The Cure has been one of England's most influential bands since the release of its debut album, Three Imaginary Boys, in 1979. Led by its only consistent member, Robert Smith, the group mixes dour-but-accessible post-punk with playful, even euphoric notes of pop and new-wave music. After a string of commercial and critical successes in the '80s and early '90s, The Cure's output began slowing, only to dry up entirely after its 13th album, 2008's 4:13 Dream. But the band kept headlining festivals, writing music and performing concerts, and even recorded a significant batch of songs in 2019 — the same year The Cure was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
Still, there are 16 years between 4:13 Dream and the new record that dropped Friday. As suggested by its title, Songs of a Lost World, it's thematically dark — in a 2021 interview, Smith teased its contents by dubbing it "very, very doom and gloom" — but it's also sonically rich and inviting, often recalling the cohesiveness and sweeping beauty of 1989's classic Disintegration.
In an interview for Morning Edition, Smith sat down to discuss the long gap between records, the Prince-style vault of unreleased Cure songs and his battles to keep ticket prices low at The Cure's concerts. He also answers a question he dubs "a bit bleak" — which, if we're being honest, is a little bit like asking a question of the Pope and having him reply that it's "a bit Catholic."
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Stephen Thompson: As a greedy and entitled Cure fan, I have to ask: What took so long?
Robert Smith: There's no such thing as a greedy and entitled Cure fan.
I'm not sure, really. Obviously I've been fielding that question from various quarters — although not so much in interviews, just from people around me. Since the summer, I seem to have just decided that it needs to get done.
We recorded a lot of songs in 2019 and, then through COVID, I kind of got distracted and started working on some solo stuff. We started touring to get back into the groove and that ran through to pretty much the end of last year. And I suddenly thought, "Well, I'd probably better get something finished."
I think the mistake I made was I was trying to get 30 songs all finished together, so they all somehow hung together. And I realized at the start of this year that that really wasn't going to happen. So I reduced it down to 20, and then I reduced it down 10, and then I finally emerged with eight that I thought worked together best. But I have left behind quite a few of my favorite songs, weirdly enough.
I wanted this album — the first one from those sessions — to be kind of a statement. It's shorter than most Cure albums have been since we were releasing stuff on vinyl in the '80s — it comes in under 50 minutes. There's no real light — there's a little bit of light to throw the shade into relief. But it's pretty much exactly how I wanted it. So I'm very happy that it's done. But I am at a slight loss as to how it's taken 16 years to get here. The short answer is: I have no idea.
You've used a phrase in one interview where you promised/warned that this record would be "very doom and gloom." You've said that "I Can Never Say Goodbye" is about the death of your brother Richard. Other songs are touching on death and loss and regret. How much is this a concept album about death and how did that affect the process of recording it?
A concept album about death? That didn't really cross my mind. I think a sense of loss permeates the album. I think that's slightly different to musing exclusively on death. And also the changing nature of reality. As you grow older, you do tend to feel like you're being left behind by the world. And sometimes it's a great feeling. I think we're kind of designed to welcome that idea of actually slowing down and seeing the world spinning away from us. But in other ways, having younger people around and an extended family, you start to see how dark things look for a younger generation. And I feel kind of slightly responsible, personally responsible.
I kind of know what the next album is already. I know what the next nine songs are because five of them have been sitting there living together. We've actually played three of them live. So they're "new songs" in inverted commas. These are actually songs that, I think, Cure fans have been expecting to emerge with definitive versions. They've been waiting for them for a long, long time, longer than 16 years in some cases.
Not to get ahead of ourselves, but what is the next record? Is it thematically similar to this? Is that where you put all the joy?
No, the third one. In my mind, it's like a redemptive kind of arc. That's how I see it in terms of concepts. Mainly it's, like, notes pinned on my wall, reminding me what I should and shouldn't be doing. So it is a transitional record, the next one — depending on how it's sequenced and what songs end up on it. There are four incredibly sad songs still to come and I'm tempted to try and marry those with some that are slightly more left-field for the next record, and then leave the third record for something that's very much more light and upbeat. That's my intention; whether I get there or not is another thing entirely.
