The Cure have always been about youth. Aggressive sometimes, unbearably swoony and romantic at others, always with a touch of nihilism, hedonism and humor, even if that humor is at its blackest. When you're this young, the music seems to say, you are bound to make mistakes, and you need to write good songs to make up for them. How many times does the Cure, through Robert Smith, apologize on record either to come crawling back, or to realize, with a downturned face and saddened heart, that this is it -- it's over?

The real way you can tell that the Cure is music for the sounds of youth is the number of people who held them dear during their teen-age years, then sort of fell away from Robert & co. as their lives changed. You hear things like "Oh, the Cure, I used to listen to them all the time." Or "I guess I've grown away from them -- my tastes have matured." As if listening to music where the lead voice and guitar belongs to a man who gels his hair into impossibly fuzzy shapes and smears crimson lipstick on his gob is embarrassing after a certain age. That's the big giveaway.

After the release of Bloodflowers in 2000, Robert admitted in an interview that he wanted to recapture the lyrical intensity of past projects Disintegration and Pornography. He added that he would not be able to recapture the musical intensity of those projects, because he and the band were no longer young enough to pull that off. There is a sad finality to that admittance, but also a wisdom. He's not saying "Well, the music can no longer capture our drug-fueled youths -- so it's time to call it a day." He's saying "Now I want you to listen to the lyrics -- really listen to them. Because I have plenty to say."

Join the Dots also has plenty to say. So let's get to it.

Disc 1

Disc 1 covers the Cure's first B-side all the way to the end of the Head on the Door sessions. As such, these years are the most fertile. Robert Smith was not afraid to try anything during these early years, and if you simply cue up any track on this first CD, I promise you it will sound as it if it is coming from a completely different band each time. For those who like continuity, this experience can be ugly. In fact, the first time I heard all these songs in a row, I got tired out. But once you stop looking for a continuing thread and give yourself over to the music, preferably at a volume loud enough to make the coins on your bedside table buzz, you will understand the genius of much of these early works.

For those who bought the Cure's rejiggered first album, as Boys Don't Cry, the first two songs will offer no surprises. 10:15 Saturday Night is a sparse, slightly ticked off ode to watching the tap drip, waiting for a call, and getting a headache from the strip light. A wonderful piece of minimalistic ennui, remastered so beautifully that you can hear Robert drawing in breath before the verses. Plastic Passion tries to tear a new one into people with shallow minds, shallow goals, part of a shallow scene. It's a nice enough song in its own right, but should be noted for the fact that, slowed down and stretched out, it would become A Night Like This. A song for which the slow dance was invented, and a signpost that Robert was never afraid of musical reinvention.

Robert has called Pillbox Tales and Do the Hansa dire, dire things, and we'll leave him to that. Pillbox Tales is essentially a loud stomp of a song that would always get a charge out of bar crowds. Do the Hansa is Robert's disco pastiche middle finger to his first record company, done in faux German with everyone drunk off their faces. Cute.

I'm Cold is completely incoherent. At first I was disappointed -- I'd waited for years to hear Robert Smith and Siouxsie Sioux together, only to have her buried in the back of the mix in a song where Robert's voice is echoed into itself to the point of near-incomprehensibility. But I have since warmed to the track. If you take it as a stab of pure, drugged-out sound, it is a menacing thing indeed.

This is followed by Another Journey by Train, Descent and Splintered in Her Head. Another Journey by Train is Cure's first instrumental B-side, and it was also a proving ground for Simon Gallup, who had taken over bass duties from Michael Dempsey. (one of the things you'll find as you traverse the years with the Cure is they never have a stable lineup for long) Descent, to me, is the better of the two instrumentals, because it features both Gallup and Smith playing slow, rumbly bass, which sets up a moody atmosphere on par with anything from Faith. Splintered in Her Head, while not an instrumental, might as well be, because the music builds and builds and builds, tribal drums that mark some unholy union between the Hanging Garden and Siamese Twins, while discordant blasts of harmonica and plodding bass wander out of the mix before any words show themselves. Truly creepy. I love it.

The next six tracks are usually just Robert Smith and Steve Severin of Siouxsie & the Banshees/The Glove. The first song, Lament (Flexipop version) utterly terrifies me. Smith and Severin fueled each other's overindulgences to new heights, and this early version of Lament sounds like a drug trip where the two participants are having the time of their lives and the listener is locked outside of it. Loud drum machines, swoopy wooden flutes, singing that is mumbled more than spoken. The version that appears later in this set, that was also included on the Japanese Whispers compiliation, is a much more subdued thing in contrast. You can see that Smith wanted to take the raw ideas of the first track and fuse it into something you could fall in love with.

