The Cure has been my favorite band for as long as I can remember. And, importantly, it has never disappointed me. Robert Smith was born on the same day as I was, which obviously means nothing, but also means everything when you have followed someone for so many decades. Any appearance he makes outside the band is therefore met, on my part, with a not entirely objective mixture of curiosity, protectiveness, and, in this particular case, an unavoidable hint of jealousy. Olivia Rodrigo did not merely sing with Robert Smith. She managed to take him into the studio, record a song with him, and turn an admiration inherited from her parents into one of the most unlikely and interesting partnerships in contemporary pop.

Robert was 66 when he appeared onstage with Olivia, then 22, at Glastonbury in June 2025. They are now 67 and 23, respectively. The age difference inevitably attracts attention, but “friendship” is not the best word to describe what happened between them — besides suggesting an unnecessary and slightly strange level of intimacy. What publicly exists is an artistic exchange between a young songwriter and a musician who has crossed generations without ever needing to chase after them.

Olivia discovered The Cure through her father, a fan of the band who introduced her to Smith’s music when she was still very young. She had already spoken about attending the band’s concerts with him and, after being invited to close Glastonbury, decided to approach Robert. The invitation did not come from someone who knew only “Friday I’m in Love,” choosing a friendly classic to manufacture a viral moment. Olivia regarded Smith as one of her musical heroes and also chose to sing “Just Like Heaven” with him, one of the most perfect songs written by anyone, in any era.

To Olivia’s surprise, and perhaps to everyone else’s, the admiration was mutual. Smith discovered her through “Drivers License,” bought Sour and Guts on CD, and declared himself impressed by the quality of her songwriting, even while acknowledging, with his usual humor, that the songs were not exactly intended for his demographic. When she invited him to Glastonbury, he did not appear merely as a legend summoned to legitimize a younger star. He seemed genuinely interested in what she was doing.

After the festival, the partnership continued in the studio. Olivia brought him “What’s wrong with me,” written by Rodrigo, Daniel Nigro, and Sasha Alex Sloan. Smith is not credited as a songwriter, but his contribution is far from decorative: he recorded vocals, backing vocals, guitar, piano, and six-string bass, while also working on the engineering of the track. In other words, he did not merely lend his voice or his name. He became actively involved in the construction of the song.

That matters because Robert Smith has never seemed interested in distributing his aura indiscriminately. Over the years, he has participated in a wide range of projects, but usually only when there is some genuine affinity. He recorded “How Not to Drown” with Chvrches and later created a remix of the track. His artistic relationship with The Twilight Sad became even deeper: he covered “There’s a Girl in the Corner,” invited the band to open for The Cure on tour, and appeared on the Scottish group’s most recent album. He has also collaborated with Gorillaz, Crystal Castles, and Blink-182, but each encounter preserves something of his own universe instead of treating him as a gothic accessory.

Smith does not have children, by choice, and has said that he has never regretted it, although he often speaks fondly of his many nieces and nephews. In an almost perfect story, it was his teenage nephews whom he consulted before agreeing to record with Blink-182, asking them whether the collaboration would be considered cool. That curiosity may help explain why he continues to listen to much younger artists without the familiar condescension of those who believe relevant music ended with their own youth. He does not try to appear young. He simply remains interested.

That is entirely consistent with the reach of The Cure. From Trent Reznor, who delivered a deeply personal speech when inducting the band into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, to Olivia Rodrigo, more than one generation of artists has grown up finding some form of recognition in Robert Smith’s songs. Reznor spoke about how The Cure helped him feel that he was not alone. Olivia discovered the band through the records played at home. The experience changes, but the point of connection remains the same: Smith created intensely personal music capable of belonging to people born decades after it was made.

