited for The Cure to make their appearance, we humbly took in our surroundings. The Troubador plays host to up and coming bands, normally, or at least bands that have not yet made the huge-time, and as such, is a fairly intimate venue. It does feature balconies, but other than that, it resembles your typical neighborhood bar, imbued with maybe a bit more class - but definitely not the type of place you would expect to see a band of the Cure’s caliber. Unless, of course, a band of the Cure’s caliber decided to play a secret show to 200 people that was abruptly announced the night before.

The Cure finally sauntered onto stage about an hour after their appointed time slot. As they descended the stairs that led up to their tiny dressing room, shrieks and shouts bellowed forth from the euphoric crowd. And as they launched into the first transcendent notes of the lushly delectable Underneath the Stars, we collectively swooned. Here we were witnessing a 30-year old legendary iconic fucking band - the band that practically invented post-punk and that certainly became an indelible cultural influence, the band that pioneered the minimalist sound that later swerved into crushing nihlism that later veered into warped territory that later U-Turned into sunny pop textures that later swayed into a toxic combination of any and every genre imaginable - in a tiny intimate venue that allowed one to shower in the sacred salty sweat of Robert Smith, if one so perversely chose. Or at the very least, enabled us to discern the details of Porl’s elaborate tats, or ogle Robert’s yummable chest hairs and gaze into his sensually cerulean eyes, or, hell, if you were audacious enough, slap Simon’s skinny sexy butt as it writhed around in his PHTs.

So yeah. It’s about the music, of course, and by the end of the night, our eardrums were busted clear through, owing to our being practically on top of one of Porl’s floor amps, plus being about two feet from his other amps and of course, from the guit-god himself. Make that about one foot, if even that much. We were so close we coulda touched his shoes - which I refrained from doing, out of respect, of course, but mostly out of fear of being kicked out and humiliated.

It was truly astonishing, though, to be in such precious proximity to this criminally underrated fretboard freak, as he worked his wizardry on the coiled strings. Our eyes were focused mainly on him for much of the night, and it was sheer joy to watch Sara, a burgeoning guitar player herself, bask in his glittering glory. We made lots of intense eye contact with Porl throughout the night and gleaned many shining smiles from him. Indeed, I was a bit, um, orgasmic at times, screaming to him that, “you fucking rule!” and so on, to which he responded with happily baffled grins. Ah, to be looked at askance by Porl Thompson - a dream realized.

So yeah. The band tore through a scorching set laden with new songs and tempered with old faves. They played ten songs from the new album, which was a real treat since 4:13 Dream has rapidly evolved into one of my top 5 Cure albums. Highlights from the new album (besides, UTS, of course) included the rockin’ The Reasons Why (see Chris, Sara, and me rocking out to it here), the groovy Freakshow (another vid featuring the trio of dorks), the Pornography-era-tainted The Scream, and the frantically mad Baby Rag Dog Book. Indeed, the latter two, so searingly manic, inverted my nipples and I have not been the same since. Mmmmmmmmmm concave nipples. Kinda hurts, though, but I’m sure they’ll snap back into place one day.

So anyway. Robert’s deliciously drawn-out “screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam” during The Scream pretty much ripped up the room and we all exploded into a gazillion tiny screamables; Simon’s bass during Baby Rag Dog Book thundered away like Thor on steroids; and Porl’s freaky fingers fancily shredded his fretboard during the glimmering guitar parts in The Hungry Ghost - which actually was the most disappointing song of the night otherwise, attributed mainly to Robert’s oddly toned down vocals. On the album the vocals take on a quasi-falsetto, yearning tone that complement the lyrical subject matter about our never-sated materialistic society, but live Robert has taken to singing the song in a more whispery way, which would be fine except that he seems to barely exude any enthusiasm in his performance. It’s a bit bizarre, but I am assuming he is merely trying to rest his voice - and he did finally pick up the tone a bit later into the song.

As far as the old songs, there are really too many highlights to enumerate; suffice it to say everything was a fucking highlight, as the concert was insanely intense from start to finish. It is all still such a blur - I have yet to fully process it, as the show had such a startlingly surreal quality, owing to its abrupt nature and to the Troubador’s quaintly cozy confines.

But okay, fine, you want highlights, you Vampire of the Vicarious? I got yer highlights right here!

The Edge of the Deep Green Sea was a gorgeously blisering rendition that had everyone bouncing feverishly and thrusting our “hands in the sky”; Wrong Number was a surprise treat as usually I dislike that tuneless tune, but live it really tears up and Porl’s magical effects make it one scrumptiously sexy song; One Hundred Years always manages to blow my boobs clear off my chest, except that this time I had nailed them down so they couldn’t come loose, but they sorta shook loose anyway and I had to pick them up off the floor and re-attach them - and this was AFTER, of course, The Scream had inverted my nipples, so it was kinda awkward re-attaching concave-nipple boobs - and with rusty nails, no less.

Let’s see, what else? Oh yeah, Primary owned my ass and took first AND last names - such a post-punky gem that really set the mood for the old skool encore which always succeeds in flaying my skin straight off. It’s tough to be me, really, with flayed skin and nailed-on boobs and inverted nipples. I must work on rectifying my physical appearance.

But the old skool encore, really, is what makes a Cure show so dementedly transcendently euphorically bouyant. By the time the old skool encore came on I was just about wiped out from perilous dearth of sleep and ecstatic lunacy at seeing the Cure so up close and personal, and then they had to go and taunt us with plucky punkiness, which started hauntingly and seductively with The Forest, slid playfully into Boys Don’t Cry, then dove frenetically into the Jumping Someone Else’s Train/Grinding Halt/10:15 Saturday Night/Killing an Arab mania that sets everyone aflame and then crassly leaves us for dead, mere crumbling skeletons of our formerly fleshed-out selves.

So fuck yeah, Chris and Sara and Andy and I are by this time madly pogo-ing like freaky fools and not giving a shit - at one point I about bounce through the ceiling but manage to temper my deranged effervesence, somehow, some way. But then the Cure lads screech into their psychotically psychedelic version of Killing an Arab, and my nipples are being further inverted and my skin is melting off and I’m about to crash through the ceiling of the famed Troubador.

It’s too much, really; it’s like being in a hyrbid Cure-Heaven/Hell, where it’s ethereally blissful to be watching the Cure but so infernally intense that your psyche and your soul feel tortured by the cunning magic of it all. The Cure are paradoxical bi-polar devil-angels who play with beatific vengeance. They whip you into an elated fervor and then slay you with their sinister sorcery.

It was, indeed, a 12:13 Dream, to see these insane icons in such intimate environs, in much the same setting as ones they played when they were young and unknown, and to joyfully bathe in their cosmic presence, one that uplifts and devastates and energizes and surprises ... again and again and again and again.

And then It’s Over and everyone goes home. It’s not same you, and it never really is.

Cureyness FOREVER, yo.

More Troubador videos can be seen at COF.

4:13 Dream Review

2008-11-10T14:51:00.004-05:00

The 13th Scream by Cosmic Icons

The Cure's new album, 4:13 Dream, starts with a whisper and ends with a bang. The whisper, of course, is the lushly layered dirge, Underneath the Stars, which in devastatingly grandiose fashion invokes the sublime bliss of cosmic love married to the interlocked rhythms of the moon and the ocean. The bang, of course, is a manic psycho-billy freakout, It's Over, formerly and more evocatively named Baby Rag Dog Book. And in between these polarized bookends are various shades of quiet utterances and mercurial mood-pieces.

The 4:13 of the title, of course, is anchored in the pragmatic – the band has whittled down to 4 members on this, their 13th album, and the 4:13 can harken back to 10:15 Saturday Night, one of the Cure's first singles. But the title has obvious temporal connotations as well. It recalls the eerie hours of the morning, when one might awaken in a chilled fever following an ominous nightmare or be lulled into a hazy reverie after a particularly cozy dream.

Some listeners and reviewers have found 4:13 Dream to be musically disjointed, but I find the collection to be rather pleasingly cohesive even within its daringly diverse range of styles. The dreamy Underneath the Stars flows sensually into The Only One, a spry sparkling ode to the raunchy side of love. The Only One slides into the buoyantly introspective The Reasons Why, which then bounces into the giddy, off-kilter Freakshow, a song that provides a burst of fierce, funky jubilation between that and the folksy, vaguely country Sirensong. Indeed, Sirensong is one of the more surprising cuts on the album, given Robert Smith's past denigration of country music. The song utilizes a twangy slide guitar and alt.country-style lyrics and warblings to intriguing effect, evincing once again that Robert and gang are the most capable of genre-jumpers.

The Real Snow White is the only misplaced song in the entire effort, in my estimation. It's not glaringly out of place, but it doesn't really bring much to the table; it's rather deflated in mood and execution and lacks the palpable luster of the other songs. On the other hand, perhaps the song's sluggish grind has seductive appeal for some.