Also from Japanese Whispers are Just One Kiss, The Dream, The Upstairs Room and Speak My Language. Just One Kiss is Siamese Twin's gentle cousin, history ending, mountains cracking, the last trees shaking down their leaves, all of it muted by one final touch of lips. The Dream is a swirl of synthesized pop bliss. The Upstairs Room is an ode to sleeping in Severin's flat ("kiss so alcoholic and slow"). Speak My Language is a weird jazz-hybrid that starts as a real Cure song then slips into stream-of-consciousness that remains surprisingly coherent.

Mr. Pink Eyes, another b-side from the impossible-to-hate Lovecats, is probably the jazziest thing the Cure ever did (though in this case, it's Robert on voice and piano, drummer Andy Anderson and the producer as bassist). It positively fizzes out of your speakers.

Happy the Man and Throw Your Foot are remainders of the Top era, where the Cure was still splintered, Smith and Severin were bringing out each other's worst impulses, Smith was simultaneously recording Hyaena with Siouxsie & the Banshees, and, as you can hear, he is heading for a breakdown. Neither of these songs are happy. They are depraved, lost in their own worlds, about to collapse. Both of them include falsetto whoops and laughter that creep me out for how fake and full of holes they sound. Fascinating listening, but you have to wonder how Robert survived this period.

New Day is the breaking point, literally. The song is mournful and itching out of its own skin, with a synthesizer chorus underlaying it like some strange Wizard of Oz singing-trees outtake. After this song was recorded, Robert headed out of the studio, collapsed, and was sped away by ambulance to recuperate.

The Exploding Boy, despite its morbid title, is joyful and light. It welcomes Gallup back into the fold after Smith's studio ostracism, and marks an obvious B-side of Inbetween Days -- it shares the same frenetic strumming and bright musicality of its cousin, with sax to boot. The exploding in this case is caused by joy, not severe chemical imbalances.

A Few Hours After This is one of my favorite early B-sides. It appears that Lol Tolhurst found the "orchestra hit" pad on his synthesizer, because he milks it for all its worth. It gives a wonderful, majestic feel to this song.

The Man Inside My Mouth and Stop Dead close the first disc, two B-sides from Close to Me. Smith has said that once Gallup rejoined the band, all songs were recorded as potential album tracks, and you can see that here. The lyrics are at once more open-hearted yet still savagely off-kilter, and the melodies have become more expansive and less insular. Not to mention, in Man Inside My Mouth especially (a narrative that loses coherence right after it begins), it sounds like the bass is eating your speakers.


Disc 2

Now we enter the Cure's late '80s radio peak, where they hit their stride for concocting effortlessly beautiful singles until they decided remixes were the future. The early part of this disc shares the double album Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me's manic energy and atmosphere, the middle houses Disintegration keepsakes and the ending tracks cover a Doors' standard, a good B-side from Never Enough and a lamentable remix of the Cure touchstone Just Like Heaven.

A Japanese Dream gives off an aura of the same haunting percussion that charges If Only Tonight We Could Sleep, which is my favorite Cure song of all time. Robert's voice sounds a bit tired and blown, which also gives the song a weathered feel in contrast to its enmeshed melody. Breathe is a wonderful synth-led beauty, full of twirling comets and village lights. A Chain of Flowers is such a wonderful, haunted song, where Robert begs for his love to return to him, that it should have been on the album proper. And Snow in Summer slowly ingratiates itself, a small gem about holing away from the world with your love.

From there we hit Sugar Girl, comprising a simple melody that will get stuck in your head for days, and a simpler sentiment that resonates: "Goodbye, sugar girl."

Icing Sugar, Hey You!!! and How Beautiful You Are, all originally from the double album (though Hey You!!! was only on vinyl versions), are given subtle remixes. Icing Sugar and Hey You!!! are stretched out and overlaid with smooth sax from the member of a bar band that Robert liked, a sign of both his musical generosity, and his good ear. How Beautiful You Are has been given subtle touches and added sounds in hopes that the track would be released as a single (it wasn't). If nothing else, you can tell more clearly than ever where the Cure nicked the prominent synth line in Lovesong from.

To the Sky gives weight to the saw that artists should never be allowed to judge their own work. For some reason, Robert considers this sweet, star-shaped, breathless song "unfinished." We'll leave him to his delusions, and lay stunned in the moonlight.

Babble and Out of Mind are two tracks that show that the media attention is starting to get to Robert. Babble, with Robert's continued refrain of "Shut up shut up shut up!" is the Cure's most punk-infused moment since the silly angst of So What off their debut. Only this angst is anything but silly. The box set relates that Boris Williams, the Cure's drummer at the time, brought his dog in to play keyboard samples because Lol was passed out in the corner. The hammer would soon fall, which would sap the Cure in a lengthy lawsuit and result in the mish-mash that was Wild Mood Swings.

Out of Mind features the lush instrumentation of the Disintegration album, but at a quickened pace. You can see why Robert left it as a B-side, because this song would have derailed the subtle, despairing flow of the album. It's a wonderful song, though, where Robert wishes to disappear from the crowd for a while, just have some time alone.

