The Cure - Boys Don’t Cry (New Voice)

First released in the UK as a stand-alone single in June 1979, “Boys Don’t Cry” was then included as the title track on Boys Don't Cry, the American equivalent to Three Imaginary Boys. Written by Michael Dempsey, Robert Smith, and Lol Tolhurst, the lyrics tell the story of a man who has given up trying to regain the love that he has lost, and tries to disguise his true emotional state by "laughing, hiding the tears in my eyes, 'cause boys don't cry".

In April 1986 “Boys Don’t Cry” was re-released, again as a standalone 7 & 12” single, this time under the title "New Voice · New Mix", in which the original track was remixed and the vocals re-recorded. This new version has not appeared on any subsequent release by the Cure, but can be heard in the music video for "Boys Don't Cry". The video, released to promote the "New Voice New Mix" re-recording, features three children miming the song. Behind a curtain, Smith, Tolhurst, and Dempsey (in his only appearance with the band since his 1979 departure), appear as the children's shadows.

“Boys Don’t Cry (New Voice-New Mix)” was released to promote “Standing On A Beach”; however, the original 1979 version of the song appears on the album.

The Cure - Primary

The only single released from the Cure’s Faith album sees the boys ditch the guitars and rock out some drum and bass. Both Simon and Robert play bass, with the effects pedals on Bob’s giving the leads a unique sound. There are no guitars or keyboards played in the song about coming of age. With all this useless information at my fingertips I suppose I should share some quips about the single, but I won’t, except to say not to bother too much with the B’side as it’s shit and to play Primary as loudly as possible.

The Cure - The Top [Deluxe Edition]

So far, this extensive reissue series has seen the Cure transform from a spiky post-punk act (Three Imaginary Boys) to a spooky new wave one (Seventeen Seconds), and from a grand, glacial rock band (Faith) to a fiercer, darker one (Pornography). That's more than enough to make for a striking career in itself: It's 1983, and the Cure is already epically great. But there's a difference between a great rock act and the kind of long-running international pop favourite this band was bound to be, and the music that comes next is what makes that difference.

The mid-80s are the years in which the Cure ceases to be a rock band and becomes a vehicle to plumb Robert Smith's imagination. Asian art, psychedelics, hallucinations-- with the act's line-up effectively swapped to bits, Smith takes up the reins of the studio, and he seems to see each individual song as a chance to literalize some particular dream of his, using pop arrangements to create little worlds that feel astonishingly visual. It's a shame these reissues can't include the band's already-compiled singles from this era, because it's in their ever-changing styles that you get the best sense of what he was doing: trying on a joyous fake-jazz strut for "The Lovecats", making "The Caterpillar" sound like a broken-down music conservatory for fairies, doing bratty, funky synthpop on "Let's Go to Bed" and chilly electro on "The Walk". Rock bands sound good within the context of being rock bands; pop songs like these carried their own context with them, each one a dream to step into.

The Top, however, is not that Cure. Yes, "The Caterpillar" is on here, and "Dressing Up" has a sexy pop-song elegance that's certainly new. But this full-length is the sound of a rock band stretching out in a much less controlled and occasionally bitter way: There are shades of gnarled psychedelia scattered throughout. Songs like "Give Me It" and "Shake Dog Shake" scream and blurt with a grim, bristly rage. The band's signature dirges suddenly feel formless and lethargic in a bad way. The rough home and studio demos on the bonus disc are hard listening in spots, but also instructive: In hearing Smith labour to make this material whole, you get a better sense of how the scattershot styles of the album could be stemming from the same source.

The Cure - Three Imaginary Household Appliances

Aaah! More alert and anguished young men chalking up more sanctioned and sanctimonious marks! Do not applaud them! This glistening long player contains twelve self-conscious variations upon the smoothly quirky theme, somewhere between hypnotic and indifferent, that brought the world, somewhere between hype and anonymity, the pleasurable “Killing An Arab”. For one whole album that pretty bending and doodling does a lot less than please, and a lot more than irritate. The Cure’s formula is not that marvelous, but the Cure are not just making pop music. They make thins much worse than they could be by packaging this insubstantial froth as if it had some social validity. As if it were going to alter our conceptions of what is real and what is unreal. They garnish their twelve little ditties with unreliable trickery, not content to let ordinary songs die ordinary deaths.