The Hungry Ghost revives the fluid feel, with its shimmering guitar line and achingly yearning vocals. Switch's injection of grit and spit propels the album toward its inevitable chaotic climax, but not before swooning right into The Perfect Boy, a gleaming pop piece with tinges of tearful longing. This song smoothes the way for the quirky love ditty, This. Here and Now. With You. Things get progressively more aggressive, as Sleep When I'm Dead's searing ethereal rocker tears into the sinister Scream. Indeed, The Scream is the apocalyptic lead-in to the implosive album-closer It's Over. Really, The Scream is most akin to songs from the Cure's landmark homage to nihilism, Pornography, but it also contains clues into the druggy pyschedelia of a Top song (it's as though Pornography and the Top married and had a child named Topography). The Scream, of course, is the aural partner to Edvard Munch's infamous swirling visuals and as such terrifically encapsulates the anguished howl unleashed upon experiencing a sense of sinking existential dread.

Technically speaking, the album is tightly focused, with freakishly talented Porl Thompson's fancy fretwork providing a polished glimmer to the songs. Unlike its predecessor, the self-titled album, the production on 4:13 is less marred by murkiness and the vocals are more integrated into the music as opposed to lumped gratingly on top of it. However, there are still some issues as far as compression, and a sort of drowned-sound effect on songs like Underneath the Stars (although such an effect is mesmerizingly fitting for It's Over). But overall it's a much more palatably mixed effort, and brings out the latent shine of some of the songs like The Hungry Ghost and The Reasons Why.

Lyrically, Smith's words meld his patented poetic style with more stripped-down straightforward sensibilities that interweave intuitively with the music. Thematically, there is a palette of motifs: celebration of zenful romance (This. Here and Now. With You), Buddhist-inspired meanderings about our never-sated consumerist culture (The Hungry Ghost), philosophical forays into euthanasia (The Reasons Why), musings about the eternal love/lust struggle (The Perfect Boy), and solipsistic agonizing (Switch).

There is, lamentably, a cult of vicious naysayers who persistently bleat that the Cure has had nothing fresh to offer since the late 80s - and yet who tenaciously hang around album after album as martyrs for some sort of perverse cause. But the band, in my mind, has never shed an ounce of talent, and 4:13 dishes up proof of this theory in effervescent abundance. The Cure has spewed out a spate of stunningly solid albums across their 30 year career, and deserve accolades of the highest order for their ability to paint both impressionistic and expressionistic soundscapes with equal flair. Their 80s albums, of course, will always be the ones most hailed, but I do believe that this is because music is rooted in the cultural milieu of a particular era - and the decade of the 80s was a staggeringly creative one.

The actual universe may have started with a bang and will likely end with a whimper. But in the case of The Cure, the Dream commences woozily, beneath the soothing electricity of the constellations, and is codified magnificently, if boisterously, by a trippy ranting at the utter futility of it all. The dream is over; he can't take it anymore; and yet the Cure as we know it will live on into infinity. Indeed, The Cure preceded the cosmos, and will transcend it as well. Long live The Cure.

Faith Review

2008-09-06T17:23:00.004-04:00

Faith is one of those Cure albums that took years to completely grow on me. Granted, it’s not that inaccessible, but it seems I was incapable of grasping its full cosmic glory until my musical tastes matured.

Faith has now supplanted The Head on the Door as my favorite Cure album. For a while there it was in my top three, but it recently soared to the pinnacle owing to having witnessed the coveted “Full Faith Encore” in Charlotte, North Carolina on the Cure’s 4Tour.

But back in the mid-80s, when I first discovered the Cure and feverishly bought up all their albums, Faith was one of those which I thought quaint, but in no way artistically pioneering or emotionally numbing. Nowadays, I find its glacial minimalism mesmerizing, and feel that it is an album that has deeply impacted popular music in both nuanced and obvious ways. Perhaps only by glancing in the rearview mirror are we able to concede something like this, however; it has been 25 years since the release of Faith, a considerable enough expanse of time to be able to discern an album’s cultural influence.

Faith, in a sense, could be considered a concept album. It focuses on the motif of faith as both a religious and personal construct. Of course, some songs seem to veer from this theme, but I suppose in another way all the songs could be considered to overtly or covertly touch on it.

The eight songs on Faith are bookended very nicely by the haunting dirge, “The Holy Hour” and the more contemplative “Faith.” “The Holy Hour” is perhaps one of the grimmer songs the Cure have done musically, although lyrically it is not so much grim as it is darkly introspective. Here, Robert muses about his agnostic leanings - he attends a church service to explore his capacity for religious belief, and finds out by the end that he is only able to question such belief. Indeed, the church environment ends up being a suffocating mileu for him.

Aside from exploring interesting themes, the lyrics present an interesting structure - each verse is syntactically parallel to the previous, yet also builds to a climax in which he declares his inabilty to harbor religious conviction:

i kneel and wait in silence
as one by one the people slip away
into the night
the quiet and empty bodies
kiss the ground before they pray
kiss the ground
and slip away...

i sit and listen dreamlessly
a promise of salvation makes me stay
then look at your face
and feel my heart pushed in
as all around the children play
the games they tired of yesterday
they play

i stand and hear my voice
cry out
a wordless scream at ancient power
it breaks against stone
i softly leave you crying...

i cannot hold what you devour
the sacrifice of penance
in the holy hour

These lyrics fiercely resonate with me and my ideology about the near-futility of religion. And the music lures me into a transcendent trance. Robert Smith had not fully developed his voice yet during the Faith recordings, and yet his ghostly vocals hold a strange sway; their power lies in their eerie expressiveness. The music itself is so gorgeously wrought it sounds like it emanates from some otherwordly cathedral.

Faith the song is actually one of my least favorites on the album, although I do love to see it performed live. I don’t find the song as riveting as some do, although I do of course appreciate its bleak beauty. It is a fitting ending to a stunningly subtle album, and it elaborates on the ideas first touched on in the Holy Hour, asserting that there is nothing left but faith - not a corrosive faith in supernatural deities, of course, but a more buoyant faith in humanity. The song nicely enfolds the emotions of anger and angst, and even wonder and joy at being alive.

Primary is the second song on Faith and is the most upbeat number on an album otherwise overcast with somber skies. This is not to suggest that it is a happy song, per se, but it is vigorously driven by two chugging bass guitars that purely embody the post-punk ethos. Thematically the song seems to be a topic that Robert Smith forever obsesses over - the inevitable decay of youth as we move through life.

Other Voices, the third track, is sublime for its echoing vocal effects which make it sound as though it were recorded in a cave, and a bassline that betrays a vaguely funky beat.

The poetic and dreamy All Cats are Grey and the deliciously gloomy and ever-so-slightly cheesy Funeral Party further imbue the album with murky colors and an austere impressionistic sense.

Doubt is the song which many profess to be the weakest on the album, and somewhat destabilizing of the album’s morose mood , with its more frenzied punkish aesthetic. But I have really grown to love Doubt and feel it’s an essential piece to move the album foward. Its vitriol offers odd respite in such a doom-laden atmosphere; sometimes melancholy is too muted an emotion and we need the exuberance of anger to help us focus our energies.

Drowning Man, the second to last song, is for many the centerpiece of Faith, and the glum glue that holds the whole thing together. The song, of course, was inspired by the literary fantasty Gormenghast novels by Mervyn Peake. In part of the story, the character of Fuschia ends up accidentally drowning herself owing to heartbreak. The song covers this aspect of the story. Musically it epitmoizes the icy sting of post-punk and captivates the senses with its drum pad and “clap trap” effects. And it truly captures the sense of being swept away in a flood.

Faith comes from a haunted solipsistic place. Every Cure album abounds in merits, but Faith seems to be the one that is the most obsession-inducing. It seduces you into its tormented world and try as you might, you cannot escape. You are lured back time and time again into its dark poetic sounscape.

The Perfect Boy/Without You Review

2008-08-15T14:07:00.002-04:00

The Perfect Boy/Without You

Allow me to start off on an aggressively exuberant note: The Perfect Boy is fucking fabulous. Don't let anyone tell you differently. If they do, kick them in the nuts or ovaries. Better yet, poke their eardrums out with an excruciatingly sharp object. Anyone who dislikes The Perfect Boy does not deserve to listen to music anymore. The Perfect Boy is The Perfect Song, period.

I did not always feel this way, of course. Indeed, The Perfect Boy is responsible for putting me through some rather wildly anguishing mood swings. The first time I heard the live version of the song (through You Tube), I thought, "What the hell is this generic crap?" But then I gradually grew to love its simple structure and teenage angst-soaked lyrics. The soaring vocals and garagey guitar riff nicely complement each other.

And then the studio version hit the stores, and I became absolutely distraught when I heard it. The song features some reverb vocal effects on the chorus that had been lacking in the live versions. For me, the "Ooooooooooooooooooh girl" worked so elegantly well without any technical embellishments. So, the vocal effects seemed like overkill, and they ruined the song for me.

But the very next day, something happened, and it struck me that the vocal effects add texture and tension to the song. The live version is more endearlingly naive and straightforward, but the studio version has more dynamic depth. I love them both for these reasons. In a way I slightly prefer the the live version, but I think that is because it is so firmly etched into my memory. That is the peril of hearing songs live first.

Lyrically, the song narrates a story about two stock characters - a girl who wishes for a utopian romance with a boy who is merely interested in a casual carnal tryst. It shows a glaring contrast between two styles of amorous attachment, as it were.

