In these days of performers who calculatingly search for a hot sound and then hang on to it for dear life, their attitude is refreshing, but also leads to a rather erratic live show, as was the case at the Pier.
Leader and group conscience, Robert Smith likes to surprise people and did so immediately by showing up with short, Marine-cut hair instead of his trademark wild foot-high doo. Though he probably just did it because he was hot in the summer weather, this simple act: a) rendered every existing publicity shot obsolete; b) made all the Robert Smith clones in the audience look stupid (no doubt, causing deep consternation to both clones and Elektra, their current label). It was, actually, perfectly symbolic of what the Cure is all about.
The band's artsy, melancholy quality seemed incongruous at the Pier, with its sunny, festive atmosphere, vigorous beer-selling by the concert's sponsor, Miller, and ironic backdrop of the Battleship Interpid, complete with warplanes.
The sold-out performance was attended by both yuppies-in-training (who seemed comfortable) and clubbies (who didn't, though this show was an education in imaginative ways to wear black in the summer heat). Despite great effort on the part of the smoke machine (most of which ended floating up the West Side Highway) and lighting technicians, the Cure's moody music would have sounded better someplace cavernous, dived-out and dark.
Also incongruous was the opening band, 10,000 Maniacs. Their countrified, REM-styled music seemed an odd match for the Cure, and for their own name, which conjures visions of a horde of punks or metalheads.
There's a sense of purity about this band that's rare in this world of the prepackaged and stereotyped. Their brand of folk rock is matter-of-fact and simple, their stage style doesn't call attention to personalities; they just play. 10,000 Maniacs doesn't even seem connected to the strident, callous 1980s. Even lead singer Natalie Merchant's all black dress seemed more evocative of the Amish than the morbid trendiness usually associated with the drag.
Merchant is the band's best asset; she sings with genuine feeling and gutsiness, in a country soprano voice reminiscent of Patsy Cline. Even with an unappreciative crowd ppand not much time to play, 10,000 Maniacs provided an entertaining, if low-key set and have a promising future (though not necessarily in the Top 40).
The between-set music was another odd choice; an artsy, pretentious, modern/classical piano piece whose low energy ambiance had the crowd drifting into a collective coma while nursing their Millers.
The Cure began their set with earlier material, featuring that surreal, mean sound that the Cult has done such good things with lately.
Though the band took a decided turn towards a more cheerful pop sound after their 1982 LP, Pornography, they seem to still like the record, performing a number of cuts from it. Pornography epitomized the Cure's gloomy, suffering artist period, and is in some ways their best album. The LPs brutal, hard-edged, depressed sound is reminiscent both of Joy Division and Siouxie & the Banshees (with whom Smith played guitar for a considerable period) -- possibly music to commit suicide to -- but an excellent example of the genre.
Apparently, producing such a dark album got to the band; the Cure sort of broke up soon after. After re-forming, Smith shocked the band's considerable cult following by releasing the pop single, "Let's Go To Bed." The material that followed on 1985's The Head On The Door was in a much lighter vein.
Which is where the erratic quality of the Pier show comes in. The Cure switched back and forth between material from Pornography and their later releases. This, the tinkly, Japanese-flavored "Kyoto Song" was followed by the mournful, synthesized "Charlotte Sometimes," then "In Between Days" ("this is our folk song," Smith quipped), with its floating dance rhythms, and the funky, upbeat "The Walk."
Then, just as the audience was all happy and dancing in their seats, they launched into "One Hundred Years" from Pornography, at twice the volume, with screechy, metal-edged guitars--a compelling but definitely non-danceable number that., again. proved the Cure will always pull the rug out from under you just when you think you've got them all figured out. The dirtiest word in the universe for Robert Smith must be "predictable."
In the end the confusion didn't matter. The crowd loved every minute of the Cure's set, even taking their lives in their hands by dancing on the ends of the bleachers above a 15-foot drop. The band was enthusiastically called back for multiple encores, including the anthem-like "Boys Don't Cry" and "Let's Go To Bed." The latter is probably the Cure's most accessible song, but has an air of depressed resignation even amidst all the cheerfulness and synth-pop trappings. The past is not so easy to get rid of after all.
Robert Smith is a very talented singer/songwriter who, judging by the crowd's reaction and the Cure's recent foray into the Top 100, may be heading for the Big Time despite all his efforts to avoid it. Smith might just become the proverbial overnight sensation - only 10 years in the making. One suspects he won't like it one bit.
Review originally published in The East Coast Rocker on July 23, 1986.