You mentioned that most of these songs have been around for a really long time. In some cases, these songs are from 2010, 2011. Are you like Prince? Is there like a massive Cure vault?
There is, yeah. It's the only thing that stops us [from] releasing two albums a year because I have to write the words. And as I grow older, I find it very, very difficult to write words that I can sing honestly or sing emotionally.
I've been exploring the idea of… because we've never done a film soundtrack, I'm putting out feelers to actually use some of the music that we recorded — because there are probably upwards of 100 songs — to see if they could be used instrumentally. Even if I'm in it for another 100 years, I'm not going to write that many words!
So having concluded this album and half of the next one, I do feel more confident about my abilities again. I think I had a bit of a crisis of confidence, actually, through the last decade. I sort of thought I'd written everything I had to write, but as it turns out, I haven't.
Have you been surprised by the success of any of your songs? Do you have favorite Cure songs where you record it and you think, "People are going to love this?" Or do you get the feedback and you're like, "Well, I really thought people were going to connect with that" and maybe they didn't?
The others [in the band] would never know what I was going to sing until I sang it. So they'd be in the studio and they'd finished recording, and I'd occasionally throw in a few lines, just for rhythm and stuff. Then I'd do a vocal take, and that would be the moment when the band would sort of stand up and I could see that they're reacting to it. And that gave me an indication. "Just Like Heaven" happened like that. When I sang the words to "Friday I'm in Love," everyone was going, "Oh, I rather like this."
What's more gratifying for me is when songs that people don't think will connect, but I hope do. When we go out and we play them on stage and they become fan favorites. That's actually much more satisfying to me as a writer and as a singer. Songs like "From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea" and "Pictures of You" kind of bridge those two worlds. The obvious ones are the obvious ones: "Close to Me." When we did that, I kind of knew that it was going to get played on the radio.
The way we work has changed. Where I'm aiming the songs, it's not really for posterity.
I was certainly shocked to find "Alone" being played on the radio over the last month. I mean, I was genuinely taken aback. It got more airplay than some of our singles! I realize there is a desire for new Cure music — even though it's not really "new." I think that's the strange thing about this whole project, is that we've played five of the eight songs on stage. In fact, we've played them at most of the 90 shows we've done over the last couple of years.
So you're looking to tour this record in late 2025 and, in recent years, I know you've battled with Ticketmaster in an attempt to keep prices low — like, $25 a ticket low — which is something when you're playing for hours the way you do. Is that rooted in a desire to give the audience a bang for its buck? Is it your punk roots showing?
It primarily stems from a show that I attended in the '70s, which is a David Bowie show on the Station to Station tour. A couple of us went up there and it cost a lot of money. In those days, I didn't have any money. We had to get up to town, we bought tickets, we go and have a couple of drinks — the whole thing costs much more than I actually had in my pocket. So I was horrified that — although he was great, he was absolutely fantastic — but I think he played for like an hour and that was it. And I was like, "What just happened?" We spent, like, three or four months talking about this and waiting for it, and then it's over. I didn't feel short-changed as much as just really sad. Because I wanted it twice as long. I wanted to hear more songs. It always stuck with me.
If you enjoy doing what you're doing, why don't you play for a bit longer? Because surely the people in front of you are enjoying it. I've realized over the years that… we've sometimes played too long, I think, but I think as we've grown older as a band, it allows us to explore more songs. It also allows us to create more of an atmosphere, create more of a show.
The Ticketmaster thing was never really a war. It's been misunderstood to some degree in that if it wasn't Ticketmaster, it'd be someone else. I was expressing my frustration with a system that tries to monetize everything and ruins everything in the process. It was just an example of fees that were being added and no one knew what they were. It was driven by the fact that I asked them privately — because we've agreed to a $25 ticket and it's costing people $51 — where's the other $26 going? Because it's not coming to me. The band isn't getting it. So who's getting it? So they would explain to me — in dribs and drabs, up to a point — where it was going. But always leaving this slightly gray area. Eventually, I think they just thought it was more trouble than it was worth, so they cut it. They reimbursed people.