The lyrical structure is by now a very familiar Robert Smith poetic device. Some people have complained that he overuses this device, but I would counter that his lyrics always showcase so many different styles that they defy pigeonholing. I personally love the structure he employs here and in songs like Bloodflowers, with the syntactical symmetry and parallel affirmation/ negation:

" 'YOU AND ME ARE THE WORLD"
SHE SAID
"NOTHING ELSE IS REAL
THE TWO OF US IS ALL THERE IS
THE REST IS JUST A DREAM…
ALWAYS MEANT TO BE
I CAN FEEL IT
LIKE A DESTINY THING
WRITTEN IN THE STARS
INESCAPABLE FATE
Yeah IT'S OUT OF MY HANDS
FALLING INTO YOUR ARMS' "

......

" ' Oh GIRL!
HE IS THE ONE FOR SURE
Oh GIRL!
HE IS THE PERFECT BOY' "

......

" 'Yeah ME AND YOU ARE A WORLD"
HE SAID
"BUT NOT THE ONLY ONE I NEED
THE TWO OF US IS NEVER ALL THERE IS
THAT DOESN'T HAPPEN FOR REAL
IF IT WAS MEANT TO BE US
IT WAS MEANT TO BE NOW
DON'T SEE THE SENSE IN WASTING TIME
IF YOU'RE SO SURE ABOUT THIS
LAUREL KISMET HARDY THING
YOU KNOW TONIGHT YOU'RE MINE' "

In that last quoted verse, of course, the boy flippantly derides what he deems to be the girl's naive notions of eternal love. At first glance, the cryptic fragment, "Laurel Kismet Hardy thing," eludes interpretation, but after some careful scrutiny, ends up being the most intriguing bit of the whole song. Apparently it's alluding to the comical duo, Laurel and Hardy - and according to some, a combination of that and Horatio Nelson's last words, which have been wrongly quoted throughout the years.* It's an unusual and sardonic way of saying, "Okay, fine, you believe in that destiny bullshit?"

As the song is winding down, the girl becomes painfully aware of the fact that her chosen suitor is far from ideal:

"Oh GIRL!
HE'S NOT THE ONE FOR SURE
Oh GIRL!
HE'S NOT SO WONDERFUL
Oh GIRL!
HE'S NOT THE ONE FOR SURE
Oh GIRL!
HE'S NOT THE PERFECT BOY AT ALL"

At the very end, it becomes clear that despite the obstacles, her relentless search for the perfect boy will persist.

Pure brilliance. There is nothing overly wrought here - just scintillatingly simple verse that weaves a compelling tale.

Emotionally, the song wraps melancholy, humor, exuberance, wonder, and tension into one gorgeous package - all mainly owing to Robert Smith's vocals, which, though they are mixed too loudly at times, remain captivating and evocative.

The Perfect Boy is one of the best Cure pop songs. I am partial to Freakshow for its edgy quirkiness, but The Perfect Boy is shimmering and wrenching, and has abundant potential to be a massive hit - if only the world would listen.

*Thanks to discerning posters at Chain of Flowers for this bit of information.

I can't comment right now on the b-side, Without You, because I need many more listens to fully absorb it. I don't quite grasp it musically at all; lyrically it seems to be about a failed romance or a message from Robert Smith to disgruntled fans.

Curiosa San Francisco/Sacramento Review

2008-08-03T18:03:00.004-04:00

Curiosa San Francisco/Sacramento Review
Originally posted at Chain of Flowers

[Sorry if this is somewhat lengthy...but I'm known for my loquaciousness...]

Well, my dream travels with the Cure ended last nite in Sacramento. In total, I went 6 shows, more than I had ever been to before in my 20-year fandom. You could say I was compensating for missing so many in the past. I'm still not sure why I skipped so many tours save The Prayer and Dream Tours; maybe I was smoking banana peels and just failed to notice they were in town?

Anyway, my dream culminated in meeting Robert! What a perfect closure to my journey. But more about that in a bit...

The SF and Sac shows were great, of course, if flawed; I won't give a blow by blow because I'm really too tired. The SF show featured Figurehead, which blew me the fuck away as I had NOT been expecting that. It was deliciously dark, almost terroristic in intensity. And the pop encore was silly and fun, with Robert prancing around giddily and throwing out his sexy boyishness all over the place.

The only problems with that show were a) the audience, who were zombified morons for most of the show save Lovesong and the pop encore and b) Robert's vocals were pushed up way too high and he was shouting too much. The guitars were also pushed up high but actually sounded really good. Later, at the afterparty, Jazzy asked Perry about the guitars being mixed high and Perry drunkenly slurred something to the effect of, "Yeah, I'm really pissed off."

The Sacramento audience was worlds better, if a slightly smaller crowd. They were much more into all the songs, even the new ones. EOTW got as big a response as IBD, and a lot of people sang along to Lost and Before 3.

Highlights of that show were, of course, 100 Years, The Promise, Faith, and Going Nowhere. High sounded really weird, though - I could barely recognize it. It wasn't so much bad as awkward - too slowed down. The rest of the songs really sounded amazing, however.

Roger, however, seemed like he was in a slightly foul mood, less "happy" seeming than at other shows. I know he's stoic a lot, but he seemed unhappy. Punam had made a "Roger, we love you" sign and he did smile at that, but...I dunno. Also, Robert seemed less happy in Sac than in SF, but it could just be the set...

Oh, and Simon had this written on his arm: "Your B for 50 cents!" I had to stare at it a couple of times to make sure I read it right. I was really laughing at that. I could SWEAR the origin of that saying was the MFC forum - didn't someone make a joke like that there? I could be wrong. He also had another bass that he was using that had the word "fuck" on it and skulls and such. Simon rules!

And now, the icing on the cake:

In SF, Jazzy and I went to the official Curiosa afterparty (along with some other people we'd met) at a club where Carlos from Interpol was spinning records. Punam, Sullen and others (sorry, I forgot names!) also showed up. They danced a lot while I drank a couple of beers and practically passed out from fatigue (dancing and shouting so much at Cure concerts wears these old bones down). Around 3 am, I was pretty much ready to go to bed, when I noticed a clump of people huddled around the entrance of the VIP party. I went over to see what was up, and I saw Robert chatting up a bunch of fans. We watched in frustration for what seemed like an eternity. Then Jazzy had the idea that we would simply go out back and wait by his tourbus, which we all did when they kicked us out at 4 am.

About 10 minutes passed, and shore 'nuff, Robert came out with his entourage. Sullen was really funny with his exaggerated passion (which I don't doubt is real - Sullen is really cute and passionate!), and everyone was so gleeful to be meeting Robert. There were about 6-8 of us. He posed for pix and signed autographs and was really very droll and sweet. I asked him to sign the book I had with me in my purse because I couldn't think of what else to give him, and I said, "Can you please sign my book - you know, the one you didn't write?" And he said something to the effect of, "No, really? I didn't write it?" in a very acidic tone - it was quite funny. Then he signed it and said, " The book I never wrote." He also made droll comments about our digital cameras, saying we should only get disposables as they are less complicated. I got to ask him the ONE question I have been wanting to ask him, which was why they weren't playing more Bloodflowers material. He told me it was beacuse they played so much on the last tour (I have reasons to doubt this response). I then said that they *should* be playing more BF on this tour. I am sure that sounded presumptuous, but then, when do I NOT sound that way? He said nothing in response, which I thought was rather funny. I really wish I would've told him how much I do love BF and The Cure, but hindsight is always 20/20 in such matters. As it is, I just stared and smiled a lot, and laughed with the others, who were all asking for hugs. He was very obliging with everyone; very down to earth and witty. It was at once a surreal and mundane experience.

Oh, and he looked fucking great...

Why can't life be one endless Cure concert?

P.S. I forgot to give Robert the essay I wrote linking the Cure to my favorite visual and literary artists. >:(

Sleep When I'm Dead/Down Under

2008-07-23T10:24:00.006-04:00

Of all the new released singles by The Cure, Sleep When I'm Dead is the most lackluster, in my mind. I really really like the somewhat derivative-but-still-charming The Only One, and I love the post-punk funk of Freakshow.

But this isn't to imply that Sleep is a bad song at all. It's just that, to my ears, it's the least inspired single lyrically and structurally. The high-pitched vocals are delivered with potent urgency, which gives fire to the song, and the rhythmic throb lends the tune an almost dark wave/disco feel. And of course, Porl's wah guitar is again fiercely prominent.

Some people have lamented that the studio version of Sleep When I'm Dead is rather inert, and does not match the raw energy of the live song. But I prefer the studio version because it is more dreamily textured. I like the paradox of sounds - the ethereal vocals melting within a cauldron of guitars and percussion. Interestingly, but certainly not crucially, the original song is an actual relic from the "Head on the Door" sessions. And indeed, it does sound a bit like Head's "Baby Screams" meshed with Kiss Me's "Torture." But let's not dwell on comparisons - a rather sloppy tactic of the unimaginative.

Lyrically, the song is a mixture of comical surrealism (childlike references to animals abound) and snooze-inducing banality ("take one for the team"). There are, however, a few interesting lines, such as "THAT'S A GREEN EYED PANIC CLIMB TO THE EDGE OF NOWHERE," the weird sense of which could have been exploited more throughout the song, to give eager lyric-dissectors more tools to work with. However, I can appreciate that the lyrics likely have more import that I am able to discern at this point.

