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  Smith had drawn lyrical ideas from some deadly serious sources – French existential literature, drug-fuelled dreams, ugly, sordid images – but he did a complete about-turn with ‘Let’s Go To Bed’. “When I wrote ‘Let’s Go To Bed’,” he said, “I thought it was stupid. It’s rubbish. It’s a joke. All pop songs [of the time] are basically saying, ‘Please go to bed with me.’ So I’m going to make it as blatant as possible [and] set it to this cheesy synth riff – everything I hated about music at the time. It was junk. Lol and I recorded it, Fiction put it out and suddenly we’re getting 15 plays a day on American radio. Sod’s law, isn’t it?”

  “My reaction to all those people who thought that The Cure could only be pessimistic and negative and predictable was to make a demented and calculated song like ‘Let’s Go To Bed’,” he said in another analysis of the track. “The purpose was to specifically destroy our image and then somehow start it all over again.”

  Smith, of course, was underplaying The Cure’s case. ‘Let’s Go To Bed’ might have been totally disposable – as late as 2001, Smith was still writing it off, declaring that the “bassline has been played wrong for almost 20 years” – but what great pop wasn’t? Displaying considerable stealth, Smith was moving The Cure closer to the Madonnas and Duran Durans that were all over 1982’s charts like a rash.

  But The Cure also needed a different look to go with their updated sound. The big hair and bleeding eyes look that had been sprung on the public during their last tour was a great start: now that ghostly image needed some brightening up. They couldn’t have found a better makeover man than director Tim Pope, whom Parry hired to film the clip for ‘Let’s Go To Bed’, on the strength of a promo showreel that included his video for Soft Cell’s ‘Bedsitter’. The choice was perfect: Pope was still a relative newcomer, with all the edginess that that entails.

  Like many video directors, Tim Pope was pretty much ready for any gig that he was offered before he signed up to direct ‘Let’s Go To Bed’. He’d directed videos for Altered Images’ ‘Happy Birthday’ and ‘I Could Be So Happy’, The Psychedelic Furs’ ‘Love My Way’, Wham’s ‘Young Guns (Go For It)’ and Visage’s ‘Pleasure Boys’. He’d also directed a quartet of Soft Cell videos for the songs ‘Sex Dwarf’, ‘Torch’, ‘What’ and ‘Bedsitter’, the track that would catch the eye and ear of Chris Parry. While that proved his music video directing chops, he’d also worked on ads (his client list would include Energizer batteries, Kellogg’s Rice Krispies and Pizza Hut) and had spent time working at the BBC. Curiously, Pope’s first major project involved training politicians how to cope with TV appearances, so ego-stroking was something he understood deeply. But of all his projects, Pope’s relationship with The Cure would become his best known, a career-maker that would lead to him directing high profile clips for such platinum-plus acts as The Pretenders, Fatboy Slim and Hall & Oates, as well as scoring Hollywood directing gigs for The Crow series of films.

  Cure videos, up until the time that Pope was recruited, had been pretty dreadful affairs. Smith, as much as anyone, was aware of that – he described Mike Mansfield, who directed the ‘Charlotte Sometimes’ clip, as “really useless”. He also dismissed the video for ‘The Hanging Garden’, which was directed by Chris Gabrin, who’d worked with Madness on their ‘Grey Day’ and ‘Shut Up’ clips, as “really awful”. “They wanted to make us look serious and we wanted them to make us look like Madness.” It failed on both counts.

  Lol Tolhurst agreed. “Those videos were unmitigated disasters; we weren’t actors and our personalities weren’t coming across.”

  On the small screen The Cure came across every bit as po-faced and dour as the music they were making. But in Pope they’d found an empathetic soul. Crucially, Pope was willing to experiment with this relatively new form just as much as The Cure was willing to tinker with their public image as serious young things. It proved to be the perfect union.

  “What you see in Tim Pope videos was the personality of the band,” said Tolhurst. “I read something where he said we’re either the most intelligent people in the world or the most stupid and he couldn’t make up his mind which. That’s what I liked about The Cure: we took what we did seriously but we didn’t take ourselves seriously. We always had this sense of the absurd and he was the first person to illustrate that.”

