Happy 25th Anniversary to The Cure’s tenth studio album Wild Mood Swings, originally released May 7, 1996.
Eighteen years into their stunning career, The Cure released their tenth studio album, Wild Mood Swings. Cosmic forces had finally aligned, for I was 18 years old, too. And, my favorite band and I had finally caught up in time.
Indeed, Wild Mood Swings is forever at the center of this tale of destiny unfolding. A UCLA freshman just starting to partake of unfamiliar freedoms, I threw myself into new experiences and people insofar as my shy, musically driven self would venture. And, escorting me through this sometimes-reckless foray were the sounds of this jubilant jumble of an album. A vibrant mix of stylistic detours and narrative departures, Wild Mood Swings channels a refreshing curiosity for the possibilities of life, mirroring my own burgeoning hunger (“I want the sky to fall in / I want lightning and thunder / I want blood instead of rain / I want the world to make me wonder”).
Yes, wrapped in this sunshine-hued, cracked-clown-faced record is the story of this effusive Cure fan coming into her own. The year was 1996—and I don’t think it’s a stretch to say Wild Mood Swings ushered me into adulthood. As the title suggests, it was both an abundant and turbulent beginning.
My passion for the English band had long been brewing. I can’t quite trace when interest morphed into obsession, but I was well on my way in high school. At some point, simply hearing The Cure was not enough. I needed to know everything. With minimal access to MTV, I only had a few images in mind—and that just wouldn’t do.
Fortunately, my friend Laurel felt the same draw. Oh, the many days and nights we’d whip around in her mom’s jazzy convertible blasting Cure tapes. And, whenever we could get away with it, we’d tie up my parents’ landline, scouring this new thing called the internet, perusing interviews and printing out lyrics and pictures of singer Robert Smith to bursting content. The Cure are certainly a solace in solitude, but also, I fast came to realize, a sublime thing to share.
I learned this in spades once I got to college. Enabled by a substantial blue Ethernet cable, I spent a good deal of my waking day in my Eudora inbox, devouring the electronic missives flurrying across Babble, a fan-based mailing list named after the 1989 Disintegration-era B-side. While soaking up speculative tidbits about the upcoming album and tour, I was meeting Cure fans around the world, making friends I adore to this day. Amusingly, I’d check email so often, I actually got a message from BruinOnline telling me I needed to dial it back.
Meanwhile, on campus, I’d discovered that not only could the student union bookstore special-order Cure books, but I could pay for them using meal funds from my Bruincard (we can laugh about it now, right, mom and dad?).
Even my off-campus excursions tended to be Cure-led. Traversing various bus lines around greater LA, I bolted straight to the “C” section of every record store I could find, which admittedly sent me to some questionable places. Occasionally, I’d hang out with fellow Babblers, nonchalantly associating with online randoms, innocently unequipped with the likes of anything approaching a cell phone. Looking back, I realize how those fearless moments began to forge the unflinching sense of independence I have today, and I wouldn’t have wanted to do things any other way.
Thanks to the European summer festival tour of 1995, glimmers of Wild Mood Swings began to materialize nearly a year before the album’s official release. Bootlegged versions of “Want” and “Jupiter Crash” made the rounds. I loved both from the get-go, but the electricity of “Want” transfixed me entirely, roiling with untold energy.
The first single, “The 13th,” arrived during spring quarter. Amazingly, I even went to class that late April day before hightailing it to Tower Records and procuring my set of the twin CD singles. Tearing the shrink wrap off en route to my dorm room, I spent the next 12 hours dissecting their contents—various mixes of “The 13th” and 3 B-sides—in unabashed bliss.
Life presents a lesson when we are young—light does not exist without darkness. And, if I hadn’t mastered the concept yet, that night locked it into unassailable memory. When my neighbor across the hall got home that evening, he asked what I was doing. Giddily, I brought my new CDs over and we drank and talked for awhile. But soon my whole world exploded. While B-side “Ocean” played, seemingly stuck on repeat, I was sexually assaulted by this so-called friend. In a few minutes, a lifetime of innocence was stripped away. I would never be the same.
When I reflect on the devastation that followed, one image persists: I’m walking on campus, vaguely aware of my bustling surroundings, the world around me a useless dream. All I want, all I’m desperate to do is reach her. Find a way to console that little girl inside who either was forever trapped or just plain died. Sometimes—and I still don’t know if this is evidence of hope or defeat—when I close my eyes and search at just the right angle, I think I still catch a glimpse.