Despite my reservations, Sleep When I'm Dead is a savory, mercurial song that begs to be turned up to illegal levels to absorb its full impact.

B-side Down Under is the second best song of the entire batch, in my assessment (Freakshow b-side All Kinds of Stuff being the best). It is dreamily remiscent of Wish b-sides like This Twilight Garden. Texturally, the song almost sounds like it's imitating the lyrical content, which involves the sea somehow - either symbolically or otherwise. The song is practically "drowned in sound" - swimming amidst a guitar mimicking sea-creature sounds, and floating bass-lines. It's really the most complex of all the songs, musically and lyrically. The lyrics are likely sexual in nature, although compulsive analysis has yet to confirm this. Lines like, "Disguise the stroke/entice them out/call out their number" are highly evocative, and perhaps the song truly is about an incident of "aqua-erotica." But the lyrics are opaque enough in other areas as to defy tidy deconstruction. Or perhaps I lack discernment. Anything is possible, really.

Freakshow/All Kinds of Stuff Review

2008-07-23T10:18:00.003-04:00

Freakshow/All Kinds of Stuff

Now we come to the piece de resistance of the three singles released so far. Live “Freakshow” was nothing to scribble home about - it was a fine slice of post-punk funk but nothing earthshaking (of course Robert’s accompanying dances always melt the heart). But the studio version of “Freakshow” emerges as one bad-ass beast. The mixers have worked their magic to the bone and woven quite the captivating Cure single. The post-punk and funk remain, but now there is a more pscyhedelic flavor to the song, owing to Porl’s cyclonic, squalling wah-wah guitars, and Robert’s esoteric, almost Lynchian lyrics. The song seems to be a dream-narrative about a dance-liasion with an otherworldly girl. Of course, I could be wrong, and that’s part of the song’s mystique: the imagery-drenched subconscious sense of the words and the way they climb like vines along the slithering, writhing music. These may be Robert’s most Dada-esque intonations yet:

Oh IT’S INSANE
SHE SHAKES LIKE A FREAK
STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM
FOR A WEEK
LOOKS LIKE THE ONLY WAY TO GET ON THE BEAT
IS TAKE HER UP ON HOW TO SWING
BUT I AM MISSING MY FEET

And yet there is a loony logic to this scenario.

“Freakshow” is the musical descendent of a trippy “Head on the Door” era b-side like “Man Inside My Mouth.” But in no way does “Freakshow “ sound like a facsimile of that song; it merely derives inspiration from it and spins its own wacky world.

For me, b-side “All Kinds of Stuff” is the strongest of the six released songs so far. Lyrically it’s not wildly compelling - it almost sounds like the improvised ramble of a rather tipsy Smith, musing bemusedly about whether he’s “lost his touch,” creatively speaking. Like “39” from Bloodflowers, the song itself is sort of an ironic assertion of the failing artistic muse - or perhaps it is Smith’s angry answer to fans who have been bleating for years that the Cure are dead (and it most be noted that those same annoying fans continue to adhere themselves to the band).

Musically, though, this song KICKS HOLY ASS! The best way I can describe it is “psychedelic jazz-punk.” The song screams to be amplified as obnoxiously as possible, so that the entire foundation of the house quakes. The listeners must abandon themselves to the amorphous noise, which like a tornado sweeps us up into furious swirls of sound. “All Kinds of Stuff” is a deliciously thrashy affair bolstered by clanging percussion.

The Only One/New York Trip Review

2008-07-23T10:11:00.010-04:00

The Only One/New York Trip

When I first heard “The Only One” on a live video clip, to say that I was underwhelmed would be well, an understatement. I was downright disillusioned! The Cure’s 2004 self-titled album features one of my most cherished Cure pop songs, “The End of the World,” which delivered a fresh interpretation of the classic Cure sound. But “The Only One” sounded to me like a redunandant reworking of the done-to-death bright-and-happy Cure sound, and I wanted nothing to do with it. And indeed, when the studio version was released, I became even more distraught, because I thought this was the direction the Cure was headed: the band meekly yielding to what fans wanted (another Wish), rather than bravely delving into newer musical perspectives.

But it took the next single, “Freakshow,” actually, to convince me that “The Only One” was, after all, a great song. Not because “Freakshow “ is a bad song - indeed, I love it, as I will discuss later - but because it is a slight departure from what some hold to be the signature Cure sound. And this taught me that okay, it’s fine if the band does a bit of Cure-by-numbers as long as they persist in experimenting with other genres as well. After all, The Cure’s trademark is daring diversity.

So yeah, “The Only One” finally grew on me, to the point to where I actually love it - almost more than “The End of the World,” but not quite. True, it’s derivative of songs like “High,” and I do love “High,” but it also bears its own quirky charms. For one, its lyrics exude less of the woozy romantic sentiment like “High” or “Just Like Heaven”; they start off softly yearning, but soon turn brazenly bawdy.

In a way, the lyrics’ erotic edge diminishes the boyish melody, but they are also what give the song a unique stamp: its refusal to cater to childlike notions of romance. Instead, the lyrics assert a bold sexuality; rather than ooze delicious innuendo, they are explicitly lascivious in nature. For some Cure fans, this could be disconcerting - what’s a 50-year old man doing meowing about carnal pleasures, usually held to be the sacred province of youth? But for others - the less provincial ones? - it’s refreshing, because that is EXACTLY what a 50 year old SHOULD be doing: brashly celebrating life and libido.

Lyrically, too, the song continues the legacy of Seussian-Smith parallels - word-pairing reversals (“slip/slide” - “slide/slip”), whimsical word play (“hazier,” “mazier”), pervasive internal rhyme and so on.

“The Only One,” like so many Cure singles, is wonderfully infectious and showcases Smith’s proclivity for crooning in a higher register to embellish the song’s frisky mood.

Indeed, one could charge Smith with overplaying the falsetto flourishes, and perhaps he could rein it in a bit. But then I figure, as long as he doesn’t do it on every song, and as long as the flourishes “fit” with what the song is trying to achieve, then I see no harm.

“The Only One “ is thoroughly engaging Cure-pop, if a bit derivative. Thankfully there are graphic lyrical twists to keep us indecently entertained.

The b-side, “New York Trip” is an understated piece whose chief allure lies in its meandering structure. Musically it somewhat echoes "Wild Mood Swings," anchored as it is with a mildly groovy beat. The piano, too, is featured nicely, giving the song more melodic import. Lyrically the song sometimes recalls tunes from "The Top," with hallucinatory lines like,

I SWEAR THEY’RE WHALES
SWIMMING DOWN THE LINE
SPITTING MONKEY TAILS…

Other times the lyrics fall back onto overly familiar Cure cliches and don’t offer up anything terribly distinctive. But all in all it’s a solid song, although to my ears the weakest of the released b-sides.

Aesthetics: Band photos and Cure-related artwork

2008-07-07T11:40:00.023-04:00

The Cure have always featured a certain quirky pulchritude, if you will. These days, the boys are swathed in classily sinister black, but once upon a time, their sartorial sensibility was rather colorful. Indeed, to a certain degree, The Cure has always embodied a refreshingly cartoonish approach to fashion, reflecting its decidedly surrealistic tunes. So it's clear that not only has The Cure impacted us lyrically and musically, but they have affected our sense of aesthetics. Herewith, some pictures of the staggeringly pretty Cure boys from the past until the present, plus some ass-kicking artwork related to the band:

Curiosa Tampa Review

2008-07-05T18:25:00.000-04:00

Curiosa Tampa Review
Originally posted
at Chain of Flowers

Much hyberbole to follow. Beware!

I was up front center last night in Tampa - right in front of Robert. In my 20 years of Cure fandom, I have never been so close. I was able to see the detail of Robert’s necklaces (yes, I was staring) and Roger’s adorable smile. And I was wtiness to one extraordinary Cure show.

The setlist was not the previous night's “pop nightmare;" of the four Cure shows I’ve seen, it was easily the best (not that I remember ‘89 too well). A sprinkling of pop songs among newer and older classics.

The band was in high energy mode. Simon was his usual frenzied punk self, Roger was glowing with smiles, Jason was bashing away frenetically, and Perry was unusually bouncy. Robert, of course, veered between being dreamy and intense and boyishly silly.

The sound was smooth, clean, and textured. The mix was far better than it was at Coachella. The band sounded tight and mature.

Highlights of the show included a psychedelic Fascination Street, when Robert walked to the side front of the stage, beaming with smiles as fans reached out adoringly; a gorgeous Pictures of You; a quirkier than usual Lullaby, with Robert really hamming it up with his trademark gestures and mimicking voices; an angry 100 Years, where I could barely contain myself from the passion of hearing this song so vividly; a lush Jupiter Crash; and the soaringly beautiful A Night Like This. The encores, too, were such a nice surprise: the elegant M, a punchy Play For Today, where everyone joined in with the “woah ooh oohs”, and, of course, the infamous Forest.

