THE CURE + FRANZ FERDINAND + CRYSTAL CASTLES + WHITE LIES @ 02 ARENA 26/02/09
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Artist:
The Cure: 80s. Hairspray. Black make up. Ally Sheedy in the Breakfast Club. New wave but old. Recently awarded godlike genius status at the NME awards, the Cure headlined another NME awards show at the O2 Arena.The line-up was as random as the actual NME awards themselves, Oasis having won best band, when they haven’t been since nineteen ninety fucking six. It’s the Emperor's new clothes. Somebody say something.
The White Lies, Crystal Castles, Franz Ferdinand all tried hard but half the audience had no idea who they were and predictably turned up just in time for The Cure. The rest scattered themselves around the cavernous arena, soaking up the stadium “atmosphere” (or lack thereof). I asked for straight vodka at the bar, they had none. Instead I went for 8 bottles of Stella and some stale stadium pizza.
The White Lies were anthemic and set the tone well with their joyless but delightful doom laden songs. The Crystal Castles bravely clanged away maniacally, despite being ill-suited to big stadiums, but the leader singer Alice Glass’ voice mike was too low and it all just sounded like I’d stuffed some stale pizza in my ears. Next Franz Ferdinand reminded us how bland they have become, with the notable exception of a few late classics. Sorry chaps we’ve all moved on.
Thankfully we’d all really come to see the Cure and on came Robert Smith and a new stripped down, keyboard-less version of the Cure. From a distance he looked no different than 20 years ago. Up close he probably looked like Heath Ledger in Batman, the dead version, crossed with my Auntie Maureen, who I always thought was a tranny. She’s dead too.
Ala Radiohead last year, the Cure ripped up the script, mostly playing songs from their new album. The sea of Robert Smiths in front of me looked most unimpressed. While I was choking on hairspray, I thought how much I actually like the new album; it’s nice to hear a band trying to move on, even if it ends up sounding vaguely similar to their old stuff, it’s a trick they’ve pulled off time and again. 13 times? Still, I can reminisce with the best of them, and just when I was about to storm the stage with the big haired masses, the Cure rolled out a medley of classics to placate us: In between days, Just like Heaven, Shake Dog Shake, Three Imaginary Boys and Boys don’t cry.
Viva the age of the comeback, not sure about godlike or genius but they’re definitely legends and we love them.
By Simon Owen
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