I’d practically promised myself I wouldn’t comment on The Cure anymore, since things have sunk so low that it’s just beyond embarrassing for my one-time favorite band. But it’s difficult to ignore news of new jaw-dropping lows in the career of perennial clown, Robert Smith. Allowing members of Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, and 30 Seconds to Mars to remix your new material is a sad, transparent business ploy. Even the do-gooderness of it all can’t cover up the stink. Does Smith really want to be reminded that A. he’s partly responsible for these shitty bands’ existences in the first place, and B. that his career has dipped to the point where he’s using watered down versions of his own schtick to prop himself up?
The originals I’ve heard thus far from The Cure’s forthcoming, sure-to-be-dogshit double LP are bad enough. The last thing they need is a gaggle of poser jack-fucks from date-rape bands slathering their special brand of suck all over them. Robert Smith needs to be horse-whipped. Does he honestly think a new generation of fat girls with bad fashion sense will suddenly fall under his spell? Jesus. STOP NOW.