The Cure’s patience pays off on Songs Of A Lost World

For a band 45 years deep into a career they’ve worn remarkably well. First there’s the aesthetics of it all - the hairspray and eyeliner hides a multitude of sins, and Robert Smith’s unmistakable voice is somehow untouched by age. More importantly, though, it’s clear how much they care. Songs Of A Lost World’s lengthy incubation period seems to be the result of perfectionism and a surfeit of songs, with Smith telling NME that some of these tracks were first demoed over a decade ago, and that one if not two more records could shortly follow.

For only the second time in the band’s history, the entirety of this album is written by the frontman (who, despite his outsized status in rock mythology, seems to run a pretty democratic ship). Smith has spoken about personal losses that inspired Songs Of A Lost World in part. The anguished “I Can Never Say Goodbye” deals with the 2022 loss of his brother Richard, and in general this is as heavy and grief-stricken as the band have sounded since their late ‘80s imperial phase; you’re not getting a “Friday I’m In Love” here. In interviews, the singer has been in rather sparkling form, suggesting this has been something of a purge for him.

The Cure are no strangers to overstuffing, with 60+ minute LPs de rigueur for much of their career. Pleasingly, they’ve gone for depth rather than breadth. There are shades of Smith’s fellow bouffanted alt legend Kevin Shields in the audible hours of studio time that have gone into these mixes. Everything is layered, stacked, primped and plucked, somehow stopping short of sucking the life out of the music. This is particularly apparent on “All I Ever Am”, which lifts a synth string pad from My Bloody Valentine’s “Touched”, half-romance, half-horror.

That contrast, the push and pull of beauty and gloom, is key to Songs Of A Lost World’s best moments. As soon as the record starts, you call into the rolling melancholy of opener and lead single “Alone”. The guitars chime like the glory days of 4AD, it’s somehow both grandiose and personal. The keys are lush, the chirping piano highline dreamy. Every so often, though, we steer into stormy seas, the sudden stomach drop of a minor chord. Mortality on micro and macro levels punctures the shimmering soundscape, Smith singing of “the birds falling out of our skies / And the words falling out of our minds”.

With such a back catalogue, the sounds inevitably harken back to The Cure’s glory years. The opener could slot into the third side of Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me, while the driving bass on “A Fragile Thing” evokes their post-punk pomp. But far from retreading old ground, there are some real curios in the mix, most notably the near-industrial “Drone:Nodrone”. It’s perhaps the most hectic thing they’ve ever recorded, with guitars howling and wah-ing, gleefully goofy ‘80s synths, and clattering drums all piled atop one another. You don’t really imagine The Cure mucking about, but make no mistake: they were by anyone’s definition having a laugh making this track.

That’s for the best, because the final third is heavy. The aforementioned “I Can Never Say Goodbye” is the real tearjerker, a piano led ballad that finds Smith too bereft to rage against the unfairness of it all, or even to mask his emotions with metaphor. “Something wicked this way comes / To steal away my brother's life” he sings wearily on the chorus, laying it bare.

The true behemoth, though, is closer “Endsong”. A 10 minute epic, this is a mostly instrumental exercise in angst. Again mixing the rough and the smooth, they lay down a bed of gorgeous keys, then scratch away at it with an insistent, spiky guitar line, a three note pest of a riff played over and over again. It’s a truly well earned dramatic build; The Cure go for epic as often as not on this record, but they keep their powder dry for a properly huge finale.

Whenever a band with comparable vintage comes out with something new that’s decent, some folk will fall over themselves to say it’s their best work in umpteen years, but for illustrative purposes, this is The Cure’s finest work since Thatcher was in power. A few months back, the idea of this band dropping three releases in quick succession would sound a little like a threat, but if they’ve given the rest of the tracks in the vault the care they’ve given these, it’ll be enough to slap a smile on the most dedicated of goths.