Because this is my tribute to an album, tour and era that’s beyond precious to me, I won’t dwell here long. But, the two are intermingled: I can’t celebrate the 25th anniversary of Wild Mood Swings without acknowledging that it’s also been 25 years since that wretched night. For years, I couldn’t bring myself to listen to “Ocean.” Just the thought was terrifying. Childish though it may sound, of the many negative residuals, stealing a Cure song from me was pure sin—adding ongoing insult to irreparable injury.
Not knowing what else to do, I clasped onto distraction. Fortunately, that years-long-awaited moment had dawned: After spending the mid ‘90s sinking into their back catalogue, their new entry was finally here. A gift acutely needed, the album’s 14 songs plucked my attention away from my misery.
Emerging a fortnight after Smith’s 37th birthday, Wild Mood Swings was scattered by design—a conspicuous about-clown-face in a discography dominated by meticulously considered concept albums. Just as The Cure had reset a decade prior, rebounding from Smith’s near-solo effort, The Top (1984), to the full-band mischief of The Head on the Door (1985), Wild Mood Swings exudes similarly youthful swagger.
Reflecting on the album in a 1996 interview, Smith commented on the importance of experimentation: “The problem with a lot of people, a lot of groups, and a lot of musicians, a lot of artists, even outside of music, is they find something they’re comfortable with and they stay there. And, we haven’t….I mean we’re very conventional, we always use, like, drums, bass and guitars…but within that context, we…make the group do something slightly different.”
For Wild Mood Swings, getting to something different was one part voluntary, one part unplanned. After Wish (1992) and the accompanying 111-date, arena tour—not to mention the generally nonstop 14-year period preceding it—Smith was in undeniable need of a break. Instead, he pushed further, mixing live albums Show and Paris and contributing the magnificent one-off “Burn” to The Crow soundtrack.
While assembling the film version of Show, Smith felt himself unraveling. “I gradually grew to loathe everything about myself and the group,” he confided to Rolling Stone Australia in 1996. “At the time, I was going fairly insane because I hadn't had a break from the group for a couple of years, and I couldn't get the image of the group out of my head…I'd started to feel like I was more real on the film than I was in real life, when I was editing it. I got to the stage of turning it off and laughing triumphantly, saying 'Ha, that'll show you who's in charge.' I was drinking a lot of course.”
And, with that, Smith turned his mind away from The Cure for a change, retreating into idyllic domesticity, cavorting with his 17 nieces and nephews and catching up with old friends.
But things never stay calm for long. Drummer Boris Williams and guitarist Porl Thompson—who helped propel the group from emerging commercial success in the mid ‘80s to chart-topping sellout “Friday I’m in Love” mania—left unexpectedly to pursue other ventures, splintering the longstanding quintet. (Um yeah, doesn’t make sense to me either, but apparently it was amicable all around.)
It was a profound loss. In fact, some fans say The Cure never recovered. But I disagree. Wild Mood Swings demonstrates Smith’s reinstated commitment to The Cure following a three-year respite. Rather than retiring the band (thank god!), he set about phoning Roger O’Donnell (keyboardist on Disintegration) and placing an anonymous ad for a new drummer.
After all, lineup shifts had punctuated the band’s history from their earliest days, with each becoming a new catalyst for creativity. And so, when this new five-piece—singer/guitarist Smith, longtime bassist Simon Gallup, guitarist Perry Bamonte who had played on Wish, returning keyboardist O’Donnell and Melody Maker-sourced drummer Jason Cooper—settled into position, they were ready to challenge expectation and maybe even do something a bit lighter.
At the end of 1994, The Cure moved into St. Catherine’s Court, a centuries-old mansion in the Bath countryside, to start work on Wild Mood Swings. They’d taken a similar approach while recording Wish, enjoying the inherent flexibility and fluidity that comes with a secluded, non-studio environment. Although recording mostly took place in the ballroom, dining room and music room, the novel character of the house seems to have permeated the album—another guiding force alongside producer/engineer Steve Lyon.
In keeping with the times (and further stoking my online Cure addiction), the band launched an elaborate new website to promote the new album: a virtual house with nooks to explore and rooms for each member. I’m quite sure I didn’t think this at the time, but between the real-life Tudor estate and the fictitious manse, Wild Mood Swings seems the album equivalent of an imaginary playhouse—animated with lively vignettes, peculiar characters and even a strange parade of wind-up toys.
