"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.