  According to Phil Thornalley, who would be part of The Cure when Pope directed ‘The Lovecats’ video, the understanding between Smith and Pope was quite profound. “[Pope] and Robert seemed to be on the same wavelength. [He was] an English eccentric, but not in that slightly ‘Ooh, I’m a bit mad’ way. Very creative guy. You know that people are really good when they’re not defensive. Anybody could offer any ideas and when he might have dismissed it, he would consider it. That’s a good sign.”

  Tolhurst also admired the English eccentric in Pope. “That’s really the reason we liked him. All the towns we grew up in had these eccentric characters. Tim Pope would have fitted in. He had these strange, abstract thoughts: that appealed to us much more than someone who was slick and smooth. We liked people who were deranged.”

  Parry had sat down with Tolhurst and Smith after ‘Let’s Go To Bed’ was mixed, and threw around ideas for the accompanying video. That’s when Parry recalled seeing Pope’s promo showreel. “I investigated and found he was fairly new to the game and a bit freaky. It was worth the risk because for the first time ever, we’d choreographed it – we asked him what he thought and he said, ‘Great.’ Robert was after something quirky, something that took the piss out of the other pop songs that the song was supposed to be in competition with.”

  Pope (or “Pap” as he would be known in The Cure universe of nicknames) had some knowledge of The Cure’s music, and – not unreasonably – figured they’d be gloomy bastards. But once he met Smith he felt a genuinely strong connection. “I thought, ‘This can’t be the geezer who makes all these doomed out records,’ because he was such a funny little chappy with hair that all stood up.” When Smith and Pope were introduced, Smith had the strange (yet comfortable) sensation that they’d already met. “We had the feeling that we’d known each other for a long time.” Smith would describe Pope as a “very surreal bloke” who “succeeded in bringing out the human side we tended to hide. He did a great job for The Cure.” And so a match made in pop heaven was forged.

  The relationship between Robert Smith and Tim Pope couldn’t have been better timed. Music Television (that’s MTV to you) was launched on August 1, 1981 when it aired The Buggies’ satirical ‘Video Killed The Radio Star’. Too right, brother: thanks to the seductive power of the moving image, a “buzz” video now had just as much commercial impact as a high rotation song on the radio. The music industry would never be the same again. Prince, Madonna, Duran Duran and such hair-metal acts as Mötley Crüe and Twisted Sister were all early MTV stars who understood the power of the moving (sometimes gyrating) image. All these acts quickly realised that the new music wasn’t just about the song: if you had a wild, vibrant (and ideally raunchy) clip to accompany your new song, you were well on the way to hitsville. Looking fabulous was every bit as crucial as sounding good, which effectively killed off the few remaining prog rock dinosaurs and sensitive singer/strummers, who had no chance of competing with Madonna’s mock-orgasmic acrobatics or Prince’s pert buttocks. OK, The Cure was never going to be an especially sexy band – their female fans would rather comb their hair than fuck them – but their weird new look was tailor-made for Generation MTV.

  Pope chose a studio in St John’s Wood for the ‘Let’s Go To Bed’ clip, which was shot in 13 takes. Pope wasn’t overly impressed by the band’s script outline – his actual response was “fucking hell, this is incoherent” – so instead he persuaded Smith, for the first time in his career, to actually perform. As stunning as it seemed for a man whose dark side rivalled Sylvia Plath’s, Smith did just that: and Pope’s camera loved him. Smith was adamant that there was a lighter side to The Cure that hadn’t be
en tapped and he understood that it required an absurdist such as Pope to fully comprehend (and exploit) it. “There are other sides to what we do that I think are completely absurd and making videos is part of that process. Tim does see a side of the group which is, in essence, foolish.”

  And Pope truly brought out that Cure character in the clip for the jaunty, likeably lightweight ‘Let’s Go To Bed’. It opened with an overalls-clad Tolhurst, who, with his ever-expanding hair and tragic dancing, looked like some Thompson Twins reject, performing what seemed like semaphores. Although Smith looked quite stiff in the rapid-fire early scenes – Pope said later that Smith had been “very, very shy” – he quickly warmed to his new role as performer, conducting an animated conversation with two painted hard-boiled eggs before slapping paint all over the hapless Tolhurst. (He also got the chance to acknowledge Mary, whose name was scrawled on a pull-down blind in the middle of the tiny set.) Sure, the make-up would get messier and the hair would get much larger (as would their budgets), but the video marked the birth of the new Cure: bright, vibrant and refreshingly goofy.

