The Cure returns with ‘Songs of a Lost World’, their first album in 16 years, perfectly capturing the current mood of despair. Opening with the seven-minute track ‘Alone’, the album embodies themes of solitude that the band has explored for nearly five decades. Robert Smith, now 65, reflects on mortality through darker, more honest lyrics, following the deaths of loved ones. This relentless album offers bleak reflections, culminating in the emotional ‘Endsong’, where hope fades and the weight of existence is laid bare.
At last, the fitting soundtrack for the apocalypse is here: The Cure releases ‘Songs Of A Lost World,’ their first album in 16 years. Ironically, the band led by Gothfather Robert Smith (65) resonates more with today’s zeitgeist than ever before.
The new album kicks off with the nearly seven-minute track ‘Alone,’ embodying the feelings The Cure has explored for nearly five decades. In a recent interview, Smith shared that ‘every song we sing is about the fact that we are ultimately alone.’
Darkness Like Never Before
In ‘Alone,’ Smith struggles with his guitar, navigating through the band’s longest single while setting the tone for what may be their darkest album yet. Fans who appreciate The Cure beyond their upbeat hits like ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ or ‘Friday I’m In Love’ will recognize this as a serious omen. While albums like ‘Pornography’ from 1982 and ‘Disintegration’ from 1989 danced with themes of death, they often romanticized a far-off mortality.
That perspective has shifted noticeably. The gap is narrowing, and as ‘A Fragile Thing’ states, ‘there is nothing you can do to change the end.’ At 65, Robert Smith has faced numerous encounters with death during the lengthy production of this album. Smith has lost both his parents and his older brother, who had a profound musical influence on him. In a 2019 interview with ‘NME,’ he remarked, ‘In the past, I wrote about things I thought I understood. Now, I know I understand them.’ His lyrics reflect a newfound honesty, likely the reason the album feels particularly bleak.
Smith describes the album as ‘relentless,’ which captures its essence far better than simply ‘slightly dark.’ Gone are the glimmers of hope found in ‘Disintegration,’ as this end-of-days collection dwells in shadow. At its best, the album portrays a sonorous melancholy, especially in ‘All I Ever Am,’ which offers moments suitable for singing along. However, it also unveils hellish landscapes, such as in ‘Warsong,’ which should only be approached with supportive therapy. While the strings and chimes in the desperate ‘And Nothing Is Forever’ momentarily suggest hope, ‘Drone NoDrone’ reintroduces the pounding piano from ‘From The Edge Of The Deep Green Sea,’ this time battling a distorted guitar that emerges victorious.
A Tribute to Smith’s Late Brother
Smith penned a song in memory of his brother, recognizable to fans from live performances. Titled ‘I Can Never Say Goodbye,’ it has even brought Smith to tears on stage: ‘Shadows growing closer now / There is nowhere left to hide / I can’t wake this dreamless sleep / However hard I try.’ The final blow comes with ‘Endsong,’ where a wall of howling guitars, synthesizer layers, and a thunderous drumbeat converges over several minutes. After six minutes of feverish dreams, Smith’s ageless voice asks how he has aged so much, ultimately bidding farewell to all dreams and hopes: ‘It’s all gone, it’s all gone / I will lose myself in time / It won’t be long / It’s all gone.’
Releasing this album in November feels almost reckless. For those strong enough to face the darkness, there’s solace to be found in connecting with Smith’s pain—and perhaps realizing that they are not truly alone.