The Cure

Few bands in the history of rock and roll have followed such a willfully weird path as The Cure. Formed (as the wincingly-named Easy Cure) just as the first wave of punk bands stormed the scene, The Cure quickly outgrew their artsy minimalist beginnings, becoming one of the grandest, gloomiest and gothiest bands the world might ever know. And then following the supremely bleak Pornography, they switched gears all over again to become downright cuddly pop stars with hits like "Let's Go To Bed," "In Between Days" and "Just Like Heaven." This success in such seemingly disparate musical forms is due solely to the masterful songwriting and distinctive banshee-wail voice of frontman Robert Smith, a big-haired and heavily lipsticked tunesmith equally adept at both blacker-than-midnight goth rock and gleeful pop songs. Over the course of his three-decades-plus career, Smith has proven himself not only a heavy influence (both musically and visually) on a generation of bands to follow, but an endearing poster boy for teenage alienation. Somewhere in the world right this second, a sullen teenager is writing tortured poetry while "Boys Don't Cry" plays comfortingly in the background. For this, Smith should be proud.