One Friday, falling in love with The Cure again: at the first of its two consecutive concerts at the Bell Centre, the legendary English alternative group delighted its old fans who drank to the dregs about thirty songs poured out for more than two and a half hours . A downpour of success on this sad little Friday night, rainy outside, warm in the arena, still a little taciturn on stage since forty-five years (or almost) after the release of their first album Three Imaginary Boys, Robert Smith and his band remain the eternal tearful romantics they have always been. So much the better.
The title track of this first career album was performed in the middle of the concert – or rather the main part of it, before the two generous encores. Three Imaginary Boys shook the fleas, guitars to match, Smith screaming as he rarely does, a cry from the heart coming after a soft and melancholic start to the concert during which he slipped Pictures of You and the sweet love song taken from the classic disintegration (1988), as well asA Night Like Thisof The Head on the Door (1985).
The group had therefore slowly launched the evening, with a new song by the way, a rather ballsy gesture for a group which has not offered an album for fifteen years and has been enticing its audience since the spring of 2019 by promising them not a , but two new albums. We’ll hear other unreleased ones along the way, including A Fragile Thing (quickly forgotten) and the ballad stuffed with synthetic violins And Nothing is Foreversuccessful that one because rehashing our memories of teenager with the skinned heart of which the work of The Cure seemed to be the all-designated soundtrack.
Two and a half hours of nostalgia is what fans paid for tickets at great expense, which angered Smith to the point of publicly denouncing the Ticketmaster box office. The Cure, on the other hand, has done everything to give the impression that the public will get their money’s worth, served by ideal conditions: a sound system never pressed, diligent musicians, Robert Smith in excellent vocal form and the essential Simon Gallup not looking 63 years old, running his formidable bass lines under Roger O’Donnell’s synth pads.
The scenography was stripped down, which had the merit of glorifying the repertoire, which does very well without flashy catwalks and other artifices. The standard arena tour prop, the giant LED screen, served primarily to project the image of musicians lined up in front of their amps, with drummer Jason Cooper enthroned on a stage in the center. On the whole, The Cure is not the most dynamic orchestra to see play, but Robert Smith is responsible for captivating the audience: there is, in his posed gestures, in his restrained voice, a form sincerity that never ceases to move.
If the songs chosen and the order in which they were presented managed to build a slow and captivating tension, the concert did not take place without downtime. As much as we appreciated rediscovering some songs rarely heard on stage (Three Imaginary Boyswell, or Kyoto Song during the first hour and a half), start the first encore with a new song (I Can Never Say Goodbye) and a left-behind escaped on a compilation (It Can Never Be the Same) did not announce a most memorable end to the concert; fortunately, The Cure recovered with plainsong And disintegrationthen a second much tastier reminder.
The latter started with lullaby (of disintegrationagain!), two even older ones (Six Different Ways And The Walk), then immortals Friday I’m in Love And Close to Me. For the first time of the evening, the public then began to dance; this concert by The Cure did not call for collective release, but for a form of benevolent communion to live seated or standing. And all up at the same time again for Just Like Heaven And Boys Don’t Cry before the curtain falls. The Cure does it again on Saturday night – bet the band will keep fans happy to hear it again Street Fascination And 10:15 Saturday Night.