The Cure
– Wish
By 1992, The Cure had already rewritten the book on gloom. They had perfected the art of misery (Pornography), dabbled in surrealist nightmares (The Top), and found a way to make it all danceable (Disintegration). So what does Wish do? It throws everything into the mix and emerges as one of their most dynamic, emotionally charged albums. This isn’t just another brooding descent into darkness—it’s a record that swings wildly between dreamy euphoria and gut-punching heartbreak, proving that Robert Smith and company were never just one thing.
The guitars are thicker, the production richer, and there’s an energy here that keeps even the bleakest moments from drowning in their own weight. Songs like High and Friday I’m in Love are almost blindingly bright, full of jangly guitars and melodies that stick like summer memories. But then there’s From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea, which unravels into a desperate, sprawling emotional breakdown, and Trust, a slow, melancholic drift that feels like watching something beautiful slip through your fingers. It’s this balance between light and shadow that makes Wish so compelling.
For all its pop accessibility, there’s still an unmistakable sense of longing at the core of this record. Whether Smith is whispering, wailing, or letting the music speak for itself, Wish never loses its ability to feel huge. It’s an album that aches, celebrates, and occasionally laughs through the tears, all with that unmistakable Cure magic.
Choice Tracks
From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea
One of The Cure’s most devastating masterpieces. It starts with a restrained pulse, only to explode into waves of desperation. Smith’s voice teeters between control and collapse, capturing the feeling of clinging to something that’s already slipping away.
Friday I’m in Love
A song that became a staple of ‘90s alternative radio, and for good reason. It’s The Cure at their most joyous—carefree, shimmering, and undeniably catchy. Even if it’s overplayed, it’s impossible to resist.
A Letter to Elise
The closest thing this album has to another Pictures of You. A beautifully bittersweet farewell, full of gorgeous, chiming guitars and one of Smith’s most heartbreakingly resigned vocal performances.
Trust
A slow, piano-driven ballad that feels like walking alone at night, lost in thought. No words are wasted, no notes are unnecessary—it’s all about atmosphere, and it’s breathtaking.
High
A song that floats rather than runs. Smith’s vocals are light, the guitars sparkle, and the whole thing feels like a daydream that you don’t want to end.
Wish may not have the mythic weight of Disintegration, but it stands as one of The Cure’s most emotionally complex and musically rich records. It’s an album that lets you dance, cry, and drift into the ether—sometimes all at once.