The Cure’s gloomy songs have long been fueled by existential dread, nihilistic excess, unrequited love, and romantic heartbreak — not to mention the consumption of certain chemicals. At first blush, Faith certainly seems to be more of the same, as Robert Smith, Simon Gallup, and Lol Tolhurst meander through eight songs of bleary-eyed grayscale mopery. And it’s easy to overlook the album knowing what came immediately after it: the black hole of despair that is Pornography.

But a closer listen reveals that Faith contains some of The Cure’s most personal and intimate songs. The band lost loved ones around the time of the album’s recording and release, and their grief resounds in songs like “The Funeral Party” and “All Cats Are Grey.” The former sets surreal lyrics (“Two pale figures ache in silence/Timeless in the quiet ground/Side by side in age and sadness”) amidst wintry synths and an appropriately funereal pace. As for the latter, it might just be The Cure’s most sorrowful song. Smith has rarely sounded so forlorn as he does here, lamenting “No shapes sail on the dark deep lakes/And no flags wave me home” as a muted bass and sparse piano create an atmosphere of utter loneliness and solitude.

A couple of uptempo songs (“Primary,” “Doubt”) hearken back to the band’s punk roots, but for the most part, Faith is a solemn affair as Smith grapples with death and his own doubt. “I sit and listen dreamlessly/A promise of salvation makes me stay,” he sings on album opener “The Holy Hour,” but his pleas for divine response go unheard; “I cannot hold what you devour,” he bemoans as he leaves the church. But rather than come off as angsty posturing, it feels like a deeply human sense of loss and sets the tone for the rest of the album.