The up-and-down last decade of goth-rock legends the Cure is thankfully over. Though their latest album (and last, if it helps sales) is hardly an unqualified success, it's astounding when compared to the frequently embarrassing material they've released since their 1989 opus Disintegration. Frustrating as it must be to bear that record as a cross, a great album's a great album, and the Cure haven't released one as consistent and inventive since.

Promotional blurbs invoke Disintegration and the band's 1982 caterwaul Pornography, proclaiming Bloodflowers as the final installment in this trilogy. It's a strange tactic, as fans have been referring to Seventeen Seconds, Faith and Pornography as "the trilogy" for years. Given the complete lack of reverence Robert Smith has held for the Cure in the 1990s, this desperate marketing gimmick isn't too surprising. A slew of tactless soundtrack and compilation appearances and one titanic dud (1996's Wild Mood Swings) are all they have to show outside of 1992's palatable but monotonous Wish.

Obviously, Bloodflowers is no partner to Pornography or Disintegration. It may lift guitar production from the latter, but if anything, it's the long-awaited sequel to Wish. Given the groundswell of hype in advance of the Cure's other supposed 90's masterpieces, and their subsequent letdowns, this album will likely never become as relevant as the band's earlier works. But as a rejoinder to the last decade, Bloodflowers is essential for anyone that's heretofore known and loved the Cure.

It opens with the haunting "Out of This World," a song so full of winks and nods even casual fans are likely left spinning. It's the best use of acoustic guitar the band has employed since their 1989 Prayer Tour, though not for lack of trying (this is what "Jupiter Crash" should have been). The melodies are culled from-- and almost reprises to-- other songs from their voluminous catalog: doleful keyboards from Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, the guitar solo from "Untitled" (Disintegration), and an underlying two-note bend you can't place, but that somehow encompasses everything that makes them the Cure. The vocals are mixed in the stratosphere-- the preferred treatment since 1993-- but the strength of the material bears Smith out.

If "Watching Me Fall" is an overlong rehash of an old theme (put "Shake Dog Shake," "End" and "Burn" in a blender), it's still captivating. In the end, I'm not sure we needed all eleven minutes, but if you've been pining for that Disintegration wall of sound, you'll be calling your ex just past the eight-minute mark. (Amy, if you're reading this, it's 617-556-2817).

Bloodflowers closes with Smith's biggest resignations: "39" and the title track. The former starts off with a bizarre guitar effect that almost resembles the video game music of old; it takes the signature Simon Gallup bass line (in arguably its finest presentation) to get things moving properly. There's the customary self-loathing in the lyrics-- another side of "End" from Wish-- but "39" lacks the usually powerful music that accompanies such rants; it can't hold a candle to even "Watching Me Fall."

"Bloodflowers" itself relies on an old trick. Smith finds a four-bar melody and stretches it into a seven-minute dirge. By this point on the album, the flange/phase effects have become both overwhelming and tedious, and Smith has gotten too self-referential with his lyrics. The Cure's recording career, in the unlikely event it's over, is not concluded with the sweeping calamity you'd expect. Certainly, Bloodflowers contains some classic Cure material, which is more than can be said of their catalog since Disintegration. But they've done one better than the last inspired effort (Wish); consider Bloodflowers a reiteration of Robert Smith's talents as an original, formidable songwriter.

-Chris Ott