Is Cure and the cause funky house?
Is Cure and the Cause Funky House?
Funky House or Deep House? Let’s Start a Groove-trial
If music genres were a high school clique, funky house would be the kid wearing neon parachute pants while breakdancing in the cafeteria. *Cure and the Cause*, on the other hand, is more like the cool, mysterious transfer student sipping espresso in the corner. The track’s soulful vocals and hypnotic bassline lean heavily into deep house vibes—think velvet curtains, not disco balls. But does it sneak a funky house riff into its back pocket? Maybe a little. It’s like finding a rogue glitter gel pen in a library book: unexpected, but not enough to redecorate the whole Dewey Decimal system.
The Bassline Doesn’t Lie (But It Might Mumble Cryptically)
Let’s dissect this like a frog in a middle school science class:
- Funky House: Punchy bass, syncopated rhythms, and enough horn stabs to overthrow a small government.
- Cure and the Cause: A bassline that’s smoother than a snake in a satin jacket, vocals that feel like a late-night therapy session, and a tempo that says “chill,” not “cha-cha slide.”
The track’s groove is undeniable, but it’s more “dimly lit lounge” than “dance floor conga line.” It’s funky in the way a cat wearing a tiny hat is funky: charmingly quirky, but not here to yodel over a four-on-the-floor beat.
The Case for Genre Espionage
Could *Cure and the Cause* be a deep house sleeper agent infiltrating funky house playlists? The track’s jazzy keys and unhurried swagger suggest it’s more interested in sipping a mojito than snatching wigs. But hey, music genres are basically just conspiracy theories with better drums. Maybe the funky house crowd adopted it because they needed a classy anthem for intermissions between shirtless fist-pumps. Either way, the song’s a shapeshifter—play it at a yoga retreat or a basement rave, and watch reality unravel like a cheap knit sweater.
Still, if you blast it loud enough, even your potted plants will start debating its genre allegiance. And isn’t that the real funky truth?
How old is Fish Go Deep?
The Timeline: From Floppy Disks to Fiber Optics
Fish Go Deep emerged from the primordial ooze of Cork, Ireland, sometime in the late ’90s—a time when dial-up internet screeched like a banshee, and “deep house” wasn’t just a vibe, it was a lifestyle choice. If we do the math (which we’re contractually obligated to avoid), that makes them roughly older than Google but younger than the fax machine. Their birth year? Let’s just say they’ve been around long enough to watch Y2K panic fade into oblivion.
Why Counting Fish Years Is a Terrible Idea
Attempting to pinpoint Fish Go Deep’s age is like asking a goldfish to recite the Pythagorean theorem—it’s technically possible, but nobody wins. The duo (Greg Dowling and Shane Johnson) operates on a time-bending continuum where their music exists both in 1998 and your last Instagram DJ live stream. Are they:
- 25 years old (based on their first gigs)?
- Ageless sonic entities (based on their enduring relevance)?
- Older than the concept of “deep” itself (philosophy majors, fight us)?
They’re Vintage, Not Vintage
Let’s be real: Fish Go Deep is the musical equivalent of a perfectly aged cheddar—sharp, smooth, and inexplicably timeless. Their classic hit *The Cure & The Cause* dropped in 2005, which, in internet years, is approximately when dinosaurs roamed TikTok. Yet, their beats still thump like they’re fresh out of the studio, proving that age is just a number—unless you’re a mayfly, in which case, our condolences.
So, how old *are* they? Let’s compromise: Fish Go Deep is exactly ”old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway.” Or, as their Spotify bio probably whispers into the void: ”We’re vintage, like a fine wine or a questionable MySpace profile.”
Who sang “Cure and the Cause”?
Ah, the eternal question—like asking who invented the wheel or why cats judge us silently. The 2006 house anthem “Cure and the Cause” was belted out by none other than Sonique, the British singer with a voice that could simultaneously soothe a hangover and kickstart a dancefloor revolt. You might remember her from the early 2000s hit “It Feels So Good,” which basically soundtracked every early internet-downloading experience (RIP dial-up). Sonique didn’t just sing this track—she weaponized it with sultry sorcery.
But wait, someone’s lurking in the remix shadows…
Hold your confusion—Dennis Ferrer, the NYC house maestro, produced the track and sprinkled his synth wizardry all over it. Some folks get tangled in the “who actually sang it?” vines because Ferrer’s name is slapped on the album art like a mischievous graffiti tag. But no, the vocals? Pure Sonique. It’s like blaming the moon for the tides. Sure, Ferrer’s beats are the gravitational pull, but Sonique’s voice is the oceanic chaos we all crave.
The “Wait, I thought it was [insert wrong artist here]” phenomenon
- Common Culprit #1: “Wasn’t this Basement Jaxx?” No, but we forgive you—it’s the same era of glittery chaos.
- Common Culprit #2: “Definitely Bob Sinclar!” Close, but replace the French house vibe with New York City basement rave.
- Common Culprit #3: “Tina Turner?” Bold. Incorrect. But we admire your commitment to legendary divas.
So next time you’re shimmying to “Cure and the Cause” at 2 a.m., half a quesadilla in hand, you can smugly announce, “Sonique, darling,” like a disco scholar. Or just keep dancing. Either way, the song remains a time capsule of mid-2000s euphoria—part soulful therapy, part reason to yell “YEAH, THE CAUSE!” at strangers. No judgment here.
Who sampled The Cure and the cause?
Who Sampled The Cure and the Cause?
When it comes to musical kleptomania (the legal, “we-paid-for-that-clearance” kind), few bands have been pillaged as joyfully as The Cure. Their moody basslines, Robert Smith’s voice (which sounds like a haunted sweater), and those synths that scream “it’s raining forever” have inspired everyone from hip-hop heads to EDM wizards. Let’s dive into the gloriously weird rabbit hole of who’s borrowed a slice of The Cure’s goth-pop pie.
Hip-Hop’s Unexpected Crush on Robert Smith
Yes, even rappers have a soft spot for eyeliner anthems. 50 Cent famously sampled “Close to Me” in “She Wants It” (2007), swapping The Cure’s jittery post-punk for a beat that’s pure “get rich or die trying” swagger. Meanwhile, The Flatlinerz—a ’90s horrorcore group—snagged the creepy vibes of “Pornography” for their track “Sunnydale High.” Because nothing says “spooky rap” like Robert Smith muttering about existential despair over a beat.
EDM, Synth-Pop, and the Quest for Melancholy Bangers
EDM acts treat The Cure’s discography like a moody sample buffet. deadmau5 looped the iconic bassline from “A Forest” in “Slip,” proving you can still dance while contemplating the void. Chvrches didn’t sample, but their cover of “Just Like Heaven” is so sparkly, it’s basically Robert Smith dunked in glitter. Bonus: The Cure’s own “Lullaby” got a wobbling dubstep remix by Kove in 2014—because why shouldn’t a song about a spider nightmare get bass drops?
- Fun fact: The band’s 1985 hit “In Between Days” has been sampled by Slaptop and Crystal Castles, because nostalgic synths pair well with both chillwave and chaotic electronica.
- Absurdity alert: Even Ice-T’s metal band Body Count covered “Burn,” because blending goth rock with thrash metal is the chaotic crossover nobody knew they needed.
So there you have it—The Cure’s music isn’t just for brooding in cemeteries. It’s also for making rap bangers, EMD bops, and whatever genre you’d call “metal covers of post-punk classics.” The cause? Clearly, spreading joy through melancholic plagiarism.