I was slightly disheartened by the fact that not that many artists stood up at the same time as me and said, "Yes, hold on. This isn't right." You know, bigger artists or artists whose voice really matters. Unfortunately, people run scared of big corporations nowadays, like Live Nation, Ticketmaster and Spotify. People are very afraid to criticize what they're doing. I suppose because I'm at the tail end of what we're doing, I just don't care. I was kind of told to, like, "Run along, sonny" and "Shut up." For one moment, I was back at school, thinking, "You can't talk to me like that."
I think eventually it will change to some degree. I think that they'll have to be more transparent in what fees are. But it really doesn't address the bigger problem of how essentially everywhere you turn is being monetized. It's not the world that I grew up in, and I really don't like it.
How do you keep your voice intact? Because I have to say… first album in 16 years. I expected maybe a little bit of degradation in your voice. But it sounds the same. After nearly 50 years of putting out records, how do you treat your voice to get it to sound the same?
It's just genes, honestly. Genes are at the root of all the things I think are good and bad about me. I really don't do anything in particular. I have routines now when I'm going to sing, but really if I'm honest, I'm surprised when I open my mouth, what comes out. Because honestly, I shouldn't even be upright! Never mind sounding the same.
Turning 50 was a big deal for me. And I did address what I was doing wrong. And if I really wanted to get to 60, what I should probably do differently. I think my voice has benefited from that. I changed my lifestyle quite considerably and I think that probably I just feel better.
I think a lot of it is mental, as well. Because we play live and I walk out in front of people and I sing, and they respond. I feel like what's coming out of my mouth is good. It's connecting with people. And so that inspires you to keep singing. If my voice started to go, what could I do? It's just one of those things. So I'm really pleased it hasn't, but it's going to at some point. I'm going to turn into Lee Marvin. It's inevitable.
You've spent a lot of time in the archives during the pandemic revisiting your legacy, pulling out old songs. Given how much your music reflects on loss and endings, have you given thought to what you would want your final musical statement to be?
Good grief! This is a bit bleak, isn't it?
Wow! Robert Smith from The Cure!
That's why I'm hoping to get to the third, happier album! Just to throw everyone off! I've always maintained that I never really worried about legacy and posterity. I don't have children, so therefore I don't have grandchildren. I think that what I do, it's just there. And how it will end is how it will end.
I don't think much of my life as a work of art in itself. What I've done with The Cure at different times has been very, very satisfying, and as a body of work, I'm really proud of it. But I don't honestly see it as an uninterrupted line from me at 17 years old to me now. It's had, like, four or five very natural breaks: changes in lineup, changes of mood. Being part of it hasn't been a constant. It's a strange thing to say, but I haven't been the same person in every iteration of The Cure, so I don't see it as one thing. I don't see my life as one thing. It's weird, maybe there's something the matter with me.
People, I think, have a vision of Robert Smith from The Cure, and maybe their imagination of your daily life is… I don't know, that you rise in the morning from a coffin or something.
I don't rise in the morning from a coffin! Come on!
What is the most on-brand thing that you do in your daily life? And what in your daily life would most surprise people?
I suppose I look like I look, whether I'm onstage or off. I mean, my hair looks the same. My face looks the same. I wear black. I don't walk around in a pink, silk kimono at home. I listen to a lot of music, I play music. In that sense, I'm who you would expect me to be.
To give you an example of things you wouldn't expect: I've got sheep. There you go! I've got sheep that are all named. And I tend to them when they're sick. There you go — you'd never have guessed that, would you? That's something different, yeah.
Robert Smith: Sheep Doctor.
Shepherd! Yeah. My own mental self-image is gradually changing. So I may well be growing a beard over the next couple of years.
The audio version of this story was produced by Phil Harrell.
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