One Hundred Years


Confession time: I’ve never really listened to The Cure. Perhaps I should start, if only because of people’s incredulity at my disinterest. If I can get past the way that the group has become a shorthand symbol for mopey goth culture. It’s kind of cartoonish and absurd and it’s difficult to take them seriously. So maybe learning to look past the image could be a project for me. This song I got into because I stumbled across it on somebody’s television a long time ago, not knowing who it was. I must admit that it has a sort of morose grandeur that appeals to me. I only hope that I’m not too old. Being a Cure fan strikes me as one of those pastimes that’s way more involving when there’s adolescent angst raging inside your brain. But I guess that’s what I have to find out.


One thought on “One Hundred Years

  1. Brett Ballantini says:

    Listening to the Cure doesn’t have to be a sentence of morosity, and you don’t have to dig up absent angst. Many of us listeners delight in the pop and sidestep the plop. In Between Days. Just Like Heaven. Boys Don’t Cry. Let’s Go to Bed. At the top of that dark, roiling mug is some sweet, light foam. Start there, and be one of many to smile at the periphery of the goth. Of course, if it’s morose grandeur that provided the hook, it could be that no Cure song sans wails will satiate you. But music doesn’t have to punish—skip to the fun stuff!

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