I'm surprised more people haven't heard 2 Late and Fear of Ghosts before now, seeing as they're attached to one of the Cure's most popular singles, Lovesong. 2 Late bears a wonderful melody, an effervescent lyric made for the radio. Some people think it's better than the A-side. I think that's stretching it, but rest assured, 311 won't be covering it. Fear of Ghosts was always one of my favorites, so it's wonderful to hear this slow, spacey song in remastered form. I can, for the first time, hear what Robert's whispering!

The Doors' Hello I Love You is given three airings. Robert has trouble hiding his distaste for the Doors in the liner notes, but he plays his hand well on the first and second takes. The first one, a "psychedelic version," takes the original words, splinters them around and turns the melody line into a Cure ramble. The second and third versions, which appeared on Elektra's Rubaiyat compilation, are a straight version and an 11-second death-metal stomp where Robert speed-sings the chorus. A bit bratty, but also hilarious. It's nice to see this side of the band.

Harold and Joe, the b-side from Never Enough, is another personal favorite. I have never been able to follow the story, because I keep getting lost in the wonderful bass rhythm and Robert's seductive singing. Who cares what the message is? Dance along.

Just Like Heaven (dizzy mix) is one of the outtakes from the horrendous Mixed Up album. Robert, unfortunately, has a blind spot when it comes to remixes. He thinks they're wonderful things, but I have never heard a remix by the Cure that comes close to the original version. I have heard plenty of Nine Inch Nail remixes that come close, or sometimes surpass, the original. The same with Depeche Mode. And Garbage. And Apoptygma Berzerk. Tons of bands know how to do it right. Robert does not.


Discs 3 and 4

In fact, Robert's inner detector is so damaged when it comes to remixes that I'm going to combine the last two discs. Disc 3 has some wonderful B-sides from the Wish era, some covers and soundtrack work, and the beginnings of the much derided Wild Mood Swings era. Disc 4 continues the Wild Mood Swings era, bludgeons you to death with pointless remixes (some of them so meandering, like Smith's own mix of Wrong Number, that you want to drag them into the backyard and hack them to pieces with a shovel, then leave them for the flies) and throws in a few covers and originals to keep you from shutting off the CD.

The highlights are:

This Twilight Garden and Play, which use ghostly effects and soft echoes to convey, respectively, the lonely, nostalgic feeling at twilight and the pleading remains of a relationship in decay.

Halo, which has always made me smile and which I actually like more than the A-side, Friday I'm in Love. The keyboard is as gentle and insistent as though it were a continuation of High, the music is melodic and playful, and Robert is on a cloud. "You are everything."

Scared as You, which also bears up to relationship disintegration, this time with tears in Robert's voice.

The Big Hand, a poetic song about the travails of addiction, that starts out sounding like a song from Wish until an orchestra starts tuning up each time Robert sings "like fireworks in heaven."

Doing the Unstuck alternate mix, prettied up for radio (though never finding a home there), still unable to shake its undertow of rejection and final goodbyes. I liked the song all right on Wish. This mix made me love the song.

Two versions of Jimi Hendrix's Purple Haze. One a surprising straight, rocking version; the other a dance track with pieces of Hendrixian melody spliced on top -- that works!

Burn, the classic track from the Crow soundtrack, which hearkens back to Birdmad Girl of the Top, the Hanging Garden of Pornography and Lament of Japanese Whispers, all at once. "Scream the animal scream. Dream the crow-black dream."

It Used to Be Me, Ocean and Adonais -- three supremely charged and emotive tracks from the Wild Mood Swings era. The first builds and slows, builds and slows, builds and builds and .... ends, leaving you lost. The second is a slow night staring at the sea. The third is full of realization, and approaching tears.

Home, a track that evokes hope and nostalgia, including the line "I couldn't love you more." Robert apparently liked that line -- it's repeated again and again in the first single off the Cure's self-titled album.

Waiting and A Pink Dream, one holding its breath, the other expelling it in joy, strumming guitar, dancing off the plane before a concert.

This is a Lie alternate mix, done up to accentuate the strings and the mournful lyric. This song is so powerful and so confused in its intentions that Robert's wife, Mary, asked him the meaning of it.

More Than This, a small, sweetly melodic and ornate song in haunted dance trimmings about looking for love, and hoping to find more than a wall.

Coming Up, a song that batters you with so much sound and anguish that you have to give in.

And two versions of Signal to Noise. A song that should have been a single, breaking up and breaking down, but being smart enough to know that this is not the end.

To give this set any less than five stars, because the remixes are so toxic and flabby, would be short-sighted. This is more than 300 minutes of Robert and one incarnation or other of the Cure behind him, playing to the masses, as well as to the quiet kids in the back row of the theater. And both actions are equally important, equally enjoyable. We all forgive the flaws in those we love.

Recommended: Yes