The new songs sounded great. They opened with Lost, which was a bit toned down and more melodic and really nice. Labyrinth was less frenzied than on the album but still intense; Before Three was a lovely rendition, with the guitars just right (however, Robert improvised some lyrics, which I always find amusing if frustrating); Taking Off was cute right after Inbetween Days - at the end, as he was hitting the high notes, Robert said cutely, “As you get older it gets a bit hard to do that.” Oh, and I have even learned to like Never; it sounds much better live!

But The Promise took the cake - that song was blow-you-away-fabulous. Naysayers need to see The Promise live to appreciate its epic grandeur. It’s thrashy and punky and hungry and angry and wonderfully extreme. It has become my favorite track off the new album.

All in all, I felt honored to be witnessing a truly legendary band so close. If there were flaws in this show, they were trivial, and I was too blinded by amazement to notice.

Shameless estrogen moment (sorry guys; it has to happen):

Robert was adorable as ever, but so were they all! Roger has a darling smile, and Simon, who I always found attractive but was never really attracted to, was just hot. And Perry! Damn that boy is cute, with his tight shirt and bouncy self. I couldn’t see surfer boi Jason too well, unfortunately.

Of course, Robert is the perfect blend of boyish charm and raw magnetism.

P.S.I have no idea what’s up with his eyeliner these days. Is he trying to look scary? Cuz it kinda works!

Bloodflowers review

2008-07-05T18:05:00.002-04:00

I’ll admit that when I first heard “Bloodflowers,” I wasn’t blown away. I suppose that at the time of its release, I was more into the bright side of The Cure, having been a fan since 1985’s “Head on the Door.” However, after witnessing “Bloodflowers” performed live on the Trilogy DVD, I’ve had a “change of head.” I now believe that “Bloodflowers” is a stunningly understated piece of work, and it has evolved into my second favorite Cure album behind "Faith." It’s a guitar-drenched and somewhat psychedelic affair, and, like “Pornography” and "Faith," a little impenetrable upon first listen. And, like those two albums, it gradually grows on you, indeed nearly attaches itself to to you, immersing the listener in a world of brooding introspection. However, unlike “Pornography,” “Bloodflowers” is never scary, only darkly ethereal - a bit like "Faith," in fact.

“Bloodflowers” represents the classic and art rock facet of The Cure, and at times calls forth the influences of Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. The title track, the album’s most haunting song, even boasts a delicious Hendrix-style guitar solo.

Aside from the title track, highlights of this album include the lushly solemn “The Loudest Sound” (which provides an unusual flourish when Robert Smith croons the song’s title and a chiming guitar riff competes with his lyric), the contemplative “The Last Day of Summer,” the exquisitely existential “Where the Birds Always Sing,” and “There is No If...,” which showcases Smith’s quirky romantic humor. The album’s most scorching track is the epic “Watching Me Fall,” a song made more ominous by eerily erotic lyrics.

“Bloodflowers” has been maligned for its lyrical flatness, but honestly, I think these are some of Smith’s best lyrics. Yes, they are less typically ambiguous and surreal (save for the chilling dialogue that embellishes the title song, and the words adorning the aforementioned “Watching Me Fall”), but their peculiar power lies in their taut simplicity, explicit introspection, and restrained pathos.

Some people have criticized “Bloodflowers” for not living up to the melancholic grandeur of “Disintegration” while others have lamented the lack of sinister edge so prevalent on “Pornography.” But I think “Bloodflowers” was not intended to be a replication of either of those albums, but rather an amalgam of the best aspects of both, and it works masterfully well.

“Bloodflowers” is The Cure at its most musically mature. The subtle potency of “Bloodflowers” will elude the masses, but patient listeners will reap many rewards from this CD.

4Tour MSG Review

2008-07-05T16:43:00.001-04:00

MSG Review
Originally posted
at Chain of Flowers

Okay, so this is my final review of The Cure for this tour. I have had an awesome amazing incredible time, not only because I saw my favorite band five times, but because I met some truly wonderful people. I won't go into detail about that now, but the people I have met know who they are, and hopefully they know they are fucking fabulous.

So I will start off on a very slightly negative note, but please understand that it's only because I have become a bit spoiled during my multi-show experience. I was seriously expecting a less standard set than what was delivered at MSG, but then, Fuse was taping, so I suppose I should have anticipated a rather generic set. I was hoping, at least, that during the encores they would toss in a few dark gems or other tasty surprises. I mean, they did play the lusciously ethereal If Only Tonight and the scorching The Kiss, after all, so I really shouldn't complain. And of course all the other songs sounded superb, even if I have heard some repeatedly.

But no matter. There are people who haven't attended any shows on this tour who are probably lobbing profanities at me for even hinting at mild disillusionment, so I'll just STFU right now. Just please understand that yes, there is a downside, however slight, to attending multiple shows, and that downside is that what you want and what the band delivers are sometimes two separate things. You want the band to cater the setlist to YOU, multi-show dork, whereas of course they don't give a flying flip about how far you have traveled or how much money you have spent. They are delivering for the thousands of other attendees who are attending one show. So again, I'll STFU.

Some highlights, musically speaking:

The brooding atmospheric Underneath the Stars gets better with every listen. I love the contrast of the deeply layered guitars and the soothing whispery vocals. Musically this song evokes the dreamy constellations like no other I have heard. The heavy, loudly ambient guitars truly elicit the gravity of the cosmic experience, and the lyrics match the music masterfully. Best Cure song ever? I report, you decide.

The Edge of the Deep Green Sea always tantalizes, with its infinite length and absolutely blistering guitar solo, courtesy of Patron Saint of Guitars, Porl. Hands in the sky forever is what I'm sayin'.

Baby Rag Dog Book - Holy motherfucking Christ! This was the best, most head-exploding version I have seen yet, and I've seen the song performed three times now. Simon's throbbing, chugging bass, Robert's "flying fingers" guitar parts, the faintly rockabilly strain and blatantly 70s rock vibe - wow! And Robert's vocals were clearer and keener than I had heard them on this song before. Hellz yes muthafuka! That song slaughtered me with its freak-ass intensity.

Push is always a treat live, no matter how many times I have heard it. It gets me pogo-ing like a mad moron and screaming "Go Go Go" like a damn fool. Best live Cure song EVER.

Shake Dog Shake - ya know, I love the freakin' Top, and wish they would play more from it (Empty World would make me all kinds of dizzy happy). But SDS is a searing wacky rocker and I love Robert's vocal embellishments on it.

The Walk - I have actually grown terribly tired of this song over the years, but The Cure have managed to inject new life into it via Porl's delicious mimicking of the key parts. I mean, I do miss the keys on some songs such as Plainsong and Charlotte Sometimes - sorry, but those songs BEG for keys, as masterful as they are in recent versions - but for songs like the Walk, the guitar is a fabulous substitute . Of course, no one could pull it off like Porl. OH! And props to Jason for his fabulous drumming on this song in particular, although on all songs he certainly owns. All the Jason naysayers can fuck themselves. He rocks.

IOTWCS - Um, yeah, this song plunges me into a dreamy reverie. Gorgeousness and gorgeosity rolled into one.

The Kiss - Definite centerpiece of the show. Sorry, but this song SLAYS live with Robert erotically attacking his guitar and making all kindsa dirty faces. I'll just leave it at that, mmmmkay? .

Freakshow - LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LURVE this song. I admit that I am not completely taken with The Only One, although it is nice live, but
Freakshow makes me all kindsa FREAKAY. Anyone who doesn't like it is a moron. Okay, not really, but come ON! It's like an intoxicating concoction of HOTD/The Top/KM/WMS stuff, and yet completely fresh. And Robert singing this song live is a pure joy to watch with his goofy-ass jazzy dances and incoherent babble. Robert, I am trying desperately to learn every word to this song to help you out when you forget the words, k? Indeed, you forgot a few last night and just substituted "yadda yadda." Very cute, though.

Close to Me - Is it me, or is this arrangement of Close to Me fucking awesome? Thought so. Very bouncy little number with Porl's nimble guitar parts providing an invigorating jolt.

Old School Encore never gets old. Period. And Killing an Arab - what the FUCK! It's like insane asylum intense. Brilliant version and it NEEDS to be formally recorded with this line-up. Cure, you done our boy Camus all kindsa proud!

Non-musical miscellaneous highlights:

I was able to get to third row, Simon side, from Prayers for Rain on. I found him a joy to watch, the way he bounces around in his skin-tight attire with a sexy scowl. But I was disconcerted by the writing on his arm - "home" - and also by the fact that he gazed very very longingly at the pictures of his children during Pictures of You. I find that very touching, of course, but it also a little upsetting because the poor guy is clearly yearning for his family. My sympathies go out to him, and I am glad he will be reunited with them soon.

Throughout the show, Robert made jokes about his infamous incoherent blathering. He insisted that he does speak clearly and made a point to
enunciate. I still understand about 1% of what he actually says ("Q" being the most endearing), but I liked that he acknowledged fan frustration with his unintelligible chatter. Indeed, it was fucking funny and he dropped the f-bomb quite a few times. I love his brashness and sinister sense of humor; at one point he said, "Of course, none of it matters in the end because it's all NONSENSE." Quite the existential/nihilistic insight, Roberto. I'm with ya all the way. (Oh, and apparently his guitar is sporting a "Born again existentialist sticker lately - very fucking cool.)

