“Bloodflowers”

The Cure

Reputably The Cure’s last album, “Bloodflowers” is packed wall-to-wall with darkness. Perhaps sensing that the end was near, this band of girly goth idols decided to go out with the bleakest bang possible.

Whatever you do, don’t listen to this album while drinking unless you are under a doctor’s care, because there is a high risk of suicide.

In short, there are not many surprises unless you were under the mistaken impression that the few scattered happy tunes like “Friday I’m in Love” were typical of The Cure.

The album is like a sweet trip through the tunnel of love with that special someone. Then the lights go out and that special person turns out to be a soul-sucking vampire who steals your wallet and drains you of every last ounce of your dignity and self-respect before fluttering off into the dark.

This effort is largely intangible. There is nothing to grab hold of. It is 100 percent atmosphere and weeping vocals over persistently atmospheric instrumental arrangements.

A detailed description of each of the tracks would be impossible and unnecessary.

Listening to “Bloodflowers” is like listening to the same song over and over again. Double check the repeat button on your CD player because you won’t believe it’s true, but it is … and how?

The only people who might get a kick out of this album are hard-core, old-school Cure fans who buy everything the band puts out anyway.

Robert Smith is getting a tad too old for this depressing, Anne Rice, “Interview with the Vampire,” tragic, whiny, Goth stuff anyway.

He should take a cue from Billy Joel and take a shot at doing classical music for awhile. Perhaps he would find something to be happy about in that field.

If we take it as given that life is short, full of pain and that death is the only, inevitable certainty of the great mystery which is life, then why in God’s name would anyone want to make things worse by listening to The Cure’s “Bloodflowers” if they weren’t trying to get Manuel Noriega to come out of his house screaming, hands over his ears with a mouthful of half-chewed cyanide tablets.

If this is indeed the final release from The Cure, then we should all breathe a sigh of relief because it is painfully obvious that this band has hit a wall — hard.

It makes one quite sad to see a once great alternative icon reduced to doing a transparent imitation of themselves.

The Cure. Rest in peace.

2 Stars

— Greg Jerrett

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“Fig”

The Syrups

Just when you thought glam rock couldn’t get any more annoying, here comes The Syrups.

Gone are the days of The Goo Goo Dolls and their bad haircuts and Lit dancing across Pamela Lee’s more sensitive body parts.

The Syrups are here, and they came to piss you off.

Remember that kid who sat next to you in your required senior composition class in high school? You know, he was the one who shopped (and worked) at Gadzooks in the town mall.

Well now he’s still wearing the same silver sequined shirt with those cheap gas station sunglasses. There’s only one difference now.

His band is signed and he’s on a stage singing to hundreds of mall rats.

“Thank you for coming out tonight, we’re The Syrups,” he chides. “Who wants coupons for free stuff at Gadzooks?”

The crowd goes wild.

The Syrups latest release, “Fig,” is nothing the average radio listener hasn’t heard before.

With lyrics that seemingly came out of a 5-year-old girl’s diary, the only redeeming quality of “Fig” is it’s credible musicianship.

Lead singer Orion K. Walton baffles the human mind in the opener “Lutefisk.”

He sings, “I’m a lutefisk/ I live deep in the water/ To twist, I am a swimmer/ I have two fins/ I am a lutefisk, I live deep in the water.”

Despite it’s lack of lyrical ingenuity, “Lutefisk” is somehow the standout track on the album.

The upbeat rock tune throws in a horn section for some variety. A catchy chorus leaves the listener humming the melody until they forget where they heard it.

The album rolls into a couple of sappy love songs followed by the band’s attempt to “rock out” with the sixth track, “The List.”

With catchy choruses, cheesy lyrics and even cheesier clothes, The Syrups are destined for only one thing — MTV stardom.

But don’t worry, cause you’ll still have a good chance of rubbing elbows with these up-and-coming superstars.

They always eat at Taco Johns in the food court when they’re on break.

2 1/2 Stars

— Sam Johnson

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“Bastard Complex”

Spite

Spite’s mad rage and determined, crazy feelings throughout “Bastard Complex” are unquestionably felt, but the lack of originality on their heavy metal songs makes the album as a whole, questionable.

The pounding drums and quick changes of beats give the song “Box of Chocolates” some serious lift, but this takes away from the meaning of their shouting lyrics. Moving into the next song with no pause gives the impression that you’re hearing the same song, but “Thin and Getting Thinner” eventually poses more rage and fire than the one before it.

The southern rock Spite spews out involves tons of bass, banging and plenty of shouting. In addition to their shouting, Spite uses smooth guitar intros to lead into their angry, careless jams.

“For What” starts out with a slow intro and gradually brings the bass into the heavy song. Chanting “We Showed the Sun,” Spite shows more of their musical talent than on the other songs.

The band’s conflicting views and quick screams of “What’s wrong/ everything/ everything is beautiful” gives “Beautiful” a nice, smooth pace of cluttered feelings.

Spite is now touring and will be in Des Moines on March 4 at Hairy Mary’s.

“Bastard Complex” is not as polished or musically inclined as most heavy metal fans would want, though the band does provide a mix of emotions and diversity.

1 1/2 Stars

— Pat Racette