The Cure: The Cure

By RUSSELL BAILLIE

Herald rating * * *

The Cure turning up the knob marked "misery" to full again probably has something to do with American producer Ross Robinson (Slipknot, Korn, Limp Bizkit) doing his let's-make-one-like-the-doomy-old-days thing with Robert Smith and co.

It echoes those great wrist-slashers Faith, Pornography and Disintergration.

And the likes of the opening Lost and the sitar-assisted Labyrinth make it apparent this will be a more compelling and electric affair than its unconvincing predecessors Bloodflowers and Wild Mood Swings.

It sustains the noisy despair neatly, even if The End of the World is ironically upbeat. Before Three suggests Smith still has someone to help smudge his lippy on a regular basis, though the lyrically-bitter alt.end is likely to send many a Goth couple into counselling.

But that said, it doesn't quite do enough in the songs to be more than just a diverting return to form. Unlike, say, the triumph of trademark approach that marked the last offerings by veterans New Order and U2.

Still, the Cure are a better Cure tribute band than the new young American bands who trace their musical ancestry from Seventeen Seconds.