  Inevitably, on its release in November, ‘Let’s Go To Bed’ became a hit, reaching number 44 in the charts, but not before Smith and Parry conducted another heated debate about the direction in which The Cure should be headed. Contrary as ever, Smith wasn’t so sure that ‘Let’s Go To Bed’ should appear under The Cure moniker. He wanted to rename the group Recur, at least for this single. It was another cautious, clever step on Smith’s part: if it failed, he could laugh it off in the same way as the Cult Hero indulgence. And if it somehow connected with the masses, he could call it a fluke. But Parry insisted that it was a Cure song – why build an audience just to confuse them? – and Smith reluctantly backed down. There was, however, one proviso: if the single reached the Top 20, Parry would release Smith from his contract and allow him to record a solo album. (Ah, the solo project, one of Smith’s favourite discussion points. Despite many, many assurances that it was ready to roll at various downturns during The Cure’s career, it still hasn’t emerged as of early 2005, although several Cure LPs could have passed for Smith solo albums.)

  Having lost his latest sparring match with Parry, Smith then set about destroying ‘Let’s Go To Bed’ in a series of interviews designed to talk it up. “I don’t think it’s a Cure song,” he told the Record Mirror. “This single has been released to get daytime airplay and it’s disappointing to me because it’s the first time we’ve ever been seen to be involved in current trends or fashions. For us to be seen bothering in an area I don’t respect upsets me.” And then, when speaking with Melody Maker: “I realised when I did it that it wasn’t horrible enough, it just wasn’t quite dumb enough to be commercial.”

  Smith, Gallup and Tolhurst (from left), early 1982. “I’m not much good at pretending I’m having fun,” Smith would later reveal. (LFI)

  Video maker Tim Pope. During the legendary clip for ‘Lullaby’, Pope had Smith lowered repeatedly into a furry black hole “full of some sticky gunk that looks and smells like Airfix glue”. (LFI)

  Robert Smith on the set of the Pope-directed clip for ‘The Walk’. According to Pope, “I don’t think either of us had a fucking clue.” (LFI)

  In 1985, The Cure become ‘The Lovecats’, a ditty inspired by Smith’s love of Walt Disney’s The Aristocats. “An amateurish pop song,” said it’s author. (LFI)

  On the set of ‘The Lovecats’. Pope had to convince the owner of the derelict terrace in Primrose Hill that he was a potential buyer. That’s Lol Tolhurst in the cat suit. (LFI)

  Siouxsie & The Banshees, featuring Robert Smith (far right), on the set of the ‘Dear Prudence’ video in September 1983. “My involvement was based mainly on my friendship with Steve Severin.” (LFI)

  Team Cure, circa 1983: Andy Anderson, Phil Thornalley, Tolhurst and Smith (from left). Anderson’s lethal magic mushroom tea spiced up many long nights on the road. (LFI)

  Porl Thompson, Boris Williams, Smith, Gallup and Tolhurst (from left), Kiss Me era. Smith almost killed most of the band one night during sessions for the 1987 album. (LFI)

  Smith on stage at Wembley, 1985. By then The Cure was an unstoppable force, with a hit album and two high-rotation MTV videos. (George Chin/WireImage)

  Smith with his teenage sweetheart and now wife, Mary Poole, the inspiration for ‘Lovesong’. “She would have preferred diamonds, I think,” Smith figured. (Richard Young/Rex Features)

  Smith, with Lol Tolhurst (in sunglasses) rides the Orient Express, 1986. The band ran up a record bar tab while on board, somewhere between £1,500 and £2,000, a figure which emerged during the Lol Tolhurst court case. (Richard Young/Rex Features)

  A close-cropped Robert Smith, 1986. Without his daily writing regime, “I’d have just got up in mid-afternoon and watched TV until the pubs opened, then gone out drinking.” (Lynn Goldsmith/Corbis)

  The Cure, 1987, about to become the oddest pop stars on the planet. “That was the accomplished version of The Cure,” said Tolhurst. “Put us all together and it was the best gang in town.” (George Chin/WireImage)

  The diminishing role of Lol Tolhurst (second from right) becomes clear. Smith said that if Tolhurst had stayed in the band, “Simon would have thrown him off a balcony”. (Mauro Carraro/Rex Features)

