By Cyrus McNally
Daily Bruin Contributor
Supporting its first album in four years, beloved anti-pop hero
The Cure played an unpredictable set to a sold-out Greek Theatre
Tuesday evening. With longtime fans now a bit older, stage
movements a bit more restrained, the more than 20-year-old band
walked onto the stage like it was just any old band, put all egos
aside and worked to prove that it still had the original magic it
created.
It was apparent that the separatist angst inherent in being a
Cure fan had subsided in most of the attendees, as the devout
legions had found full-time jobs and responsibility since the
band’s conception in the late ’70s. Although most
people were indeed clad in black or leather ““ or both ““
the sometimes-scary Goth element present at every Cure show of the
past seemed to have been assimilated into normality, or else
vanished altogether.
Hardly anyone under the age of 20 was in attendance, signifying
the end of an era; the band is perhaps now unable to draw in new
generations of disenfranchised youths like it has successfully done
over three decades with honest, passionate lyricism and
emotion-drenched song-writing.
Conspicuously absent in the three-hour set list were the
standard radio sing-a-longs, instead replaced with longer, more
intimate pieces off of some of the band’s earlier albums. For
the hard-core fan, this was something of a dream come true ““
for the average listener, a definite bore.
As soon as The Cure took to the stage and frontman Robert Smith
hit the mic with his trademark, high-pitched vocals, the fanatical
crowd jumped up out of its seats and into a haze of pot smoke.
As the quintet opened with a couple tracks from its latest
album, “Bloodflowers,” the audience rose in a
combination of awe and ecstasy, wondering if the band had stood the
test of time, and could succeed in living up to its name.
Although the band’s decision to stay away from the pop
singles left much of the crowd unimpressed, most were devotees who
didn’t wait for endless hours in front of Ticketmaster
outlets for anything less than a full dredging of some of the
band’s most personal ““ and arguably finest ““
work.
Guitarist Smith, longtime bassist Simon Gallup, keyboardist
Roger O’Donnell, lead guitarist Perry Bamonte and drummer
Jason Cooper chugged through a wide assortment of pieces, mostly
playing versions straight off their respective albums. No one in
the mainly 30-something crowd seemed to mind this in the least.
Song selections ranged from popular cuts off
“Bloodflowers,” to obscure, back-catalog pieces from
albums such as 1980’s “Seventeen Seconds” and
1982’s “Pornography.” One-third of the way into
the set, Smith introduced the ominous, eight-minute “The
Figurehead” to an equal combination of wild applauds and
blank stares, later asking the audience, “how many of you
expected that one?”
In an electrified version of the 1989 classic “Fascination
Street,” the first song to feature Smith on his electric
guitar, on-screen neon lights of adult industry slogans barraged
the audience. “Pictures of You” warranted huge screams
from the audience, as an array of soft-colored lighting washed over
them. Smith sang the career-defining love ballad as personally as
possible ““ treating the 10-year old song as tenderly as if it
were a newborn.
Other rarely-played pieces included the eastern-tinged “If
Only Tonight We Could Sleep” to start off the second encore,
followed by the cynical “Jupiter Crash,” which Smith
introduced as “a song we haven’t played in a few
years.” Next was a revamped version of the new-wavish
“M,” also found on “Seventeen Seconds.”
Although Smith managed to move less than three feet away from
his initial position throughout the course of the night, he let
more-than-eager fans grope his limbs during song intros, shaking
hands with a select and lucky few.
Toward the end of the night, several females rushed the stage to
give Smith an embrace, which he eagerly welcomed. Even if
noticeably heavier, slower and suffering from the minor cataclysms
associated with the human aging process, Smith still remains an
undisputed, inaccessible sex symbol for the tortured and
heavy-hearted.
During the show closer ““ a quick rendition of “A
Forest” ““ things got a little less personable. As Smith
wandered too close to the end of the stage for comfort, a rabid fan
seized the opportunity to take a grab at his guitar, disrupting the
flow of the band’s sound and probably cutting the song from
the jamming section that usually proceeds in live performances.
A constant theme found not only in “Bloodflowers”
but throughout the band’s set list as well, was that of
dissolution. From the regretful yet firm
“Disintegration,” to the apocalyptic “End”
(in which Smith chants, “stop loving me” over and over,
as if he really meant it), to the angry “Watching Me
Fall,” it became apparent that The Cure has no intention of
sticking around too much longer as a functioning band.
With a dozen albums under their belt, scores of hit singles and
a massive fan base, Smith and company really have nothing left to
prove. As the aged angst king delicately puts it in the collapsing
“39,” “the fire is almost out, and there’s
nothing left to burn.” From the way most of the crowd
responded to the band’s performance on Tuesday night, it was
evident that no one accepted this as the truth.
As always, The Cure tried to put the fans first in their live
show, and while not being very experimental in their song
renditions in the slightest, the band successfully gave what was
wanted while simultaneously more-than-hinting at a probable
separation in the near future.
And who can blame them? As with most dinosaur rock groups, who
eventually come to face the decision of whether or not to call it
quits, perhaps it is better to go out in a blaze of glory than to
putt around like an annoying ember. In spite of the fact that The
Cure might not be as hip nor as wanted as in the old days, they
will always be respected and loved as one of the greatest shaping
entities of today’s popular music.