There is a mistaken idea that The Cure is essentially a dark band that occasionally decides to produce a pop song. In reality, the pop instinct was always there. Even on the densest albums, Robert Smith writes melodies that immediately lodge themselves in the memory. At certain moments, he plunged completely into the genre, as he did with “Let’s Go to Bed,” “The Lovecats,” “In Between Days,” “Close to Me,” “Just Like Heaven,” “Friday I’m in Love,” and “Mint Car.” Yet none of it sounds generic. The songs may be luminous, danceable, or even joyful, but they remain strange, obsessive, and entirely personal. In Smith’s universe, happiness never stops being suspicious of itself.

That is probably what Olivia understood better than many artists who try to reproduce only the surface of The Cure. “What’s wrong with me” is a melancholy ballad built around synthesizers and the unease that remains after the end of a relationship. The two voices do not try to merge. Olivia sounds young, exposed, and restless; Robert enters carrying the emotional exhaustion his voice seems to have known before the rest of us. The contrast between their vocal tones and even their accents becomes part of the song.

The reception was largely positive, although not unanimous. The Guardian highlighted the track as one of the album’s strongest moments, while Pitchfork drew attention to the charming contrast between their voices. Rob Sheffield, writing for Rolling Stone, described it as a great new song and praised the gothic intuition behind the pairing. NME was more hesitant, observing that a song featuring Olivia Rodrigo and Robert Smith “should have been a home run,” a formulation suggesting that the idea of the collaboration may be more irresistible than the result itself.

The public responded, in any case. “What’s Wrong with me” reached number 17 on the American chart, giving Smith his first appearance on the Hot 100 as an individually credited artist, outside the name of The Cure. That is no small achievement for someone who has never appeared to measure the importance of a song by the position it occupies on a list.

There is also a delightful coincidence on the same album: Olivia recorded a song called “The Cure.” She has already clarified that the title is not a reference to the band and that the overlap happened by accident. The song concerns the fantasy of finding in another person the solution to our own insecurity, before realizing that love does not function as treatment and that nobody can cure us of ourselves. Pitchfork selected it as a “Best New Track,” highlighting precisely the maturity with which Olivia dismantles the romantic idea that another person will be able to save her.

The coincidence becomes even more amusing because the album does contain an intentional reference to The Cure. In “Drop Dead,” Olivia evokes “Just Like Heaven” and the story behind its composition. “The Cure” may therefore not be about The Cure, but the presence of Robert Smith and his music runs through the record in ways that are difficult to ignore.

The Cure is also among the most frequently covered bands of the past several decades, although there is no official count of how many artists have recorded their songs. WhoSampled lists approximately 790 cover recordings — a number representing versions, rather than necessarily 790 different performers. Adele and 311 covered “Lovesong”; Dinosaur Jr. transformed “Just Like Heaven” into a storm of guitars that Smith himself loved; Phoebe Bridgers sang “Friday I’m in Love”; OK GO recorded “The Lovecats”, and Bat for Lashes recreated “A Forest.”

TV on the Radio, however, does not appear to belong on that list. At least, I could not find any reliable record of the band covering The Cure. The memory may have become mixed up with their a cappella version of the Pixies’ “Mr. Grieves,” released on the Young Liars EP, or their recording of David Bowie’s “Heroes” for a charity compilation. The musical association made perfect sense. It simply never happened.

Olivia Rodrigo managed to surprise everyone because she did not treat Robert Smith as a vintage reference inserted into the album to generate prestige. She knew the music, understood the pop architecture hidden beneath the melancholy, and offered him the space to be more than a special guest. Smith, in turn, did not attempt to transform her into a disciple of The Cure. He entered her universe and added his voice, his instruments, and his peculiar romanticism without taking the song away from her.

I remain jealous, naturally. Olivia sang “Just Like Heaven” with Robert Smith at Glastonbury, recorded with him, and then placed a song called “The Cure” on the same album. There are limits to critical generosity. Still, I have to admit that she did not simply meet one of her idols. She managed to surprise him and created a partnership that makes sense precisely because, at first glance, it seemed as though it never would.