If I told you 40 years ago, when the Cure was in the midst of its new-wave wonder moment, that the band would craft an inventively elegiac epic like “Songs for a Lost World” — a singular record worthy of face-soaking tears — you would have broken my teasing comb and melted down my Kohl eyeliner. Though the bleakly beloved Robert Smith was notorious for tensely flanged, existential rants such as “One Hundred Years” and the controversial “Killing an Arab,” they were also the sugar-sweet weirdos behind the cartoony likes of “Love Cats” and “Bananafishbones.”
Yet here is “Lost World,” the Cure’s first album in 16 years, without a
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