The cure is The Cure

• The Cure – The Cure

• Universal Music International / Geffen 2004

UK band The Cure penned countless songs that were the soundtrack to the pubescence of the ’80s. Along with numerous European bands, it was an inspiration to a burgeoning local "alternative" scene that railed against the prefabricated artists of pop.

The guitar-wielding Robert Smith in rubber shoes, loose clothing, lipstick, mascara, and the distinctive bad hair was the ultimate poster boy.

In the Philippines, The Cure quickly caught on and outgrew its audience of gelled teens to reach the pinnacle of local kitsch via the Boys Don’t Cry dance contest on Eat, Bulaga!– where winners were chosen by the severity of their epileptic dance moves.

But these things aside, The Cure represented the best of what became known as new wave, melding goth and punk with Smith’s signature lilting vocals to deliver classic and memorable ditties such as Close to Me, In Between Days, Killing an Arab, many more.

And while Robert Smith’s hair stayed the same (a "frightwig," according to a writer), his songwriting didn’t. He learned to craft more delicate songs, and dared to extend his lavish soundscapes beyond the usual duration. Yet along with this noticeable evolution, Smith retained his genius in catchy tunesmithing– managing to deliver hit after hit while taking care of The Cure’s pre-eminent and respected stature by staying just below the fickle pop radar. Its contemporary U2 had broken through in the biggest way, and consequently had to grapple with the hangover and ill effects of its high Billboard chart stint.

Except for its doomed flirtation with electronica on 1996’s Wild Mood Swings, The Cure has consistently delivered standout albums to satisfy its throngs of now older fans. Smith has also deftly avoided falling into the trap (again, with the exception of Wild Mood Swings) of sounding contemporary.

Way before the release of Bloodflowers in 2000, talk of disbandment abound. Bloodflowers itself –with its almost palpable sense of loss and desperation–sounded like the work of a band ready to step into the shadows. "So the fire is almost out and there’s nothing left to burn," Smith sang ominously in 39.

Add to this the release of a greatest hits compilation. Surely this was the death knell for our favorite band.

Thankfully, Smith begs to digress. The simply titled and recently released The Cure album comes as a welcome reaffirmation for all believers who don’t want the great love affair with The Cure to come to an unceremonious end just yet.

The new album boasts all the things a self-respecting The Cure album should have–the naked emotion, the meandering guitar, the spaciousness, and yes, the excellent songwriting.

And like before, The Cure brings back the same dark themes. The compilation opens with the disturbing Lost, which seems to start where Bloodflowers left off. "I can’t find myself," Smith begins a mantra amid a sea of drawling guitar.

In the painful trudge of Labyrinth, Smith goes on to bewail: "It’s not the same you... Everything has to have changed... or it’s me." It’s a tantalizing thought: Could it be that the pains of puberty have now turned to the distress of midlife?

The carrier single The End of the World, is an infectious ditty that might one day find itself on an Adam Sandler movie soundtrack. "You want me to lie not break your heart; I want you to fly not stop and start," sings Smith. Even the keyboard effects scream "geeky love song." Make that beautiful geeky love song.

Then Smith starts a downward spiral again with Anniversary. "A year ago today we stood above this same awakening world. I held you. You never wanted me to know... I never meant to let you go."

In Us or Them, Smith appears to get political and makes a stand against prejudice and terrorism: "There is no terror in my heart," he begins. "I don’t want you anywhere near me. Get your f****ing world out of me. I don’t want your ‘us or them."

The Cure again soars with the aptly titled Taking Off, a classic new wave number that harkens back to 1992’s Wish, before sinking down via the tortured The Promise, which rambles on for more than 10 minutes. "Time will heal, make me forget... you promised me," Smith laments, "And I waited... And I waited and I’m still waiting."

And lo and behold: Smith once more leaves us with not-too-cryptic goodbyes. In Going Nowhere, he sings: "I’m going nowhere... don’t look so scared... could be I’m already there?"

You’re damned right we’re scared. So stop saying that, Mr. Robert Smith.