Review
The Cure
4:13 Dream

A new album by The Cure. This always makes me nervous. One of my favorite bands from old times (my favorite band full stop, according to my Last FM charts), The Cure are pretty damn high in my esteem. Having said that, I am more than aware of Robert Smith's ability to disappoint me. The last couple of decades of output have been inconsistent at best, and a downward spiral at worst. You have to head back to 1992's Wish for a truly great album, and though they haven't sunk into a complete creative mire it would be nice to get a brand new release where you don't feel like skipping over a good chunk of the tracks on repeat listenings.

Sadly, I'm still holding my breath.

There's nothing all that wrong with 4:13 Dream, and if you've come to The Cure through the fuzzy indie rock offerings of The Cure and Bloodflowers then you'll enjoy this album as well indeed, it's superior to both. But for those of us who yearn for the triumphant post-punk, the goth-tinged pop and the atmospheric glittering majesty of the old material, this offers small reward. Album opener "Underneath the Stars" lulls you into a sense of false security with a Wish-esque slow ethereal crush before the quirky quasi-indie tunes and disappointing vocal tics kick in.

Again, this isn't a poor album. The shimmering alt. pop of "Sirensong" and "The Perfect Boy" is solid stuff, and there's a glimmer of Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me in more than a couple of the tracks on offer. But for every pleasant little ditty there's a rough, slightly irritating chorus somewhere else, half-worked and below par for a songwriter who gave us "Just Like Heaven" and "Inbetween Days".

Of course, to most fans this will mean little since they'll have dashed out to buy it on the release date anyway (myself included). And hey, a lot of them will like it a lot more than I will. There also remain rumors that Smith has split his songwriting into 'happy' and 'sad' songs, and the latter are up for release as a separate album next year. And everyone knows the best Robert Smith songs are the really fucking depressing ones, even if they sound like they taste of strawberries. Bitter, bitter strawberries.

In the end, while this is a respectable album it's far from being the great one The Cure are long overdue for putting out.