wordplay: Billy Schear
image: Andy Vela
Not long ago, in order to safeguard my heterosexuality, I felt I had to choose between The Cure and The Smiths. After deep thought and rational debate, I chose The Smiths. Protecting myself from overly feminine energy exuded by members of the same sex (however artistic their motives) was key. I was convinced that if I fell for both bands as heavily as I tend to fall for provocative music, I’d be forced to ask myself a series of very uncomfortable questions.
Pornography, was the first Cure album I reluctantly purchased. The last in a somewhat gloomy trilogy, (preceded by Seventeen Seconds and Faith), Pornography is an opus of gothic indulgence. From beginning to end, it serves as a constant reminder as to why Paxil was invented. There are reasons for depressing your fans I am sure, and this is one of those records that no matter how black your mood is, you can listen to it and know for a fact that your day can always get a little bit worse. How could one not fall for it?
In spite of being frequently categorized as depressive and bland, The Cure has become one of alternative rock’s most tenacious and iconic groups. They were alternative before anyone knew pop music needed one. Their chart-topping, Grammy-nominated success is less a testament to their commercial viability and more an indication of just how irresistible their distinctive sound is.
Front man Robert Smith’s pudgy melancholia is only one of the reasons for lending an ear to these British pop pushers. Musically, The Cure are an impressive lot. They have evolved considerably in their near 25 years of existence, graduating from a no-frills post-punk sound, to an eclectic signature that’s eclipsed the group’s “gothic” association and demonstrated a tone that redefines psychedelic. All of the rhetoric aside, it is safe to say: there is still an edgy resonance in all that they do.
With twelve studio albums under their belt, The Cure stand poised to release their thirteenth. The record (untitled as of press time) is the reason for delaying their tour last fall. The upcoming May 21 concert promises to give the despondent reason to dance again. They still have percussion, they still implement the keyboard, and early reports indicate they plan on standing upright throughout the entire performance. Yes, indeed, this will be a show to remember.
Perhaps it’s the big hair and the smeared lipstick. Or maybe it’s the legacy of lethargically hip tracks that have beguiled me into giving in to reason. I am still very unnerved, however, about the implications if I’m a fan of both The Cure and The Smiths, but if pop music has taught me anything, it’s to put up a front of brooding discontent, while inwardly crying out desperately for the attention and understanding that only a Freudian analyst is licensed to give.
May 21st @ Red Rocks
TheCure.com