For a band often accused of—and simultaneously revered for—being relentlessly depressing, Wild Mood Swings is rife with buzzier tracks, playful poetics and a scintillating array of instruments, including guest horns and strings, which enliven the atmosphere and imbue a sense of levity.
A jangly confection of love-smitten singles (“The 13th,” “Mint Car” and “Strange Attraction”) front-load the album. And although I’m not typically crazy about Cure singles, I still find delight in all. Each is uniquely gratifying with smile-inducing lyrics (“The year grew old incessantly she wrote to me / She’d started smoking poetry! / I laughed in recognition of a favourite phrase”). After a nightmarish spring, I was all too willing to melt into the dizzying reverie of “A Pink Dream” (“Mint Car” B-side)—and my ravishing reprieve of a Cure summer.
It seemed I had waited a lifetime. Then, one August evening, it happened: I saw The Cure for the first time and learned the meaning of transcendence. In retrospect, I can scarcely recall any show I’d seen prior, and it doesn’t even matter. “Want” was the first Cure song I ever beheld, perfect in its insatiability, fighting against time to experience the full realm of possibility. And as the goosebumps appeared, drawing me that much closer to the world, I felt a burst of elation and relief. No matter my suffering, I was still me—same beliefs, values and passions.
I’d never suggest it was a panacea, but I realized then and still tell myself today that maintaining that through line is everything. And, thankfully, music always takes me back to it.
After that first night in San Jose, I saw The Cure three more times during The Swing Tour, and I have vivid memories from each show. One of the most striking being the second night at LA’s Great Western Forum, where Smith opened the show alone singing “Fire in Cairo” from debut Three Imaginary Boys (1979). Something about it scared me a bit, but I was also totally riveted. These were the kind of early moments that whisked me past the point of no return. My status as Cure fan was irrevocable.
Wild Mood Swings wouldn’t be a Cure record if it were all “kissing crimson fell into her waiting arms” and “Birds sing we swing / Clouds drift by and everything is like a dream / It’s everything I wished.” Tempering the dreamy delirium are more meditative tracks that lend the album depth. Amidst a cool blanket of strings in “This Is A Lie,” Smith decries the institution of marriage, which was initially unnerving since he and his wife had been together for nearly 25 years and have the high school sweetheart storybook romance you really want to believe in.
While Smith has undoubtedly written many deeply introspective songs, he also explores other perspectives: “The presumption that everything I write is equally heartfelt is one that shouldn't be made,” he explained to Rolling Stone. “On albums two, three and four, and to a lesser extent, Disintegration, everything I wrote was an expression of extreme emotion. I used to think that if a song wasn't wrenched screaming from the inside then it wasn't valid, but now I think the only way that I can develop as a songwriter is by entertaining people. I can approach a subject from a point of view that I wouldn't necessarily hold. That's part of the fun, having developed over the years a persona that allows me to get away from things.”
I used to imagine Robert and Mary at the breakfast table—in the afternoon, of course—creating scenarios for songs together. A bittersweet take on “From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea” (from Wish), “Jupiter Crash” relates the disappointment of reality falling short of anticipation, alluding to the much-hyped comet that collided with the planet in 1994.
Of all the songs I pictured them discussing, “Treasure” was the one I thought of the most. Although under four minutes, it manages to instantaneously pull you into a heartbreaking final farewell: “She whispers / ‘Please remember me / When I am gone from here’” She is the one going away or presumably dying, but still doing her utmost to take care of him: “For it’s better to forget / Than to remember me / And cry…” Inspired by Christina Rossetti’s poem “Remember,” “Treasure” is an exceptionally gorgeous song a million times deserving of its name.
All said, despite its many compelling compositions, Wild Mood Swings suffers a bit from album sprawl, reviving the imagination of The Head on the Door without its focus and tapping into the exoticism of Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me without its pervasive atmosphere. With a bit of tightening and incorporating some of the B-sides, it may have fared better commercially.
Still, it’s an intoxicating ride that affords many rewarding thrills. For me, however, Wild Mood Swings is far more than a fascinating record by a revitalized band; it’s intimately tied to the individual I am today. Twenty-five years into adulthood, I can say pretty much nothing feels resolved, but I give myself a little credit for being able to listen to “Ocean” and appreciate its beauty.
LISTEN: