The Cure

Now, credit must be given where credit is due: The Cure are a classic. In 1976, they arose in the wake of the punk rock revolution. Fronted by Robert Smith and featuring an ever-changing line-up, The Cure quickly gained fame and have been cited in countless “influenced by” lists. With their dark subject matter, gloomy and haunting melodies, and tormented image, they were branded as “gothic,” a label Smith constantly hopes to shun. Accordingly, the band has progressively gained a much more mainstream sound. With “4:13 Dream,” The Cure has released its most pop-driven and production-heavy album yet. Complete with cowbells and warbling guitar riffs, they now uncannily resemble the many bands they have influenced, and leave us wondering who is influencing whom.

“4:13 Dream” begins with the six-minute “Underneath the Stars,” featuring an epic two-minute intro including a drum machine, chimes, and—eventually—Smith’s echoing voice. Already it becomes clear that The Cure are enjoying the technology the recording studio has to offer.

This fixation on a pop sound has created a strange dichotomy between the subject matter of many of their songs and their lyrical content. On third track “Reasons Why,” Smith opens with a typically morose line—“I won’t try to bring you down about my suicide”—and continues, “I won’t beg to put you out about my right to die.” But all this feigned moodiness contrasts with the rather tame and generic rock ambience of the music itself. Throughout, you can’t help but wonder if Smith is singing about a real heartache or just crooning about suicide because that’s what he’s supposed to do.

As the album progresses it only creates more confusion. A clear difference between The Cure and the bands they have influenced has always existed—that is, until “4:13 Dream” blurred that line beyond visibility. Formerly, The Cure united hordes of depressed teenagers behind caked-on makeup and under a banner of angst. Now they reach for modernity while half-heartedly grappling to recapture their former appeal—failing at both.

During “The Real Snow White” I can almost see The Killers’ Brandon Flowers wailing about “promises made in the heat of the moment” in Robert Smith’s place. Just add a few synths and Flowers would be right at home. Then 11th track “Sleep When I’m Dead” clouds my mind with visions of My Chemical Romance’s Gerard Way yelling “I’m not okay” while flanked by gothic ballerina dancers at a funeral.

That said, the album is not bad per se, but simply lackluster. Maybe Smith says it best on “Freakshow”: “Yeah, it’s the same / But it’s not quite right.” After 32 years and 13 albums, perhaps it’s to be expected.