Rhino Records has just re-released these three pivotal CDs, and each package contains an extra disc filled with bonus cuts. If you’re on a low budget, and forced to choose just one of these sets, Faith is easily the most essential pick of the litter. The shockingly titled Pornography, however, is a close second. These two releases surely inspired a million teens to blow their allowances on dark eye makeup and clothing, in order to appear prematurely depressed at their local mall.

Seventeen Seconds, unfortunately, hasn’t survived the test of time quite so well. Nevertheless, one of its tracks, “A Forest,” has become a staple in The Cure’s concert rotation, and was dusted off as recently as the band’s just-completed Curiosa tour. The Seventeen Seconds extras include "I'm A Cult Hero," which is a fun, ska-y, Cockney-accented side road away from The Cure’s otherwise gloomy lonely street of that time. "I Dig You" is also Cockney-accented, but moves with more of a '60s garage vibe, due to its feedback guitar and pumping organ. But for the most part, Seventeen Seconds comes off like, well, sloppy seconds.

Smith aptly named the best release of this bunch Faith, because its lyrics chronicle his crisis of faith at the time. Song titles alone, like “Holy Hour,” “Doubt” and “Drowning Man” also offer blatant clues about the recording’s inner content. Although “Primary” and “Doubt” provide a few brief, punky interludes, dirgelike material such as “The Funeral Party” is what informs the overall mood of this CD. The words to “The Funeral Party” exemplify Smith’s emotional surrender to a deep, black depression back then. Here’s just a sample of its lyric: “Memories of children’s dreams/Lie lifeless/Fading …/Lifeless/Hand in hand with fear and shadows/Crying at the funeral party.” Obviously, childhood memories, and sometimes the limited viewpoint of children, inspired much of Smith’s writing during this nightmarish period. Elsewhere on Faith he sings, “Rape me like a child,” then on “Primary” he begins the song with, “The innocence of sleeping children.” References to children aside, this is by no means kids’ stuff.

Faith is a bold and unblinking leap into the abyss, which never lets up, even for a minute. If you don’t have a propensity for such dark sounds, listening to it all the way through may get to be a bit trying. But because of its undeniably relevant substance, and due to Smith’s convincing delivery of its sentiments, this pained musical expression works – in the most undelightful way. Of its extras, "Primary (Studio Out-take)” is the most revealing track of the bunch. It’s slowed down significantly, and lacks all the energy of the final album version. This initial run-through also experiments with a vocal drenched in echo, in a dub-like setting. What’s best about this extra inclusion is that the listener can trace back a little bit of the song’s evolution, especially when comparing it back-to-back with the completed album track.

Pornography is a slightly less successful endeavor, since, as its title suggests, it offers gratuitous Goth. Yet it sometimes simply sounds like Gothic gratuity for Gothic gratuity’s sake. Desperate lyrics, such as those that comprise “The Hanging Garden,” aren’t as personal or as believable as are the better words and phrases that drive Faith. Musically, however, Pornography does add a few sonic wrinkles to The Cure’s then-evolving aural repertoire. “The Figurehead” and “The Hanging Garden” are propelled by big, pounding drums and low, thundering bass. Replacing the funereal keyboard work of Faith, it is a project mostly built instead upon electric guitar, chaotic and swirling on the title cut, yet concise and clipped in “A Strange Day.” The package’s extras include another take on "The Hanging Garden (Studio Version)," which is much quieter without the big drums. There is also one exercise titled "Airlock – The Soundtrack," which begins with the kind of acoustic piano playing that would later show up in more pop-oriented Cure works, such as “The Caterpillar.” But “Airlock – The Soundtrack” also drags on and on, and while it is dramatic and experimental, it is also ultimately unlistenable.

Robert Smith has since grown a bit beyond his Gothic granddad reputation by recording many more straight pop and rock tracks, such as the New Order-ish “In Between Days.” But his best exploration of the intersection between music and manic depression, by far, is represented by these three early releases. So if you have a need to travel to the dark side, your journey must begin here.

Sound
The sound of these three albums is a tad stripped-down, as Smith had obviously not yet mastered the aural majesty that would later be exemplified by such notable releases as Disintegration. It should also be noted, however, that these discs were tracked right around the height of the punk rock movement, which was a time where spontaneity was held in much higher esteem than such things as studio craftsmanship. The toughest moments on the ears arrive with a few of these sets’ extras. “The Holy Hour” (off of Faith), for instance – with its bass feedback making it sound like a home demo version – is especially annoying to the senses.