In late September, I was shocked to see a post on The Cure’s Instagram account announcing that the band would release a new album. My immediate reaction was a mix of excitement and apprehension. The album would mark the first release by my favorite band in over 16 years. Having had the privilege to see the band perform live last year, I knew lead singer and frontman Robert Smith’s rich voice had survived the effects of aging and a nearly 50-year career. However, the last four albums released by The Cure were inconsistent in quality and sound, and they largely failed to live up to the high standards set by the consecutive releases of Disintegration (1989) and Wish (1992). Smith (the band’s lead songwriter and only constant member) had already explored so many different styles and sounds in his music that I doubted the band could release a quality album with a new, unique sound.
Since its release this past Friday, I’ve listened to Songs of a Lost World three times and been deeply captivated by the album’s hauntingly beautiful sound. The work would be most aptly compared to Disintegration, with both albums establishing a dark, yet comforting, atmosphere by combining a divine-like synthesizer sound with heavier, grungier bass and guitar parts. Despite the similarities, Songs of a Lost World sets itself apart from its predecessor: The album deals with an even darker subject matter and mood, with Smith’s lyrics focusing on aging, death, grief and heartbreak without the same comfort offered about these themes in Disintegration. With a total of eight songs and a duration of 49 minutes, the album successfully delivers a fulfilling experience for veteran fans of The Cure and newcomers alike.
The album introduces its main themes and general sound powerfully in “Alone,” with a harsh, distorted guitar tone powerfully cutting through the track’s otherwise light and calm atmosphere created by string-like synthesizers and the sound of an elegant piano. Drums elevated with reverb cut through the track without demanding too much attention. Smith allows these sounds to marinate in the minds of the listeners, waiting over three minutes before the incorporation of his vocals. Once his voice arrives, it does so powerfully, delivering the melancholy lyric “We were always surе that we would stay the same / But it all stops.” The lyric effectively sets up his further exploration of aging, grief and longing.
The second track — “And Nothing is Forever” — seemingly begins on a more hopeful note, with the same piano and synthesizers delivering an uplifting, almost idyllic sound. Beneath the sweet chords, however, is Smith’s darker reflection on the wish to be with a loved one up until the end of their life. Smith admitted that the song’s subject matter was inspired by an instance when he promised to stay with an ill individual in his life until the very end, yet failed to fulfill his word.
“A Fragile Thing” fittingly follows up on the theme of the power of being with someone you care about and the danger that being part poses. Smith sings, through the perspective of an unknown woman, the line “This loneliness has changed me, we have been too far apart / And it’s too late now for me to just forget.” The song features a powerful bass sound that captures the sense of loss over a once beautiful romantic relationship. The song’s introduction and conclusion both feature audio that seems to be in reverse, reflecting the deep desire many have had to go back in time and fix their past mistakes.
Featuring a pulsing accordion reminiscent of someone’s last breaths and a creepy string riff, “Warsong” powerfully creates an ambiance of inescapable horror. With the phrase “For we are born to war,” Smith expresses his sorrow over the seeming need of man to engage in combat and hatred. Partway through the song, a frantic-sounding guitar solo adds to this sense of anxiety and chaos without overstaying its welcome.
With “Drone:Nodrone,” Smith delivers the album’s most unique vocals. Smith sings in an almost funk-like intonation and at a much faster pace than in any other song, offering an effective change of sound that distinguishes the song from what has come before it.
In “I Can Never Say Goodbye,” Smith approaches some of the most personal subjects in the album: the death of his family members. Throughout the 2010s, Smith’s parents and his brother all passed away, marking a difficult period of grief in his life. In the song, Smith specifically laments the untimely loss of his brother, pleading “He has to wake up / Love slipping away / Hear the bells beyond the sea / It’s almost too late.” A nostalgic, melancholy piano sound controls the song, powerfully capturing the bittersweet memories Smith has for his lost sibling.
The penultimate track “All I Ever Am” powerfully expresses Smith’s existential dread and regret in the face of the unrelenting passage of time. Throughout the song, Smith repeats the phrase “And all for fear of what I’ll find / If I just stop and empty out my mind.” However, the song ends before he can finish the second phrase, seeming to indicate either a sense of closure over his regrets and worries or death’s power in ending someone’s life regardless of whether they have finished expressing themself.
The album ends with the fittingly titled “Endsong,” which clocks in as the album’s longest at almost 11 minutes long. Despite the intimidating length, the song effectively builds upon all the sounds of the album, combining the harsh bass and guitar sound, light synthesizers and steady drums to construct an oppressive sense of longing. Smith once again focuses on grief and the passage of time, reflecting on the many changes the world has gone through since his childhood and the loss of what was once familiar. He ends the album with the repetition of the simple word ‘nothing,’ a powerful embodiment of everything Smith has felt and feared in his recent life. Though Songs of a Lost World will likely fail to gain as much popularity as the band’s albums from the ’80s and ’90s, Robert Smith successfully crafted what is potentially his most personal and moving work. If it fittingly remains the last of The Cure’s studio albums, I would be more than satisfied with my favorite band’s final legacy.
Matthew Rentezelas is a freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be reached at [email protected].