T wo years ago, gloom-rock ruled the world. Dozens of Trent Reznors, Kurt Cobains and Tools howled and agonized their way into the hearts of millions of disillusioned teens. But suddenly daisies, sunflowers and power-pop are hip again. Now Alanis Morrisette is giving us a peace sign and Liam Gallagher wants us to be his wonderwall. In the midst of this Prozac-laced mania, The Cure has released their tenth studio album, Wild Mood Swings.
Let us not forget that Robert Smith and his boys were the pioneers of our Modern Age of Misery. When the Cure landed stateside in 1979 with "Boys Don't Cry," they represented themselves as a band of little cheer. Though their sound was occasionally upbeat, their message was a commentary on the incessant tediousness and downright awful nature of life on earth. Their more recent work--like "Love Song" and "Friday I'm In Love"--have shown an optimistic side to the group, but their latest release reveals a more significant upswing.
The band, which consists of Smith, Simon Gallup on bass, Berry Belamonte on guitars, keyboardist Roger O'Donnell and neophyte Jason Cooper on drums, gets playful on Wild Mood Swings, injecting Latin lust into their first single, "The 13th." "Gone!" has a jazzy feel to it, while "Mint Car" and "Return" are decidedly cheery pop. Several other tracks feature the traditional Cure sound--sparkling, melancholy guitars and slow-moving rhythms and Smith's characteristic vocal pout.
"Want" opens the album, lamenting the lack of time we're given in which to achieve all we wish for. It's a familiar Cure welcome, though it foreshadows the hopefulness to come. The second track, "Club America," opens with glittering-city riffs and Smith's double-entendres: "I ride into town on a big black Trojan horse/I'm looking to have some fun, some kind of trigger-happy intercourse," he growls mischievously. Is he being witty? Hold onto your cowboy hats, Cure fans -- we're not on Fascination Street anymore.
"The 13th" is a delicious track iced with horns and piano that'll make listeners want to reach for their maracas and shake their hips. Smith lets out a luxurious squeal and then shimmies into the vocal, describing love at first sight. "I'm always surprised at how... hungry she looks and I have to turn away to keep from bursting -- yeah, I feel that good."
In "Gone!" we are given a little advice. Smith sings, "and all you want to do is stay in bed/but if you do that you'll be missing the world/cause it doesn't stop turning," while bass-heavy swing and boogie- woogie keyboards illustrate the joy to be had once we "get up, get out and get gone." Who would have thought the Cure could give us a convincing reason to cheer up?
But the album's not called Wild Mood Swings for nothing, and it has its fair share of dreary songs. "Numb" is reminiscent of "The Same Deep Water as You" with funereal string sections and sodden guitar- strumming. "Treasure" is gloom par excellence, replete with its bitter farewell-to-love: "Remember I was always true, remember that I always tried/Remember I loved only you/Remember me smiling/It's better to forget than to remember me crying." Sparse guitar, a heartbeat rhythm and synthesized cello -- straight out of Boyz II Men -- completes the melody.
One of the most interesting tracks on the album is "Jupiter Crash," which compares a disappointing love to the astronomical event of a lifetime. It is a typical Cure ballad, with its female protagonist urging, "Forget about stars for a while." But Smith muses, "Meanwhile millions of miles away/The incoming comet enters Jupiter's space/It disappears away with nary a trace/Was that it?" It is an effective metaphor few have considered, despite its universal appeal.
The Cure's latest work is a puzzle. Are they more cheerful on this record because optimism is in? Or are they out to show us how bliss really works? "Wild Mood Swings" has its ups and downs -- but at least for this band, the emotions are genuine. The Cure shows itself capable of sincere joy without compromising its darker side. The message here is that any mood is permissible -- as long as it's real. So throw your antidepressants away, go out and have some fun.
This article was originally published in Addicted to Noise.