The Cure,
Wembley Arena, 20th March 2008


Someone else has already written a much better review than i could ever do.Here it is, in its entirety. It's really long... it is taken from The Independent newspaper so i don't know if you are allowed to put it on the website. But anyway, it sums up my thoughts about the gig better than I could ever was a stupidly good gig mind. 3 hours plus of absolute heaven. - Richard Bull]

Last night was the best concert I've ever been to. And there was a part of me that wasn't actually looking forward to going. I was knackered from a
really long day at work, Wembley's miles out, I was going with my best friend, who's not a fan, and I'm wondering how he's going to cope with
standing for three hours listening to music he doesn't know. And this really isn't his kind of gig – he's really into Barbra Streisand!

By the time The Cure come on a little after eight, we've been standing near the front for an hour and my feet are already starting to ache, and then they launch into Plainsong and I forget about my day and remember why I love The Cure's music so much.

They don't sound like anyone else. Of all the millions of songs sung, The Cure's music and the emotion it evokes remains entirely its own. During
Plainsong Porl's guitar soars over Robert's simple riff, and then Robert starts to sing about rain, the end of world and smiling for a second and I
can't believe I thought about not coming. Throughout the gig, I'm struck by how often the melodies and guitar riffs are so deceptively simple and yet so beautifully constructed. I remember why I love The Cure, I can't really
articulate it, the best I can manage is that their music feels so… right.

I've never head The Cure sound so alive. There's an inventiveness and energy to the new arrangements. The songs rarely sound like the record: The Walk, alt.end and Just Like Heaven have been injected with freshness and energy by the transposition of the keyboards to guitar. alt.end, particularly, soars.

Around the time of Live 8 and Festival 2005 it felt as if The Cure were in danger of becoming a thrash version of themselves. Robert choosing to
play the acoustic parts of the pop singles on his distorted electric meant that sometimes his sound would lose itself in Porl's, but since he's
returned to his acoustic guitar for these songs it felt, to me at least, that a perfect balance had been found between wildness and clarity.

Although, very occasionally, the enthusiastic ramping up of effects pedals means I struggle to hear the guitar solos – A Night Like This and One
Hundred Years are lost in a swirl of spirally, diving, twisting noise. Whilst this is a bit disappointing in the moment, it's small potatoes
compared to three hours of brilliant playing.

And the playing is brilliant. Porl is sensational. Never Enough and Wrong Number give him the chance to really show 12,000 people what he can do with
a guitar. The last three times I saw The Cure play (Wild Mood Swings at Earls Court, Hyde Park, Manchester Move Festival), they were great, but it
felt as if Robert was doing all the work. The concerts relied on his voice and his playing. Porl's return adds a whole new dimension to the music. The new Cure feel like an expression of four men – of whom Robert is only one part – the most significant part of course – but nonetheless a member of a group.

And this group seems to be having a lot of fun together. Porl prances, swings his hips, almost disco dances at times! He hangs on to the last note of Wrong Number for so long that he pretends to swoon and sinks to his knees with a grin. Simon leaps and then swoops down on his bass like he's trying to snap it in two. Robert smiles and sways and shimmies his way through the whole gig – I've never seen him so relaxed, giddy and engaged with the crowd. He remains the unlikeliest pop star in the world. He shrugs to the crowd and asks us what we want him to say? He moves his mouth silently and tells us to imagine whatever we'd like. In this world of fame hungry celebrities desperate for attention, it's refreshing, no it's astonishing to witness a man having thousands of people literally hanging on his every word, and choosing not to speak!

This Cure seems to really care about each other too. During Why I Can't Be You? A hyper Porl gives up playing the funky riff, thrashes his guitar a bit before collapsing on his back, his guitar clanging noisily. After a moment, he staggers to his knees and leans into his amp - perhaps to hear his guitar more clearly? Robert is serenading the far balcony with his radio mike and misses this, but Simon sees and crosses the stage, kneeling by Porl and asking if he's alright. It takes Porl a while to answer, but finally he taps Simon lightly on the shoulder to confirm he is. Initially I think Porl's fall is a gag, but after the song he's helped from the stage by his roadie. Was he overcome by emotion? Or maybe a bit 'tired and emotional', it's impossible to tell. He returns for the final 'Old School' encore, looking
better, and makes a gesture to a concerned fan at the front that he's okay.

The choice of songs is perfect. Last time I saw The Cure at Wembley it was for the Kissing Tour and I managed to go on the only night they didn't play The Love Cats! I've been hoping that my luck will be different twenty years on. They don't disappoint, not only playing the hits, but making space for beautiful aching songs like To Wish Impossible Things and the new, genuinely
moving, A Boy I Never Knew.

The bands we love become the soundtrack to our lives. Monumental events forever associated with albums, songs and lyrics. I came out to The Head
on the Door, fell in love to Wish, got my heart busted to Blood Flowers. I hope that The Cure will remain part of my life for years to come, on the
evidence of last night, if they chose to, they could go on forever.

Sweaty and exhausted, feet sore, we stagger from the concert. My non-fan friend is exuberant. "They were brilliant," he exclaims. He can't stop
talking about the end of A Forest where we all, as much-loved tradition demands, double clapped the last few bars of the song before Simon murdered
his bass. "It was the best concert I've ever been to!" he adds before hesitating, having caught himself in moment of disloyalty. "Besides Barbra
Streisand, of course."

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