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“This perfect night in another land, whispering dreams so scared and
high, we have to keep this night alive.”
This started out
being a fun comparison piece between The Cure show at Randall’s Island in
New York, and at the Molson Amphitheatre in Toronto. But as I mulled over it,
and thought back on two of the most glorious nights of my summer, I realized
that I couldn’t truly compare the two shows. I also came to the
realization that it’s not about comparisons. They were both magnificent
shows-- different in set list and in crowd-- but the constant is the beauty,
the talent, and the magic of one of the world’s best bands-- the entity
that is The Cure.
“Tonight I climb with you, tonight so high
with you, tonight I shine with you Tonight, I’m so alive with
you.”
The one thing that stood out at the New York show was
the crowd. It had to be the most diverse I had ever seen. Let’s put it
this way-- the only group missing was the hip-hoppers busting rhymes by the
beer tent. We saw preppies and jock types, and of course goths. But then there
were Grateful Dead followers, Pearl Jam t-shirt-wearing grunge worshippers,
hippie girls with older hairy gentlemen. There were even young kids, as eager
as their forty-something chino-wearing parents, to grab a patch of grass close
to the stage. The diversity shows just how far reaching The Cure’s music
is. And really, who can argue with that?
“Remembering you
running soft though the night. You were bigger and brighter and wider than the
snow.”
And that’s the amazing thing about The Cure. They
are larger than life. So few bands can fill such a massive venue-- whether
it’s a 16-thousand person amphitheatre or a sprawling 480-acre park-- and
be able to perform without sounding hollow and small. In New York, seeing them
in a park was fantastic. It was our own private concert. There were tens of
thousands of us, on a sliver of an island wedged between Manhattan and Queens.
It almost felt like a backyard party. People wandered around, they danced, they
lounged on the hills along the side of the stage, listening. Most gathered
attentively at the foot of the stage, watching the band breathlessly. It all
seemed very loose and open. And when you looked up at the endless sky, it was
almost as though the stars were dancing along. It was magic.
“Sometimes you make me feel like I’m living at the edge of the
world, like I’m living at the edge of the world. ‘It’s just the
way I smile’, you said.”
When the strains of
“Plainsong” began, the Amphitheatre crowd burst into a huge roar. I
almost fell over. The Cure never played this song at Randall’s Island, and
I had never seen it live. I was so excited. During the long introduction,
Robert moved to the right side of the stage. A shiver ran down my spine on that
warm summer night as I watched Robert look out into the crowd. He cracked an
ever-so-subtle smile. Was he looking at me? It almost felt like he was able to
look into the eyes of every soul there. He moved me, and no doubt the whole
crowd. It’s just the way he smiles. The song itself was played with such
raw emotion. It truly made me feel like I was at the edge of the world.
The Amphitheatre concert felt more intimate. It’s almost as
though Robert and crew settled themselves in a giant living room and we all
gathered to listen to their sweet tunes. We decided to forsake personal space
and crammed closer to the stage. Some people in the stands moved into the
aisles and ran as far down the stairs as the silver bars, and beefy security
guards, would let them. But you didn’t need the proximity. The music and
the atmosphere made the otherwise cold amphitheater feel warm and cozy. A
miraculous feat indeed.
“Be still be calm be quiet now my
precious boy. Don’t struggle like that or I will only love you
more.”
Oh how true. I don’t know whether this is just my
little indulgence, but no matter what he does, I just fall in love with Robert
Smith over and over and over again. I’ve seen him four times, and he only
gets better. Every smile, coo, yeowl, and hiss and my tummy flutters a thousand
times over. And this rendition of “Lullaby” was priceless. Robert
acted out the spider and the frightened child in bed. If you could be scared
and enthralled all at once, Robert was it.
Sadly, Toronto missed out on
“Boys Don’t Cry.” The Cure closed out the New York show with a
rollicking version of that song. The crowd was bouncing and singing right
along, almost in synchronicity. It certainly was a sight and a feeling to
behold. A spirited end to a moving show.
And I couldn’t ever love
them more......
posted Sept. 1st 2004 |
Darq Angel has been living in
Toronto for 15 years. An avid reader, writer, club-goer, and music lover, she
has been a lurker in Toronto's gothic scene, floating around quietly, casting
her dark shadow over various clubs and events in the city. 
