I’m Cured

My husband and son are fans of the band The Cure. Over the years I’ve heard songs by the band, but never became a fan, nor really liked the music much. I didn’t hate it, just was never interested enough to develop a fondness for this British band.

When it was announced that The Cure would be in our area last fall, we bought 4 tickets, thinking that either Clare and I would go with Dean and Andrew or Andrew would find a couple friends to go. The concert was postponed until spring because the band wanted to work on their new album. Andrew didn’t ask any friends if they wanted to go to the concert, so Clare and I got to go. Neither of us were looking forward to it. I’m not really all that into concerts, especially if I don’t know the artists very well. Clare doesn’t like concerts. Period.

I knew that Andrew was very excited, so tried to not let him know I was not. I’d watched a couple of videos of the band online to see what I was in for and was unimpressed. I didn’t mind the music, but thought that the lead singer could do with a make-over.

When we walked into the stadium building we were greeted by a cheerful ticket-taker who told us the show would last to midnight. My eyes widened. Clare groaned. Andrew and Dean smiled. When we entered the actual stadium, I began to think that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. The seats were decent and comfortable enough and it seemed the stadium was filled with fans, although only a few were actually dressed Goth-style.

The warm-up band was OK — simply instrumental, however. No singing. They sure got into their playing though. Clare mentioned that she felt bad for warm-up bands — that everyone is usually anxious for the headliners to play and either ignores the warm-up band or arrives late. I told her that all bands probably have been in their shoes at some time or another and that 65 Days of Static was headlining in other venues. She felt a little better after that.

When The Cure actually took the stage the crowd was very vocal and nearly the entire audience stood and cheered. It became even more apparent that the stadium held true Cure fans, which was great because I spent a lot of time watching them. Some swayed with their eyes closed. Some danced in the doorways. Some danced at their seats — their arms moving in snake-like patterns.

In front of us were three young women I think may have been sisters. They were swayers. Next to them was a John C. Reilly look-alike who, my son noticed, drank 6 beers. He was a snake-arm dancer. Across the stadium, silhouetted in the backlit doorway of one of the stadium’s “portals” were two dancers. These women danced to many of the songs, but must have gotten tired because they were nowhere to be found after the second hour of the performance.

As I sat, watching the fans, listening to the music, I began to think about how we humans are all in this together — life I mean. We’re all born. We all die. And in between we do stuff like attend concerts. Sometimes, when I’m in crowds I don’t like the people around me. Friday night I didn’t feel like that. I actually liked everyone and hoped that I could take that feeling with me — out of the stadium onto the next day. And the next. It was one of those rare epiphanies — the kind that comes after a brush with death or a religious experience.

The show did last until just after midnight. They played, according to Dean, nearly all of the songs on the several CD’s he owns. It was pretty awesome. It didn’t turn me into a Cure fan, but it was probably the best concert I’ve ever attended. And it, at least temporarily, helped me to appreciate humankind in a way I’ve not done before. Weird.

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