Thursday, April 16, 2015

Cure in The New Yorker

From The New Yorker (Thanks Perfect.Murder):

Frank Ocean, the Cure, and Boys Who Do Cry
By Anwen Crawford

Last week, the L.A.-based rapper and songwriter Frank Ocean announced online a new project called “Boys Don’t Cry.” It could be a magazine, or an album, or possibly both. If the title sounds familiar, that might be because it’s the name of a song and a compilation album by the Cure. “Boys Don’t Cry” is also the name of a 1999 film, starring Hilary Swank, about a young transgender man. The film is named after the Cure’s song, and features a version of it. The Cure, not so much a band as a sensibility, seem inconspicuous until you start looking for them, when they become ubiquitous.

Next year, the Cure will turn forty years old. They have released thirteen studio albums and may yet release another; though the quality of their work has dimmed in recent years, their legacy is intact. The Cure has outlived post-punk, new wave, goth, grunge, rave, and many genres in between. They are their own genre: melodic, melancholic, and just a little bit whimsical. They have never been cool, not even as the youthful trio who released a seven-inch single, their second, called “Boys Don’t Cry,” in 1979. Right from the start, the British music press treated the Cure as something of an embarrassment—they were not as political as the Clash, too nice to be the Jam, and their moody despondency did not have the same touch of authentic despair as Joy Division, whose lead singer, Ian Curtis, committed suicide in 1980. Despite critical mockery, the Cure has been commercially successful and intensely adored. The devotion they attract has made them easy to dismiss as the quintessential band of adolescent woe, Pied Pipers for the world’s ever-replenishing supply of tearful suburban teen-agers. I want to say that their best songs are their most heartfelt ones, but their worst songs are that, too, while some of their most perfect songs—like “Boys Don’t Cry,” or “The Love Cats,” or “Friday I’m In Love”—are absolutely throwaway.

The band’s founding member, Robert Smith, is instantly recognizable: black eyeliner, a smudge of bright red lipstick, a nest of wildly backcombed black hair. He is almost cartoonish in appearance, and once made a cameo appearance on “South Park.” Heavy makeup and teased hair were not unusual style choices for a male pop star in the nineteen-eighties, but Smith never deviated from his look, not even as the eighties rolled into the nineties, nor when the nineties gave way to the new millennium. As a young man, he was pretty but not properly androgynous like his contemporary Boy George was; you would be hard pressed to call Smith sexy. With their songs about primary emotions like love and sadness, the Cure are in many ways a boy band. They are very easy to become infatuated with, but they are safe, and safety is a great part of their appeal. Even at their most funereal—and they once wrote a song called “The Funeral Party”—the Cure make comfort music. Compared with the volatility of punk, or the bombast of Meatloaf and Led Zeppelin, who both placed high on the charts in 1979, the Cure were subdued—they took the heat out of playing guitar. “Boys Don’t Cry” arrived in the wake of punk, but it wasn’t about anger; it was about love. It’s a simple song about a broken heart, and it sounds like a summer’s day—a summer’s day that threatens to dissolve into rain.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Kiss it all goodbye!

Reminder: It's never too let to get up and GO! :)

Nice to see this just pop up out of the blue on Twitter. Thanks, Amazon Music.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Video for Love Amongst Ruin's 'Lose Your Way'

Video just released for 'Lose Your Way' from Love Amongst Ruin, Perry's new band. Perry's on bass. (via Team Rock)

Monday, April 13, 2015

5 Cure songs in SUE's Top 100 Songs of 1981

The Cure placed 5 songs in the Slicing Up Eyeballs Top 100 Songs of 1981 poll. 'Primary' is #7, 'Charlotte Sometimes' is #17, 'All Cats Are Grey' is #50, 'Faith' is #67, 'Funeral Party' is #94.