The lads go rampant on insignificant symbolism and compound this with rude, soulless obliqueness. They are trying to tell us something. They are trying to tell us they do not exist. They are trying to say that everything is empty. They are making fools of themselves. They are represented on the ice-cream colour cover by three by three bulky, ageing household gadgets. Lol Tolhurst (drums) is a fridge. Michael Dempsey (Bass, Voice) is an upright hoover. Robert Smith (Guitar Voice) is a standard lamp. Each song is represented on the back sleeve by a picture and on the label by a symbol.

Thus a typically dehydrated interpretation of Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady” is matched with a Polaroid snapshot of a slinky lady in a pencil skirt and stilettos striding along a metropolis pavement. “So What” is represented by a picture of two bags of granulated sugar spilling over the floor. All very clever stuff. All this charming, childish fiddling about aims for the anti-image but naturally creates the perfect malleable image: the tantalising enigma of The Cure.

They try to take everything away from the purpose and idea of the rock performer but try so hard they put more in than they take out. They add to the falseness. Good luck to them.

The Cure, really, are trying to sell us something. Their product is more artificial than most. This is perhaps part of their master plan, but it seems more like their naivety. The way it is, The Cure set them-selves up as though they float a long way outside the realms of anything we can understand. They are scandalous, fulfilled aliens and they look down on us. What do they see? Not much that will shoot your being through with vigour or sudden understanding, but they never stop nagging. Willowy songs wallow in the murk and marsh of tawdry images, inane realisations and dull epigrams. Sometimes they sound like an avant-garde John Otway, or an ugly Spirit. Sometimes a song is as pretty as “Killing An Arab”: “Accuracy” (a target over a man’s eye) or “Fire In Cairo” (palm tree in the desert). But most of the time it’s just a voice catching its breath, with a cautiously primitive guitar riff, some toy drumming and a sprightly bass. Nowhere is there anything alarming; nowhere is there anything truly adventurous. Not that I demand adventure at all costs, but The Cure do suggest that they are on a worthwhile expedition.

Neither do I constantly demand anything that’s going to make my life a little bit better but, again, The Cure hint that they’re doing this and more. What they’ve done here is the equivalent of an album of Enid Blyton reading packaged as readings from Angela Carter. No, It’s maybe not that awful-good. It’s just that in 1979 people shouldn’t be allowed to get away with things like this (the Cure are absolute conformists to vaguely defined non-convention). There are just too many who do (Doll By Doll, Punishment Of Luxury, Fischer Z). Fatigue Music. So transparent, light and…oh how it nags.

Album Review by Paul Morley

The Cure - Boys Don't Cry

In the spectrum of self-conscious post punk British bands, the Cure fall squarely between Wire's sophisticated, jagged architectonics and the Undertones' concise, wide-eyed pop music. They incorporate a little of each. I guess this means that these guys average out at the college-sophomore level, which is appropriate, since their first British single (the desert-spare "Killing an Arab") was based on an Albert Camus novel, The Stranger. It's hard to pull off such a feat without being called pretentious, but Boys Don't Cry, the Cure's American debut, proves they can transcend their Comp. Lit. 201 (Elementary Angst) scenarios.

The Cure's bass-heavy, three man sound works like a telescopic lens, focusing and magnifying a hook around a central line or image that makes each vignette ring true, like the one piece of back ground bric-a-brac that makes a movie set seem real. Songwriter Robert Smith has a gift for close-ups: the apt, arty phrase or stinging, succinct guitar overdub. In "Fire in Cairo," he turns a simile into a mantra (his girlfriend's hair burns like "f-i-r-e i-n c-a-i-r-o") and reiterates it over a bumpy dance beat. Smith's sound-effects guitar in "Killing an Arab" (either crackling through the mix like reverberating gunfire or stringing snake-charmer melodies) transforms the terse lyrics into a you are there slide show: "Standing on a beach with a gun in my hand/Staring at the sea Staring at the sand Staring down the barrel at the Arab on the ground."

