The Cure, Bloodflowers

It seems that Cure frontman Robert Smith has finally acknowledged the end.

Sure, after every album he has threatened "the last ever," but by the sound of some lyrics off Bloodflowers, this time around he sounds just a wee bit more sincere.

"So the fire is almost out and there's nothing left to burn," he bellows on the track "39."

And perhaps it's best he feels that way, because the band hasn't put out a quality studio album since the early '90s.

Not to be overly harsh--the group's ever-changing sound dates back through 20 long and storied years and 20 (mostly enjoyable) albums. The Cure's classic punchy pop debut Boys Don't Cry (1979) quickly evolved into the band's trademark goth sound. Simple, brooding albums like Seventeen Seconds (1980), Faith (1981) and Pornography (1982) established the band as one of Great Britain's best.

From the mid- to late-'80s, The Cure's sound drifted more into the mainstream and became almost dance-like, allowing them to break through in the States. Songs like "Close to Me," "Inbetween Days" and "Just Like Heaven" became hits, fortifying the band as a platinum act.

Disintegration (1989) and Wish (1992) marked yet another change in style. Promoting an atmospheric sound with a pop-like quality, this pair of albums ranks among the group's very best. The mostly lifeless Wild Mood Swings (1996) followed suit, which appropriately segues to the lackluster present, and Bloodflowers.

This first attempt at making some noise in the new millennium goes by with barely a whimper. The main problem: Bloodflowers sounds too much like something plucked straight out of their earlier repertoire. Instead of evolving, as the band has done throughout its career, The Cure opted to return to their gloomy past.

With Smith's supporting cast of bassist Simon Gallup, guitarist Perry Bamonte, percussionist Jason Cooper and keyboardist Roger O'Donnell creating most of the musical suffering, the mop-haired lead singer provides all the words for his soundtrack of utmost misery.

He delves deep into his catalogue of emotional torture. On the piano-heavy opening track, "Out of this World," death and lost love invade the mind of the sad, sad man. The 11-minute opus "Watching Me Fall" further describes Smith's downward spiral into the pit of despair.

"It's a cruel mean cold new day and outside the snow is still coming down," he sings. "And as I fall in the mirror on the wall, I'm watching me scream."

On "39" he tells the tale of a creative man burning out. Smith's thoughts and words are slipping away, and he can do nothing about it. "The Loudest Sound" utilizes the third-person perspective, but the pain-filled underlying message remains the same.

And that's the inherent flaw with the nine-track, 58-minute disc--it never deviates. Unlike Disintegration, Wish and even Wild Mood Swings, Bloodflowers offers little variety. Older hits like "Lullaby," "Friday, I'm in Love" and "The 13th" interrupted the homogenous flow and proved to be high points on those three discs. But Bloodflowers plods along in monotony, except for one number. The slightly upbeat single "Maybe Someday" adds a little spice to the mix, but not much.

Hopefully, most Cure fans won't remember Robert Smith for this supposed final work. However, if they do, they should keep this one fact in mind: it seems that the lead singer fell victim to one of music's worst curses: burning out and fading away.