Okay, let’s get it out of the way first: Robert Smith is almost 50 years old and looks like Leslie West in pajamas and harlequin make-up. Long-time Cure vet guitarist Porl Thompson, decked out in patent-leather bondage wear, heels, and ridiculous make-up, looks like a blacklit corner of Man Ray circa 1990. Blah blah blah. So what. The sheer size of the Cure’s three-plus-hour set a week ago Monday (36 songs spanning a 30-year catalogue with a smattering of new tunes from a to-be-released album #13) would, in the hands of a lesser band, be plain gluttonous indulgence. In the hands of Mr. Smith and his crew, it was a chance to unleash a musical force that is voracious and darkly powerful. Witnessing it was like an inexplicably uplifting trip through a never-ending black hole.
The current Cure are synth-less, and the stripped-down set-up displayed both Smith’s underappreciated guitar majesty and the strength of his singular voice. His rafter-shaking wail in the middle of “Prayers for Rain” proved that he has lost none of his power.
There was a minimum of talk or fuss between songs: the Cure came to play songs, a lot of songs, and play them really fucking well. The set was paced to separate their discography into discrete blocks. The first third focused on 1989’s Cure-goes-Top-40 masterpiece, Disintegration (though no “Fascination Street”!); then we got newer material from their upcoming record and ’04’s The Cure. Three encores: a smattering of poppier late-’80s hits like “Close to Me” and “Why Can’t I Be You”; a long spacy jam on 1980’s “A Forest”; and, in a fan-pleasing gesture, a quintet of tunes from their ’79 debut, Boys Don’t Cry. From a group who’ve always been tagged as mopy and depressive, this show displayed force-of-nature levels of power and endurance.
Related:
The Cure | 4:13 Dream, On the racks: August 8, 2006, Westward ho!, More 
- The Cure | 4:13 Dream
Even with a dozen records behind him, Smith, when he puts his mind to it, remains a master at crafting concise masterpieces of bouncy pop majesty.
- On the racks: August 8, 2006
Plus Blood Meridian, the Gin Blossoms, and Bernard Fanning.
- Westward ho!
Forgot those rabid right-wingers with their hateful teabags — Coachella had the range, and the machinery for change, and the spiritual thirst. Oh and Leonard Cohen.
- Sunset Rubdown
Shut Up is unabashed and far-reaching, a thousand parts sweated down to four players and one harrowing Robert Smith karaoke voice, occasionally too synth-proggy but always high stakes.
- On the racks: May 16, 2006
Plus new records by Radio 4, Rock Kills Kid, and Ben Folds.
- What Should Never Be
On this Saturday afternoon, the legions of the School of Rock (Boston branch) were pretty much indistinguishable from the real Led Zeppelin, who were themselves teenagers when they formed in the late ’60s.
- Shredding zoo
As guitarist Nuno Bettencourt and vocalist Gary Cherone prepare to play what is, to most, their one hit, a moment pops into my head.
- Portland scene report: April 20, 2007
Sidecar Radio have plans for a big CD-release weekend at the Big Easy.
- Japanamayhem
Although Boris might seem just another Japanese drone-happy drop-tuned stoner-rock outfit, close inspection reveals instead a 16-year investigation of the meaning of sound and music itself.
- You may now unpeg your pants
If the inaugural Regeneration Tour seemed likely to play out as a string of “We’ve played our big hit, now what” moments, well, guess again.
- Julian Casablancas | Phrazes for the Young
Someday, a great rock film will be made. The opening shot is of a wasted rock star, bejeweled and clad in the finest leather, with white panthers circling the living room of his Parthenon-esque manse as he hits PLAY on a comically large reel-to-reel.
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Live Reviews
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