The Pyer (NY)
7/8/86

In the margins of the river Hudson, with an aircraft carrier on a side and the buildings of New York to the fund, the smoke begins... blue lights, sounds of another planet, growing, growing. Nor seems that rock is an American invention. The boys of Sussex, England, has more force than anyone when they attack with "Strange Day", "Killing And Arab", "Let's Go To Bed", "Speak My Language", even "Boys Don't Cry", a song full of pop concessions.
Cure speech about a world without hopes, but its music is exactly the opposite, a purely sonorous hope. Unlike U2, which has that way of who made its house lessons correctly for the Political Science teacher. The U2 make hymns, Cure shouts of pain.
I don't know if Laurence Tolhurst should have changed the battery for the keyboards. Him and Smith, the only ones that still remain of the Cure ten years ago, continue placing the rails through where the locomotive of the band travels. But opposite to the Smith's electronic voice and hoarse guitar, the keyboards of Tolhurst seem to want more virtuosity than tragedy. Cure is a tragic band, not a theatrical band. The punk was theatrical, the pos-punk cannot be...
I don't find possible to do any restriction to The Cure apart this: after ten years, they are making a thing that still resembles a lot the rock'n'roll. And, from Cure, what all we waited it is not music anymore: it is love. Of course, I have already listened to nonsense matters as "The Lovecats", "The Caterpillar", "Inbetween Days", but the force of the rest is very larger.
It maybe, Robert Smith worries more about his hair than the western world decadence, it doesn't matter. The music that he does is much larger than he. It nor depends on him. If he has the copyrights is better for him. But the true composer of The Cures is not Robert Smith, is not anybody. Are all of us.
(Marco Antônio de Menezes)