Chris Parry's crystal-clear production separates Michael Dempsey's bass and Lol Tolhurst's drums, as if to fence off a large patch of silence in the centre. Along with neat production touches like the clattering trash-can percussion that echoes into the distance on the fade of "Jumping Someone Else's Train," the empty spaces highlight the group's dynamic variations. Compositions like "10:15 Saturday Night" and "Subway Song" (about a girl or boy trailed in the shadows) have the edgy quietude of reality. Every drawn breath, each finger snapped in the darkness, falls distinctly and significantly.

Amid the Cure's nerve-edge numbers (hushed and haunting or insistent enough to make you dance to your own jitters) the title track is the odd tune out. "Boys Don't Cry" is a sweetly anguished pure-pop single, carried by an aching, infectious guitar hook and the singer's taffy pull croon. Though it doesn't have the film-clip explicitness of Smith's other songs, the words offer a nice twist on the standard lovelorn script: boy meets girl, mistreats girl, loses girl, yearns for girl but won't appear vulnerable, even to get her back. Hell, if Robert Smith ever decides to quit rock & roll, he's got a great career ahead of him writing for the movies.

By Debra Rae Cohen: 21 August, 1980

The Cure - The Head On The Door

British icons, The Cure‘s sixth studio album, 1985’s The Head on the Door, is their most pivotal opus to date. Primarily defined as an album that is one of The Cure’s most sugary, it bridged the gap between the early, overt gloom that the band espoused in their ‘Dark Trilogy’ of albums and the latter, stadium-filling juggernaut they would become. Described at the time by Melody Maker as “a collection of pop songs”, retrospectively this seems a tad reductive. The Head on the Door is actually a much weightier album than it gets credit for. This is the brilliance of the album; inflicted with pop melodies, and taking homage to the diverse range of albums that influenced it, The Cure managed to create a realm entirely unique. It manages to be goth, pop, rock and disco at different points but is a unified package.
The album also marked the return of bassist Simon Gallup. Often referred to as the beating heart of The Cure, there is no surprise The Head on the Door, is a triumphant battle cry from the band. Underpinned by Gallup’s strong, unwavering bass lines, the album presents itself as a fully realised body of work, particularly when you compare it to the slightly thin, narcotic psychedelia of the band’s previous album, The Top. Whilst a brilliant album in its own right, The Top marks the end of The Cure’s first era. In addition to Gallup returning from the cold, guitarist Porl Thompson, who played the guitar during the early days of the band, and had also played keys and the saxophone whilst touring for The Top, became an official member. It is also worth noting that Thompson was married to frontman Robert Smith’s sister. Drummer Boris Williams was also invited to join the band permanently. Thus, The Cure were ready to move into their next chapter.
In a sense, The Head on the Door, is a product of its time. During promotion for the album, Smith explained that it was largely inspired by Siouxsie and the Banshees’ Kaleidoscope and the Human League’s Dare. In an effort to cast off the overtly gothic overtones of The Cure’s earlier material, Smith wanted the album to be a colourful mix of styles and moods. At one point, Smith explained: “It reminds me of the Kaleidoscope album, the idea of having lots of different sounding things, different colours”. It is this experimentation with styles that affords The Head on the Door the respect it has cultivated over the years. It is an example for musicians to push themselves out of their comfort zones, as often it culminates in brilliance. Consequently, one would wager that this offering is actually The Cure at their most refined.

The Cure - Faith + Carnage Visors

Certainly not the "darkest" the Cure would eventually get, Faith is, as represented by the cover art, one of the most "gray" records out there. Melancholy and despondent (the feel of funerals and old churches just oozes from this record) without the anger that would overtake Pornography, Faith comes off as not just a collection of songs, but as a full piece. "The Holy Hour," "All Cats Are Grey," and the spectacular "Faith" are slow atmospheric pieces that take the softer elements from Seventeen Seconds, and -- when sidled up next to faster tracks like the single "Primary" and "Doubt" -- paint an overall picture of the ups and downs contained within a greater depressive period. But it's not all gloomy keyboards and minimalist percussion, Faith is also a milestone for Robert Smith lyrically, branching out into questions of faith and spirituality he never quite touched on so well ever again. A depressing record, certainly, but also one of the most underrated and beautiful albums the Cure put together. They would not touch on this sort of lush sadness so well again until 1989's Disintegration.

The Cure - Seventeen Seconds

It's hard to believe that the Cure could release an album even sparser than Three Imaginary Boys, but here's the proof. The line-up change that saw funkstery bassist Michael Dempsey squeezed out in favour of the more specific playing of (eventually the longest serving member outside Robert Smith) Simon Gallup, and the addition of keyboardist Mathieu Hartley resulted in the band becoming more rigid in sound, and more disciplined in attitude. While it is not the study in loss that Faith would become, or the descent into madness of Pornography, it is a perfect precursor to those collections. In a sense, Seventeen Seconds is the beginning of a trilogy of sorts, the emptiness that leads to the questioning and eventual madness of the subsequent work. Mostly forgotten outside of the unforgettable single "A Forest," Seventeen Seconds is an even, subtle work that grows on the listener over time. Sure, the Cure did better work, but for a new line up and a newfound sense of independence, Robert Smith already shows that he knows what he's doing. From short instrumental pieces to robotic pop, Seventeen Seconds is where the Cure shed all the outside input and became their own band.

Various Artists - Small Wonder Vol.2

It has been a while since I posted the first ten Small Wonder singles, hasn’t it?!. Well thanks first of all for being so patient and for recognising just how difficult it is to find some of the additional B side tracks. It has to be noted that without great resources to visit like Always A Wanker with his incredible selection of punk and post-punk bands, collating complete compilations would be near impossible. So, without further bla bla blah, I am taking it as understood that you are all familiar with the concept of Small Wonder Records, it being an early independent label that specialised in releasing punk and post-punk bands. This 25 track collection covers releases “Small Eleven” through to “Small Twenty” which includes artists such as The Cravats, Fatal Microbes, The Wall, Cockney Rejects, The Molesters and The Cure. With a tiny bit of help from the indie archives of a real collector, it’s time to get acquainted / re-acquainted with some real gems from the vaults.

 

The Cure – Pornography

Opening with the oppressively dense ‘One Hundred Years’ (wherein Robert Smith sneered “It doesn’t matter if we all die”), Pornography was harsh and brutal, but while its creators may have been on the brink of collapse they were still capable of innovation. For example, Lol Tolhurst’s monumental drum sound was captured through a (then) radical approach where all the acoustic dividers were removed from RAK’s main room, leaving him to play his parts in a huge open space. Elsewhere, to create the weird, claustrophobic titular song, the band and co-producer Phil Thornalley used a proto-sampling technique whereby they dropped in snatches of commentary recorded from a TV documentary about sex. Though dominated by relentless, hypnotic dirges such as ‘The Figurehead’ and the icy, keyboard-swathed ‘Cold’, Pornography nonetheless yielded one minor hit single courtesy of the insistent, drum-heavy ‘The Hanging Garden’. Its parent LP’s unyielding darkness ensured it was received coldly by the critics on release, yet, commercially, Pornography still out-performed the band’s previous LPs, peaking at No.8 in the UK Top 40. Replicating the record’s sleeve, The Cure sported their soon-to-be trademark big hair and lipstick for the first time when they embarked on their ill-fated Fourteen Explicit Moments tour across Europe. Smith, Tolhurst and bassist Simon Gallup, however, split after inter-band tensions came to a head during the jaunt.