  Gallup, Williams, Thompson, Smith, Soger O’Donnell and Tolhurst (from left). “I couldn’t see why he was in the band,” O’Donnell said of Tolhurst. (Neal Preston/Corbis)

  Smith and Poole’s wedding day, August 13, 1988. “We just got married to have a nice day,” Smith said soon after. “It’s really dumb but I was sort of overcome.” (LFI)

  The Cure founder and its one permanent fixture, Robert Smith, the face that launched a million Goths. (Adrian Boot)

  “‘Let’s Go To Bed’ was like going to a party,” he told NME. “We made a record instead of getting drunk.” Petulant as ever, Smith threatened to split the group if they ever made it to the top of the charts. “I’d never let us be seen to be competing to be a number one group,” he stated. “It’s all such nonsense.” Cure critics agreed. In one review of ‘Let’s Go To Bed’, an unimpressed observer wrote: “Let’s not. Let’s drone over a sub-funk backing and talk about the implications of it, eh Rob?” Yet, reluctantly, the review did acknowledge the track’s commercial possibilities. “The insidious timing and uncanny production could well stick this little stocking filler a fair way up the charts.”

  While ‘Let’s Go To Bed’ was doing just that, Smith took yet another unexpected about-turn. Unlike Tolhurst, Smith had a ready-made escape plan from the pressures of The Cure, which he put into action when there was more disquiet in the Banshees’ camp. Severin, who’d drifted in and out of the ‘Let’s Go To Bed’ sessions, once again got into Smith’s ear: surely he’d rather be a Banshee, a “serious musician”, than a member of this accidental pop band. When guitarist John McGeogh left the Banshees in November, Smith snapped up Severin’s offer to rejoin the band.

  Smith’s timing couldn’t have been worse for Parry and Fiction. Suddenly the label boss had a pop band on his roster: a genuine earner. Now their creative heart – and face – was running off for a tour that would consume every ounce of his energy for at least the rest of the year. And Smith also seemed to be heading straight back into a lifestyle that had almost killed him earlier in the year. As Severin would recall, the Banshees became very protective of their new recruit.

  “The pressure [on Smith] from the record label was immense. They were always waiting in the wings like vultures. It was like, ‘If we don’t give Robert something to do with the Banshees, he’ll be off doing something with The Cure, so let’s think of something: a rehearsal, a festival, a photo shoot, anything to keep him away from Fiction.’ We weren’t going to play second fiddle to The Cure.”

  Robert Smith had, seemingly, found the perfect balance between a creative (and commercial) outlet in The Cure and an escape from that pressure with the Banshees. “While with them [the Banshees] I w
as making dark and Gothic music; at the same time with The Cure we were doing all these demented songs and videos. It was like having two separated but somehow parallel lives.” But by mid-December 1982, Melody Maker was asking the very reasonable question: “Have The Cure Split? Is Robert Smith Joining The Banshees?” Smith was in particularly sharp form as he deflected questions from prime agitator Steve Sutherland.

  “Do The Cure really exist any more?” Smith asked rhetorically. “I’ve been pondering that question myself. See, as I wrote 90 per cent of the Pornography album, I couldn’t really leave because it wouldn’t have been The Cure without me.” The only clue that Smith would leave to The Cure’s future was this: “Whatever happens, it won’t be me, Laurence and Simon together any more. I know that.” As for his Banshees future, Smith was equally vague. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m just doing this tour. Never believe rumours.”

  Lol Tolhurst bided his time with his first production role, working the desk for the self-titled debut of And Also The Trees. They were a moody Worcestershire quartet who’d formed in 1979; they’d been one of the local bands who’d opened for The Cure a few years earlier when they put out the call for unknown support acts. “Being 15 years old, it was a little surreal,” Justin Jones, frontman of And Also The Trees, told me. “A thousand skinheads turned up thinking that we were going to be a punk band, shouting, ‘Play something faster, you Dracula bastards.’”

  “We really hit it off with Lol in the studio,” Jones continued. “He was great fun and very generous.” During the sessions, Tolhurst even approached Jones about playing guitar on a planned solo album, to fill in the gap while Smith was busy being a Banshee. Tolhurst did actually record some (to this day unheard) solo tracks with Zerra l’s Paul Bell, as well as undertaking some production work in France.