November 25, 2024 by Elias Prodger (‘26)
Robert Smith’s disintegrating world view, The Cure’s Songs for A Lost World and The Art of their Late Era Album
The Cure’s Songs for a Lost World may go down as possibly one of the most timely and relevant album titles of all time. In a time of changing political times and internet provoked anxiety, Robert Smith and the band ended a sixteen-year studio album hiatus at the best time possible and dropped an absolute masterclass of an album late in the band’s career.
The Cure of 2024 feels like a group that matured in their mind but not in their heart. The voice of 65-year-old front man Robert Smith is eerily similar to the era of 1979’s Three Imaginary Boys or 1980’s Seventeen Seconds. His voice retains its same nostalgic angst that you hear on all of the band’s classic songs.
Aesthetically, this album wallows and broods in its melancholy and darkness. We aren’t getting the cheeky charm of Friday I’m in Love, or the 80’s pop anthems like Just Like Heaven. On this record we are feeling the deep existential dread of Robert Smith. He does not have the time for love on this record, he is far too occupied with his 2-and-a-half-minute song intros.
The main comparison of this record is without question, the band’s widely regarded magnum opus, 1989’s Disintegration. After two consecutive albums of more optimistic, well-crafted 80’s New Wave, the band returned to their murky roots of long drawn out dreamy gothic rock. The atmosphere of the record is immense, it’s dense, it’s intense in its layers. The album tends to crush you under its weight while Smith describes the images of personal photos being described in a house fire or a spider eating him in his dreams.
Similarly, Songs for a Lost World is an incredibly dense album. Opening track Alone is perfectly indicative of the journey Smith is about to take us on. His imagery of birds falling out of the sky and other bitterly depressing lyrics gives us a glimpse in Smith’s turbulent state of mind throughout the record. Second single A Fragile Thing features incredibly lush and washed-out production that perfectly pairs with Smith’s heartbroken lyrics. This album’s vision is executed immaculately. The band does not seek to reinvent themselves or change its identity, they succeed in listening to the fanbase and coming back with exactly what the fans want. They don’t feel an obligation to play on the trends of the time or mold themselves to the market’s requests, they still sound like The Cure of 1989. For a band approaching their 50th year still creating music that can stand up to their prime, this record should be applauded and celebrated for the musical feat it truly is.