The pop encores are always a treat with Robert's flirtatious interactive playfulness. What a shimmering smile this man has and what magical eyes! And his stage presence during these songs is infectiously bouyant.

The absolute highlight was when Robert saw Christina's "COF Loves the Cure" sign and made a big goofy grin.

The equally awesome absolute highlight was when Christina and I were able to coax the security guard to let us stand up front at the railing so Chris could give him the roses she bough him. The security was fairly tight throughout the show, but in the end, the security guard relented because Chris
was so charmingly persistent. We hugged the security guard for his generosity, something I have NEVER done before. I told him we would love him forever for his efforts. WTF? Have a regressed so far that I have to profess love to a security guard? What has my world come to?

Anyway, after Freakshow, I believe, Chris gestured to Robert to come receive his roses, which he did, very graciously. After he took them, he smiled, and we both screamed like giddy fangirls. Robert seemed both pleased and overwhelmed by our um, frighteningly adolescent indulgences. I am pretty sure Fuse caught us on camera acting like we were hormonally intoxicated pre-teens, but whatever. Lusty Cure femmes unite!

The icing on this proverbially tasty cake was that Robert said, "I'll save this for later" rather seductively, and then placed the flowers onto one of the speakers in the center of the stage, for all to behold. I am very happy for Chris that Robert was so humbly and happily accepting of the flowers.

Also, Robert was able to see Chrstina's COF sign a few more times, which was quite gratifying to us. Craig, I have said it before, but you are the rockingest badass mofo EVER; your site is revered by Cure fans worldwide. Oh, and the COF sign apparently appeared on Fuse TV last night, something we find both exhilirating and hilarious. Can't wait to see the Fuse recording.

So, it was a titillating end to my five-show liason with the Cure. Sure, I wanted a more surprise-laden setlist, but whatever. It's the fucking Cure, and I am very lucky to have caught them live so many times. My bank account might be suffering, and physically I may be spent (just HOW do you do
it, Cure?), but whathefuckever.

I do wish I could attend the RCMH show tonight, but, alas, I cannot. However, I am compensating by attending a show by my other love, Tom Waits, so it's all good. I am sure the RCMH show will have the most thrilling Cure set EVER, loaded with Bloodflowers stuff and Faith stuff, and so on, although I really can't complain since I got the Faith encore in Charlotte. I can, however, complain that I only got one BF song among all the shows I attended. What the hell, Robert? BF is such a beautiful album, and I am DYING to hear more songs from it live. Oh well, maybe next time? PLEASE?

One last thing. A big FUCK YOU to the 9000 foot dude and his goofy groupies for practically ruining the show for me by talking THROUGHOUT. Go fuck yourself, you selfish, shallow piece of shit. I even told you to please stop talking TWICE, and you called me a bitch. Yeah, well you're a dickless piece of crap. But seriously, this dude and others like him - the people who come for TWO songs (namely FIIL and JLH) and then spend the rest of the time confabulating about their fabulous hair and how much sex they have every day - can kiss my voluptuous derriere. You all collectively SUCK and I hope there is a special place in Dante's hell for you, where you will be forced to listen to Barry Manilow songs full blast for an eternity. Or get
repeatedly jabbed in the ears with a pitchfork. Or perhaps medieval-style torture is what you deserve.

Sorry, but one should just STFU at a Cure concert and LISTEN AND WATCH. Isn't that what we pay precious money for? The Cure are the best live band ever, you morons!

4Tour Charlotte Review

2008-07-05T16:18:00.001-04:00

Charlotte Review
Originally posted
at Chain of Flowers

I can officially die and ascend into heaven. I mean, the other three shows I attended were good - damn good, at times even transcendent (Figurehead in Austin, The Kiss in Ft. Laud, Kyoto and Charlotte in Atlanta, yadda yadda yadda) - but there was something spellbindingly magical about the Charlotte show. And that something, of course, was the Faith encore.

I really wasn't expecting it. In all places, Charlotte. I knew from following the setlists that Faith has rarely been played on this tour, and Holy Hour and Drowning Man not played at all yet. It seems The Cure revels in teasing us and making these songs so coveted that by the time they are played, we practically explode from the anticipation.

The sad thing is, most people won't get to experience the Faith encore. Most people don't have the summers off, like me, and are willing to nearly drain their savings to see five shows. Most people are more responsible with their money, unlike me. Most people are not dorks, like me, who thrive on Cure shows to decimate the summer blues. Most people are at work, pissing away their mundane lives. Me too, typically.

So most people are only able to see the show in their town and that's it. And of course, the shows are magical no matter what, but the die-hard fans want Faith and Porno and BF songs and other delectably dark treats. But I guess die-hard fans number fewer than the abundant JLH-loving mofos. Don't get me wrong - I adore JLH. Best most shimmering pop song ever. But I can do without it for the 847238234823472763 time. Of course, the masses devour it lovingly, so I should just STFU.

So anyway. The show starts off with a gorgeously haunting Underneath the Stars. I had, of course, listened to bootlegs of it many times, and had seen it once in Atlanta, so I was already besotted with its bleak beauty. But tonight's version was particularly gripping and chilling. The song cascades and swirls and sweeps and envelops. It is timeless like the cosmos and constellations.

There were so many other highlights of tonight's show it's hard to know where to begin. A few that leap to mind:

End of the World was especially strong tonight. It's one of my favorite Cure-pop songs, but live it hasn't always worked for me. Tonight it lit up.

Want is one of my favorite openers. Killer tune and searing live.

Perfect Boy is touchingly adorable and I can't wait to hear the studio version of it.

Hot Hot Hot is funk funk funk.

Shake Dog Shake shook up the room. Before they launched into this psychedelic scorcher, Robert said, "This song was number one all over the world." Of course, he jests, the dork.

One Hundred Years never fails to invigorate me to the point of mania.

Baby Dog on the Rag or whateverthefuckitiscalled ripped my nipples right off, it was so powerful. Now I have to get new nipples.

Now for the utterly transcendent part: The Faith encore.

What the fuck?! I totally was NOT expecting that. I mean, it's CHARLOTTE. Charlotte is cool and all, but not like a hotbed of Cure freakyness, I would think. I mean, the crowd was better than in Atlanta, I thought - more into the show, and knew more songs - but I just don't equate Charlotte with "dark Cure mania."

But whatever - obviously they didn't play the Faith encore for US, per se - it was for HDNet, who was recording the show. So yeah.

Anyway, when Simon punched the first bleak basslines of Holy Hour, I thought I was either going to wet myself, or break into tears. I think I did a little of both. Actually, I did cry, right after I screamed like a motherfucker. You have NO idea what that song does to my head. Pyschologically it messes with me. It plunges me into a zombified otherwordly trance. And the lyrics resonate with me so insanely.

And then Other Voices. Fuck! And then Drowning Man. Fuck me backwards! And then Faith. Everyone in awe, watching and listening reverently.
Me, rapturous. For most of the song, Porl stands sullenly with his guitar, but toward the end, after Robert sang extra cryptic lyrics, Robert attacked his guitar and Porl began playing melodically.

Simon kneeling during most of the Faith encore. Simon is a badass punk mofo. Sorry, it needs to be said. Too handsome for words and so fucking cool it hurts.

So really, they could have closed the show then and I would have floated home in a dark reverie. But they came back, to the exuberance of the crowd. Robert said, "This must be the weirdest segueway ever," and then they launched into Freakshow. By then I had moved all the way to the front and was "dancing like a freak." Freakshow owns my ass. So what if Faith into Freakshow is wildly incongruous? It's the fucking Cure and nothing makes ANY sense with them - and yet it all makes perfectly lucid sense. This band can do the darkest of the dark and the brightest of the bright with equal intensity and flair. And of course all the shades of emotion in between.

So during the pop encore Robert was very interactive with the audience, as he has been, seemingly, the entire tour. He honestly has never seemed so giddy and brimming with life to me. His surreal gestures and goofy dancing - the audience just CRAVES it and can't get enough of it. He smiles sheepishly and flirts shamelessly and shakes like milk and gyrates grandly. My friend and I are jumping up and down like freaky fools and screaming like pre-pubescents at a boy band show, and we don't give two SHITS about it. Robert is sexy, godfuckingdammit, and he knows it. At 50, he is cherubic and gorgeous and adorable. It needs to be said, and I said it. Now I must fan myself.

And PORL. I have a new love. His guitar playing tonight almost blew me out of the building. Thankfully I remained firmly in place. I was standing very close on his side and watched him throughout the show, as he scorched through song after song in a paradoxically passionate and stoic way. I can't explain that part, except to say that he's at once calm and intense when he's playing. It's a joy to watch.

My friend and I had to scream at him a few times, we were so drunken with love for him. He finally acknowledged us with a boyish smile. He also acknowledged intoxicated fans with a peace sign earlier in the show.

And I officially love his look. Audaciously flamboyant. Fuck convention, his look says, and fuck "age appropriate" attire. Porl, I am with ya. Fuck orthodox provincial motherfuckers. They will die empty of soul.

