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.