The Cure
The Cure
Geffen

"I can't find myself" is the first line on the Cure's latest album, released after several false threats by the band of — finally — calling it quits. If singer Robert Smith is referring to the self that created Disintegration and the nine albums of varying degrees of brilliance that came prior, then he's right.

Longtime followers of the band led by this ratty-haired, crooked lipstick-wearing crooner of gloom have hoped for the band's retirement since 1996's sub-mediocre Wild Mood Swings. Wish (1992) was the Cure's last respectable full-length, and Bloodflowers (2000) — contrary to all the hype — certainly wasn't the conclusion of any trilogy purported to include 1984's Pornography and 1989's Disintegration. At best, Bloodflowers isn't as bad as Wild Mood Swings; at worst, its brooding songs are too mired in middle-age woes to warrant them comparison to earlier material from the band's melancholic heyday.

If approached with a substantial amount of skepticism and wariness, The Cure is not a complete disappointment. In fact, it's often surprisingly good and sometimes even great. There's no denying that the band, no member of which is yet 50 years old, sounds a little tired — and said members must suspect the triteness of its decades-long indulgence in all that's black and blue. But The Cure contains remarkable moments of heartfelt inflection not heard since Smith fell in love that one Friday.

"The Promise," the album's final track, features a plodding bass line from stalwart bassist Simon Gallup that emerges from wailing guitar feedback and summons Disintegration's deepest waters. To draw any further comparisons to preceding albums, though, would be unfair to The Cure. This Cure, inevitably older and less inspired, is — let's face it — less necessary, and the release of The Cure begs the age-old question: if a tree falls in a forest, will anyone care to hear it (even if that tree falls near "A Forest")? The band's most faithful fans are older, too, thus less prone to Cure-listening fits; younger fans have new bands (Deftones, etc.) to cater to their moods.

Which is precisely why The Cure impresses. After almost 10 years of missteps ("Wrong Number" anyone?), the band, if less spry, sounds recharged. It could also be that listeners have come to expect less, but from the album's first forceful chords, it's clear that Smith and Co. aren't entirely lost. The beautifully murky "Anniversary" features Smith sounding convincingly sad as he sings, "Another year ago tonight/ Behind this same remembering sky/ I kissed you.../ I never meant to let you go"; on "(I Don't Know What's Going) On" Smith "doo doo doos" like old times and the chorus has him squealing high as a kite over the Cure's signature jangly guitar; and the keyboard on "Taking Off" smacks nostalgically of the classic and perfect "Just Like Heaven."

Most of The Cure's tracks, actually, are more than merely pretty good for a band that sucked for a while and had many losing hope that it would ever be as it was. Robert as wordsmith isn't nearly as wonderfully poetic ("Us or Them" features the lame chorus, "I don't want you anywhere near me/ Get my fucking head out of your world," in which "fucking" sounds as sincere and natural as a chirping pig); still, it's a relatively small price to pay for this audibly welcome return to form.

While it's likely that The Cure's best tracks will serve only as reminders of what the band once was for older fans and it's doubtful younger listeners will completely be won over by them (though it may have them riffling through the back catalog), the album stands, regardless, as a testament to the band's best efforts. If the Cure were to stop recording now, The Cure would be a satisfying culmination of its 25-year career.

— Lavina Lee (lavina at flakmag dot com)