Published on Nov 10, 2004
“There is nothing left but faith” — this is what one is left
with, as
Faith ends, with Robert Smith repeating these words again
and again, while the music behind him fades, or more like sinks
itself slowly but surely into a quicksand. But the album, even as
it ends with a song called “Faith,” does nothing to assure. Worse,
Robert Smith’s manner of ending the song and the album, or rather
suffocating it and putting it to sleep forever, makes the
bone-chilling experience of listening through Faith, even more
uncomfortable.
The Cure is gothic. They are masters in creating gloom and
despair with the beautiful music they make. If there is anyone who
can be as glum and spooky as The Cure, it is The Cure, itself; and
if there is a ‘The Cure’ album, which is gloomier than the
gloomiest ‘The Cure’ album, it is
Faith.
Unlike The Cure’s more guitar-driven sound, this album has a
predominantly keyboard-laden one, and gives it, its unusually
funereal aura. Mainly laid-back, the songs on
Faith have Robert Smith singing in a somber tone, with his
vocals reverberating all over the place, giving it an apparitional
edge.
This album of dirges has all the eight songs contributing
collectively to give it a rather suicidal atmosphere, every song
being as cheerless as any other one. Songs like “Other Voices”
(which ends with a befitting knell), “All Cats Are Grey,” and
“Faith,” with their deceiving equanimity and stoicism, whereas
others like “The Holy Hour,” “Primary” and “Doubt,” with their
disturbed composure and oozing passion, end up ultimately
expressing the same amount of grief and sadness.
Faith is as unexciting and ponderous as the glum face on its
cover. For an album, which is supposed to be livid and injured,
Faith is as pale as a frozen cadaver, and as agonized as the
screams of someone in excruciating pain.