What else to report? Probably loads more, but my head is spinning dizzily. Loud fucking show. And my vocal chords are shred - how does Robert do this night after night? My imaginary hat's off to him for vocal stamina. Bob, you rock AND roll. Your voice is chillingly clear, like glaciers.

The Charlotte show fucked me sideways. Sorry, it has to be said that way. There is no eloquent way to put it, so sorry if you are easily offended. Actually, fuck off if you are, because clearly you don't get The Cure at all. A Cure show demands vulgar hypberbole.

4Tour Austin Review

2008-07-05T16:10:00.001-04:00

Austin Review
Originally posted
at Chain of Flowers

The Cure rocked a sweltering Austin tonight in a minuscule venue. The band sounded stunningly vibrant and polished and yet raw enough to whip up the crowd into a manic frenzy, especially during the encores. I have never seen Robert so frenetic and giddy and loquacious. Porl was phenomenal, Simon one cool-ass punk, and Jason's drumming transcendently good.

A few highlights (and I have no doubt I have left out loads):

Lullaby - This song kind of bores me these days, but DAYUM if it didn't rock tonight! Robert played the keyboard parts on his guitar and it sounded wildly cool. And of course did all the requisite spider gestures with his hands.

Figurehead - Delectably dark and psychedelic. Porl ROCKED it and I felt like I was tripping. Made me really hanker for a solidly dark set.

Strange Day - Sounded amazing and Robert launched into this brief jazzy swingy dance during the part where he sings "And I laugh as I drift in the wind/Blind dancing on a beach of stone." It was seemingly incongruous to the mood of the song but somehow worked like magic. Quite funny!

Hanging Garden - Truly, it's a dark primal masterpiece live. Quite tribal sounding. Jason pounded it out!

Doing the Unstuck - Sounded ripping and euphoric and the crowd went nuts for it.

Torture - I wrote a poem inspired by this song way back in the day, and so I almost fainted with joy when they played this. Sounded soaringly good.

alt.end - Yes, alt.end. There are better songs from TC, truly (like LOST AND BEFORE THREE AND LABYRINTH, ROBERT), but Porl really embellishes this otherwise lackluster song with his swirling lines.

Killing An Arab - This was a frenzied, ferocious, scarily intense version of the post-punk classic. The best way that I can describe it is "psychedelic punk."

Encores - The old-school punky encores were insane. Just fucking psychotic. The band sounded so good I thought they might all just spontaneously explode on stage, and the crowd down on the floor was manic, pushing, shoving and jumping up and down and singing. Actually, my ribs were almost crushed and I was very unhappy at times because of this, but the encores were frighteningly good anyway. And the entire venue was rocking along to the songs. At the end of A Forest, Simon thrashed his bass like he was high on meth and was dripping sweat profusely. And the band really fed off the crowd's energy.

The new stuff was well received and Perfect Boy sounded just incredible. I would have liked to hear UTS and BRDB of course, too. The crowd in the front (where I was) seemed to know the words to the new songs, thanks to COF. :-)

Robert was very talkative but mumbly so I couldn't understand ANYTHING he said. He was rather interactive with the audience at times, coming to the front of the stage to pose, pull crazy faces, smile, etc. He would break into giddy dances, too, or do his surreal facial and physical gestures he is so famous for, and seemed to be having the most excellent ebullient time of it. Simon was bouncy and prowly and "gallupy" as usual and Porl was almost too polished and vibrant for words. Jason, too, was just thrashingly good.

At the end of the show, Robert looked very sad that they had to end. He had an apologetic look on his face and very humbly looked at the audience and smiled shyly when people screamed for him. He walked to both sides of the stage before the lights went up and seemed very hurt that they had to stop playing. He pointed at his watch and shrugged his shoulders a bit sadly.

Honestly, and I'm not using hyperbole when I say this, but the Cure have never sounded better, or given a more mesmerizing live performance. Truly staggering, and well worth the eight hour wait in the heat and two hour venue wait.

"The Cure" album review

2008-07-05T07:42:00.004-04:00

Two Reviews of "The Cure"

Disclaimer: These reviews were written when the album first came out, and over the years my opinions have changed a bit. I now hold in very high regard, for example, Truth Goodness and Beauty, and believe it's one of the Cure's best songs ever. I also feel that End of the World is a thoroughly tasty slice of Cure-pop. Lost, too, remains one of my favorite Cure songs of all times, as does Before Three. Perhaps I will document my current feelings about the rest of the album at a future date.

Review #1
Originally posted
at Amazon.com

I am amazed at the scorchingly negative reviews this album is receiving here and elsewhere, but also heartened by the positive or at least more restrained reviews which seem to be written by those who are able to eschew preconceived notions about what a “true” Cure album should be. Naturally, people will have to make up their own minds, but I would hope that they would give this disc many thorough listens before dismissing it. A given criticism’s validity evolves from its constructive rendering, and constructive criticisms evolve from thoughtful immersions into the sounds of whatever music is being reviewed.

But such is the Cure’s hardcore fanbase: rabidly ardent followers of a band that has come to mean so much to each of us personally. I myself am not always happy with every song the Cure has put out, but I embrace the flaws anyway, and generally am able to embrace the band’s inevitable mutations through time.

On The Cure’s eponymous offering, there are classic Cure moments. In general the album does a great job at assimilating new Cure sounds into the old Cure pattern. It’s as though for each song they take fragments of several Cure songs and weave them into a new tapestry.Gone are the lengthy musical preludes, and the mixing can be a little challenging to deal with sometimes - vocals mixed on top of the songs rather than within the songs. However, the live recording gives it a raw energy that is refreshing, if a bit jolting sometimes.

Besides, even if some of the songs sound a bit more stripped of the textures prevalent on many Cure albums, we must remember that the band actually started out with a more spacious sound and moved away from that in favor of a fuller more fleshed out feel. So, some of this album actually takes on a Faith-era atmosphere, even if it’s bit more aggressive in style. Too, we must remember that though current Cure music seems to have appropriated some modern nu-metal sounds, many newer bands were actually influenced by The Cure. So, you could say that The Cure is now simply re-interpreting interpretations of their own pioneering sound.

Initially the album does suffer a bit from disjointedness - there’s not that immediate coherent feeling as there was on most other Cure albums. On the first few listens, then, the album seems merely a hodgepodge of loosely related songs. However, upon closer and closer inspection, the album begins to fall together as interestingly spliced-together songs that tell the whole story of the Cure in a fresh medium.

My thoughts on the best songs:

Lost - Melodic punk. Contains a euphoric anger. I love the trudging start, potent climax and noisy finish. I bask in the oppressive power of Robert's screaming;

Labyrinth - Psychedelic rock with luscious swirls of Middle Eastern sounds. Break out the incense and Moroccan tapestry.

alt.end - I love the bouncy bass , swirly guitar solo, and Robert's subtle whimsical vocal flourishes during part of it. It’s quirky yet catchy.

(I Don’t Know What’s Going) On- It’s rambling and abstract and lyrically repetitive, elements which could be potential drawbacks, yet mixed together somehow make for an interesting and rather tasty stew.

Taking Off - Cure-pop at its brightest, yet it has a slightly aggressive undertone. I love the naive romance of the lyrics.

Before Three - This song pairs dreamy melancholy with crunchy rock. The signature Cure echo-guitar effect is there, but with a more biting edge to it.

Us or Them - At first I wavered violently on this song. But now I really like it, despite a growling AC/DC-like intensiy that can be a bit overpowering. And I do like AC/DC.

I also have the Japanese version of the album, which contains three extra tracks. I also have the MP3 for This Morning:

Going Nowhere - Positively aching mix of guitar, piano and bass. The song’s brief length lends it a stunning power.

Truth Goodness and Beauty - The vocals are a bit too disembodied from this otherwise gorgeous song. I like the music and the “structureless structure” of the song, but feel that it would benefit from re-mixing in order to achieve its latent brilliance.

Fake - I have not heard this song enough to make a valid criticism. Early impressions are that it is wonderfully retrogressive in spirit, sweetened by a perky melody.

This Morning - The start of this song is a bit akward, as Robert plunges right into singing. He should have allowed a musical intro to lead dreamily into the vocals. Nonetheless, once the song delves into its own heart, this song reveals itself to be the most haunting, atmospheric Cure song ever devised.

While lyrically some of the songs suffer from banal repetition, some of that repetition takes on a whole new meaning within the musical context and therefore seems less blatantly redundant over time. Besides, songs like Labyrinth, Before Three, Anniversary, Taking Off, Truth Goodness and Beauty, Going Nowhere and This Morning feature luscious lyrics that boast Robert Smith’s patented dreamy and philosophically-probing writing style.

Furthermore, Robert’s trademark plaintive wail is mostly amazing on this record. Despite his advancing age, he’s abe to plumb the heights and depths of his range, exploring low, almost whispered tones, soaring into more youthful high notes, and sometimes even daring to reach into “scream territory” that is chilling in its stark intensity. Occassionally you wish Robert would rein in his vocal ardor a bit, but then you realize it’s all part of the passionate package.

