From Riff magazine:
ALBUM REVIEW: The Cure goes dark and deep on ‘Songs of a Lost World’
Skott Bennett
10/10
Songs of a Lost World marks the highly anticipated return of the Cure after 16 years. And while an entire generation of teenagers has grown up without a Cure album to call its own, in many ways, the band never really went away. The niche it carved with its haunting, emotionally charged sound and melancholic lyrics has left big, black, beautiful bruises on the hearts of generations of fans and artists. While others have carried the torch, Robert Smith and and company pulled off the amazing trick of getting more popular the longer they stayed away.
Songs of a Lost World comes at a time when the Cure’s legacy feels more relevant than ever. The darker side of the band captured the doom and hopelessness of Margaret Thatcher’s Britain in the 1980s. While never directly political, the music was an exploration of the emotional cost of living in a world where hope is hard to come by.
There’s something sadly fitting about the Cure returning now to put a sound to a world of war, climate catastrophe and a global mental health crisis in the aftermath of a pandemic. It’s fitting that this is not the “Love Cats” or “Friday I’m In Love” version of the Cure. Smith describes this album as “dark,” even by the band’s standards.
After a signature Cure extended intro, the first words we hear from Robert Smith, on opener “Alone,” are, “This is the end of every song we sing.” Familiar sweeping keyboard strains by Roger O’Donnell are layered over a sparse, pounding, Disintegration-type beat by Jason Cooper. It’s the type of song that’s purpose built for this type of Cure album.
Late in the song, when Smith sings, “We were always sure/ That we would never change,” it’s all but a signal that the band is going to double down on its singular sound rather than break any new ground. That’s fine when no one does this type of thing better than the Cure.
Simon Gallup’s bass lines have been the backbone of countless classics, so it’s great to hear him out in front on “Fragile Thing.” It’s the closest thing to a pop song on the album and features one of the best choruses the band has produced in about 30 years. Smith has said that “Warsong” is “about someone I fell out with, made up with, fell out with, made up with, over and over down the years.”
Cure fans will no doubt speculate that someone might be any number of bandmates like Gallup who’ve left and rejoined the band multiple times, but lines like, “Vengeful anger burning deep inside/ Poison in our blood and pain broken dreams,” could easily apply to today’s global landscape.
Smith has certainly explored themes of death and grief before, but songs like “Nothing Is Forever” and “I Can Never Say Goodbye,” which the Cure performed at Shoreline Amphitheatre last year, pack an emotional punch. He’s 65 now, so there’s a realness and rawness when he sings about loss. “I Can Never Say Goodbye” is a heartbreaking narrative of the unexpected death of his older brother. When he sings, “From out the cruel and treacherous night/ Something wicked this way comes/ To steal away my brother’s life,” it’s one of the most vulnerable moments on this–or any–Cure album.
One of the more striking songs here is “Drone NoDrone.” It’s built around the Cure’s version of funk music. The rhythm is insistent, driving and punctuated by wah-wah guitar lines. Smith wrote the song after being alarmed by a drone flying over his backyard. The anger is palpable, particularly in an explosive, pissed-off guitar solo by Reeves Gabrels.
By the end of 10-minute epic closer “Endsong” there’s a wrung-out feeling of having been through something. But even while Smith fires off lines like, “It’s all gone/ No hopes/ No dreams/ No world,” there’s a beam of resilience that shines through the black. The Cure remains a master of that. Surviving dark times can reveal who you really are, whether it’s 1983, 1989 or 2024. Much like the best Cure albums–and this does rank with their best–Songs Of a Lost World isn’t just about the sadness. It’s about moving through the sadness.