The Cure began its career-spanning show Saturday at a sold-out United Center by singing about the end, lamenting extinguished passions and toasting emptiness. All of that packed in just the opening song’s first verse. Not exactly the uplifting approach practiced by many arena bands, and less than commonplace at events where people usually check their troubles at the door and celebrate.

Then again, The Cure has never been a typical arena band, and few other groups can so completely concoct immersive universes out of despair, darkness and desolation. Those and other bleak themes provided the foundation for a marathon 175-minute concert at which the veteran ensemble snubbed its collective nose at nostalgia, dove into the depths of its vast catalog and performed six still-unreleased songs rumored for inclusion on a pair of forthcoming LPs. They have been altering their setlist nightly on their Shows of a Lost World tour.

At a first Chicago appearance in seven years, and prelude to a festival-closing slot at Riot Fest this September, The Cure also showed its cuddlier side. A lengthy second encore filled with familiar favorites and early singles underlined its often-overlooked aptitude with pop craftsmanship — and one point longtime leader Robert Smith even broke form and cracked a smile. Sad, tormented or flirting with happiness for even a moment, the singer-guitarist served as a narrative guide whose innermost searches “for something forever gone” grew more intense the moodier the music became.

For Smith and The Cure, that never-ending hunt continues to outlast trends and defy odds. By any measure, the band remains one of rock’s most improbable success stories. After forming in the late-’70s, The Cure emerged as part of England’s vibrant post-punk scene. A string of acclaimed albums — all of which embraced an outsider aesthetic — soon followed. Though its recording pace has slowed considerably in the 21st century, the group’s mindset hasn’t changed: The Cure still operates on its own terms.

If anything, the mainstream caught up with the band. Even amid the group’s ascension in the ‘80s — by which time it headlined festivals, scored hit singles and enjoyed steady video airplay — no other artist conveyed its distinct combination of sound, image and aura. Being different came with consequences. Before the advent of so-called alternative rock in the early ‘90s, listening to or dressing like The Cure made fans targets for teasing, bullying or worse.

The bond between the band and its loyal supporters seems as strong as ever. In March, Smith called out Ticketmaster about its high fees and got the ticketing service to refund some of its charges to patrons who bought tickets to the tour. In many markets, The Cure implemented non-transferrable policies, utilized Ticketmaster’s Verified Fan technology and charged as little as $20 for certain seats. At the United Center, the group sold T-shirts and sweatshirts for half the going rate charged by most of its contemporaries.

In another throwback, The Cure kept the stage production basic. Save for shadow-prone illumination and projections that established atmospherics and landscapes — lighting color, brightness and frequency were integral to each tune’s presentation and environment — the sextet homed in on fundamentals. Visually, those elements extended to Smith’s trademarks: black garb, frizzle-fried hair, mottled lipstick, raven mascara.

The Cure’s go-to sonic components involved a rotating assembly of reverb-laden guitars, magnetic bass lines, purring synthesizers, shimmering chimes and edgy percussion often called upon to create drama on a grand scale. The Cure didn’t just play songs. Spurred by the chemistry between Smith, long-standing bassist Simon Gallup and guitarist Reeves Gabrels, the band created kaleidoscopic settings in which Smith’s characters largely sought to escape, take refuge or freeze time.

The Cure demanded patience on the part of the audience. Instrumental introductions occasionally lasted as long as the vocal segments. “And Nothing Is Forever” unfolded to orchestral patterns that found Smith mock-conducting. Notes to the drowsy, forlorn “I Can Never Say Goodbye” seemed to rust before they could decay. All the better for songs often haunted with ghosts, shattered dreams, romantic illusions and circumstances reflecting our present state.

The “birds falling out of our skies” in “Alone” evoked the Canadian wildfires smoke choking cities; untamed desires in “Want” reflected desires for instant gratification; the claustrophobic “Play for Today” conjured a political climate in which taking what we want trumps doing the right thing. Looming dread and the end of the world? “Plainsong” declared it and “Endsong” mourned what was lost, which only amounted to all that Smith’s protagonist loved.

Though he inexplicably said his voice wasn’t up to par, Smith’s age-immune singing — and the manners in which he leveraged tone and phrasing to communicate feelings or converse between partners in the same song — stood out as much as any of the group’s memorable hooks.

Rarely rising above a shout, and projecting with lush texture, Smith cried, howled, pleaded and brooded over material that spanned the extremes. Nimble chamber pop (“Lullaby”), jittery dance (“Why Can’t I Be You?”), Middle Eastern-flavored psychedelia (“If Only Tonight We Could Sleep”) and jazz-spiked electropop (“The Walk”) coexisted with pulsing, jagged songs on which he succumbed to death by a thousand cuts (“Disintegration”) and chased illusions across hallucinogenic soundscapes (“A Forest”).

“I want the world to make me wonder,” Smith sang midway through the show. Ask and receive: His band contained no shortage of curiosities or surprises. Fly to the moon, or beyond.

Bob Gendron is a freelance critic.

Setlist from the United Center June 10

“Alone”

“Pictures of You”

“A Fragile Thing”

“Like Cockatoos”

“A Night Like This”

“Lovesong”

“And Nothing Is Forever”

“If Only Tonight We Could Sleep”

“Burn”

“Charlotte Sometimes”

“Push”

“Play for Today”

“A Forest”

“Shake Dog Shake”

“From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea”

“Endsong”

First encore

“I Can Never Say Goodbye”

“It Can Never Be the Same”

“Want”

“Plainsong”

“Disintegration”

Second encore

“Lullaby”

“The Walk”

“Friday I’m in Love”

“Close to Me”

“Why Can’t I Be You?”

“In Between Days”

“Just Like Heaven”

“Boys Don’t Cry”

“10:15 Saturday Night”

“Killing an Arab”