In all, I love the US version of the album, and feel that the extra tracks on the Japenese and other versions only make it a more palatable and beautiful offering. I wish Robert Smith had asserted himself with the profit-hungry Geffen, into whose trap many of us have fallen by buying multiple versions, all owing to our aggressive adoration of one of the best bands in the world, The Cure.

Review #2
Originally posted
at Chain of Flowers

I have listened to the album 10 times now, the minimum I allowed myself before posting a review. I think there are classic Cure moments here, and that in general the album does a great job at assimilating new Cure sounds into the old Cure pattern. It’s as though for each song they take fragments of several Cure songs and weave them into a new tapestry. It’s very interesting. Gone are the lengthy intros (depending on your version), and the mixing can be a little challenging to deal with sometimes - vocals mixed on top of the songs rather than within the songs. However, the live recording gives it a raw energy that is refreshing, if a bit jolting sometimes. Also, the album suffers a bit from disjointedness - there’s not that coherent/cohesive feeling as there was on Bloodflowers or really all other Cure albums. Yet, that flaw is rather charming - it’s a hodgepodge of loosely related songs that tell the whole story of the Cure in a fresh medium.

My thoughts on each song attempting to resist comparisons, and then the Inevitable Comparisons:

The very good

Lost - Melodic punk. Contains what I can only describe as euphoric anger. I love the trudging start and how it builds to a potent climax and noisy finish. I bask in the oppressive power of Rob’s screaming. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: The dark anger of Porno meets up with the dissonance of The Top for coffee and cigarettes, and they decide to make some Cure moonshine, adding new ingredients for a toxic mix.

Labyrinth - Psychedelic rock with luscious swirls of Middle Eastern sounds. Break out the incense, Moroccan tapestry, and, most importantly, the bong! (That is, if you smoke, which I don’t anymore). I adore this song, and it has the best lyrics on the album. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: Wailing Wall and Jimmy Hendrix take a trip to the North African desert, and jam under the stars amidst a stand storm.

alt.end - I was prepared to hate this given all the negativity. But I am truly surprised it’s not more popular. I love the bouncy bass and and the somewhat buried psychedelic guitar solo. It’s quirky yet catchy. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: In your House kidnapped From the Edge of the Deep Sea and Doing the Unstuck, handcuffed them to the bed, and made passionate love to them all night long.

(I Don’t Know What’s Going) On: (I Really Do Love This) Song. It’s rambling and abstract and quirky and lyrically repetitive, elements which could be potential drawbacks, yet mixed together somehow make for an interesting and rather tasty stew, at least for me. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: Um, not sure yet....anyone? Anyone?

Taking Off: Cure-pop at its brightest, yet it has a sad and even slightly aggressive undertone. I love the naive romance of the lyrics, and how Rob complements the upbeat music with a giddy voice. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: Mint Car collides head on with JLH; they emerge unharmed from the crash and hitch a ride with Friday I’m in Love and Inbetween Days.

Before Three - Yeah, it was better live at Coachella, but it’s still damn good here. The vocals are mixed on top of the song, which is problematic. But it has a great dreamy melody, and I love the teenaged energy with which Rob sings it.

The good

The Promise - Break out the bongs again. An epic almost-classic Cure trip through the hallucinating halls of
psychedelia again. The trippy bass and clashy sounds and meandering structure and Rob’s plaintive wail compete
with and complement each other quite charmingly, if cacophonously. I will probably grow to love it more as time
unfolds. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: The Kiss call up Led Zeppelin, the Doors and Mogwai and ask them to
come over for a jam session. They come late, smoke lots of weed, and jam into the early dawn.

EOTW: It sounds better within the context of the album than it does as a single. It’s good Cure-pop, but the generic guitars grate on my nerves a bit. I think it would be top-notch Cure-pop with those distinctive Cure guitars. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: Maybe Someday travels back in time to Boys Don’t Cry, and along the way picks up Cut Here, Fascination St., and Blink-182 for the trip.

Anniversary - This one had to grow on me. It has a gloomy romantic atmosphere, but at first I thought Rob’s vocals were too low. Now I hear that they fit within the brooding aura of the song. I love how the keyboards make it sound gothic-cathedral-like. The clapping drums really ground this song. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: Bloodflowers meets up with Drowning Man in a dark alley and together they steal some keyboards and
atmosphere from Head on the Door.

The maybe

Us or Them - I waver violently on this song. I hate it one minute and love it the next. When Robert was initially planning on making the heaviest album ever, I was very excited to hear Cure-metal. But, after hearing this song, I’m not sure whether that idea would completely work or not. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: Give Me It Meets AC/DC. And I do love AC/DC.

The not-so-good

Never - Never Mind is more like it. Something in this song wants me to like it. And something in me wants to like
this song. But I’m afraid this song lacks Cure-soul.INEVITABLE COMPARISON: Never searches high and low for inspiration from past Cure albums. It fails to find any, so searches for inspiration from anywhere. Again, it fails to find any. So it pouts, because it realizes that its existence, indeed, sucks.

The extras (so far heard on MP3 only)

Going Nowhere: Dreamily beautiful. Positively aching mix of guitar, piano and bass. The song’s brief length lends it a stunning power. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: DisintegrationThe Album has a drink with Bloodflowers The Album at a smoky cafe; it’s open mic-nite, and they decide to perform this song together.

TGaB - The vocals are a bit too disembodied from this otherwise gorgeous song. I do like the music and the rambling “structureless structure” of the song, but feel that it would benefit from re-mixing in order to achieve its latent brilliance. INEVITABLE COMPARISON: Pictures of You goes on vacation to a fetching spot and sends a lovely postcard of this song. The song in the postcard is nearly as beautiful as the actual song, but a bit marred by
the photographer’s over-eagerness to capture the beauty of the actual song.

I think it’s a sick crime that Robert let Geffen get away with excluding these last two beautiful songs from the US CD, and from what I understand,This Morning is lovely as well. But, overall, I’m still very very happy. It’s like The Top meets Kiss Me meets the Heaviest Album Ever Made. I would give the album between an 8 and a 9 at this point, and it’s rare for me to like it so immediately, as it took years for some Cure albums to grow on me.

Curiosa Atlanta Review

2008-07-05T00:13:00.000-04:00

Of the three Curiosa concerts I've attended so far (Tampa, Nashville, Atlanta), Atlanta was by far the best, both for setlist variety and quality and for the actual performance.

The Atlanta setlist was almost identical to Tampa's up until the encores. The only differences were that instead of playing Lullaby and Taking Off, The Cure played alt.end and possibly another song. I cannot be sure of the order of the setlist.

All the songs sounded just as powerful as the previous nights, with the exception of Before 3. Robert really needs to work on getting the lyrics right to some of the new songs. I'm not sure if it's purposeful, but in some cases it seems sloppy. I like when he improvises lyrics sometimes, but when he changes huge sections of songs, it can be a bit annoying, and reflect laziness on his part. Before 3 was probably the weakest of the new songs. Alt.end, however, was nice - I really like the punky energy of this song.

The Promise is what stole the night for me. I hear echoes of Mogwai all over the place in this song. The emotions that this song evokes live are an inexplicable tangle of rage, desperation, and sadness. It is a huge slab of sound that rips and pounds itself into you. Robert's screaming really complements this song well, adding to the layers of feeling. And Jason's drumming is never more pronounced than in this song; it's truly modeled for his frenzied hard rock style.

Perry is sounding really excellent these days. I am not sure if he's been practicing a lot or is simply more relaxed, but his guitar parts sound sharp and punchy. The exception, again, is Before 3. The guitar on the album sounds crunchier, fuller, and more Hendrix-like, but in concert it sounded a bit thin, almost nu-metal.

Simon was in top "punk" form, with a severe expression, simply pounding away at his bass and bouncing around angrily. Roger was a bit more subdued than he was in Nashville (where he played with the audience a bit, throwing out silly faces and smiles), but he did get carried away during Never and almost knocked over his keyboard. It was quite humorous!

Robert seemed bent on winning over the Atlanta audience, so during the first encore he turned up the boyish charm to amazing effect. During both Close to Me and Why Can't I Be You, he danced around goofily with the microphone and walked close to the audience, tossing out smiles and sexy poses. The women were absolutely swooning, and Robert seemed to revel in it. A couple of young girls next to me were delirious with joy, saying things like, "He is so cute I can't stand it." Robert also added in a lot of vocal and lyrical embellishments to these and other songs that made the crowd wild with adoration.

Robert also seemed to be in a chatty mood during much of the concert and seemed particularly pleased with the fact that they were "breaking" curfew and doing two encores instead of one. I think this may be de rigeur for the big city concerts.

During the second encore, however - which was explicity tailored for the die hard fan - the band relaxed back into serious and melancholy mode and delivered a gorgeous Charlotte Sometimes, a haunting Faith, and an unexpected and aching Going Nowhere. Hearing these songs in sequence was a spiritual experience, and I do wish more of the shows would focus on these melodic moments.

ome people would not appreciate this, as they prefer to view The Cure as a band rather than solo act (and of course they are a band), but Atlanta's concert could have easily been dubbed The Robert Smith Show. All the shows I have seen have focused on him, but none so blatantly. It was entertaining, if mildly disconcerting for the band.

At the end of the show, Robert, beaming with smiles, said, "It was fucking excellent." I agree.