Join The Dots B-Sides & Rarities 1978-2001

Wisely, the Cure decided to start fresh upon signing with their new label in 2004 by cleaning house, remastering the old albums, and bringing their fans Join the Dots: B-Sides & Rarities, 1978-2001. Not only is it the ultimate companion to the official releases, but it is, in a way, the new-super-deluxe-updated version of that cassette release of Staring at the Sea. Every B-side is included, in order, with cleaned-up sound, liner notes, and explanations by the man who made it all happen. All tracks, from "10.15 Saturday Night" (the B-side to the debut single "Killing an Arab") to covers of "Hello, I Love You," "Purple Haze," and "World in My Eyes," to entries from the Bloodflowers singles, are an indication that while the Cure made both strong albums and singles, they were not afraid to experiment along the way, and more importantly, they didn't let pride keep them from not making them available to those who were willing to look for them. Their growth as a band can be fully tracked in the songs here. The wild development on disc one (which includes the B-sides from the Staring at the Sea cassette, the B-sides from the Boys Don't Cry re-release from 1986, and the Japanese Whispers B-sides, as well as the extremely rare "Lament" [flexi-disc version]) is easily their strongest and most diverse era, with Smith growing artistically and musically in leaps and bounds from track to track. The rampant growth eventually gives way to the dark and heavy pop of the B-sides of Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Disintegration, and Mixed Up on disc two. While the songs are strong on this second disc, they manage to have less of the wild, experimental abandon that disc one has. The Cure began to find a real niche by this point and by disc three, the dream pop of the late '80s had developed into the stadium-sized gloom and doom that characterized 1992's Wish, their critical and commercial peak. Eventually the band's output would become more sporadic, and the level of consistency would be more of a trademark of the band than the experimentalism of old. Disc four, which covers the time from Wild Mood Swings to Bloodflowers, is the "weakest" of the collection, but there are still great moments to be found, with many remixes that give the original tracks a new interpretation. There are those who would argue that the band grew, and others would argue that it fell apart, yet there is no denying that the majority of work on Join the Dots is extraordinarily strong. It admittedly may be a bit too much for someone who isn't quite a big devotee of the band, but it's a veritable godsend for those who've been waiting for this for years. No jumbled, out-of-order track listings, no glaring omissions (it's safe to say that the reissues of the albums will take care of any extra tracks, mixes, and miscellanea lying around) -- it's exactly what a rarities/B-sides collection should be. Join the Dots: B-Sides & Rarities, 1978-2001 is proof that, while the band may falter from time to time (as most do) the Cure have, unlike most, really been paying attention to their fans' needs over the years.

The Cure In Session 1978

I’m not going to elaborate on this, as we’ve already been acquainted with Bob and the boys Peel sessions, but I found the first Peel session 12” tucked away in a folder of a folder in funky FLAC.

So, in the finest tradition of bloggers the world over, enjoy.

Peel Sessions 1978 - 85

Though it was by no means the greatest John Peel session that the Cure ever recorded (that honour belongs to their 1981 airing), the band's debut on the show, in late 1978, remains one of their best-loved, as the then all but unknown quartet previewed four of the songs that knowing journalists had already tagged the sound of "the southern Buzzcocks." Recorded on November 12 for broadcast on December 4, "Killing an Arab" (the group's still-unreleased debut single), "10:15 Saturday Night," "Fire in Cairo," and "Boys Don't Cry" all peeled out of Robert Smith's then-firm grasp on the mechanics of post-punk power pop, a little rougher and rawer than the versions that would eventually make it onto vinyl, but crackling with precision and energy regardless. Indeed, bassist Michael Dempsey later admitted, "the Peel session songs captured the spirit far more than the album versions, they’re more like the original demos that had secured our recording contract in the first place, just better quality. All the songs in the first Peel session should be seen as the definitive sound of the early Cure."

Like An Animal

The Glove's Blue Sunshine is a one-off collaboration between The Cure's Robert Smith and Siouxsie And The Banshees' Steven Severin which resulted in an eccentric, and at times incompatible, mix of psychedelic sounds wrapped around alternative '80s pop. Writers Smith and Severin's more eccentric tendencies are as likely to evoke pictures of a carnival as a funereal march, but the backbone rests largely on tightly constructed tunes with occasional forays into the experimental. Jeanette Landray sings the majority of the tracks, while Smith takes the lead twice amongst a smattering of instrumentals. Standout tracks include the Middle Eastern-twinged "Orgy" and the more conventional "Mouth to Mouth." Smith's distinctive warbling on the first-class "Perfect Murder" takes the album directly into Cure territory, as do the instrumentals which could equally find a home on Seventeen Seconds. While musically diverse, the album's lyrics rarely stray from the dual themes of death and sex, furthering the Gothic undertones so often heard in Smith and Severin's previous work. Blue Sunshine's eclecticism makes this an interesting side note for long-time fans of the Cure and Siouxsie And the Banshees, but a somewhat more inaccessible listen for others.