The Cure
May 28, HP Pavilion
By Erik Morse
The anticipation was palpable as the Cure took the stage and the opening chords of "Plainsong" overcame the hollowed din of San Jose’s HP Pavilion. Would Robert Smith’s voice hold up, or would it fade halfway through the show as it had on a previous night of the tour in Chicago, when he had disobeyed doctor’s orders to stay home and rest?
By the closing notes of "Prayers for Rain," the second song of a setlist that would deliver many treats, it was clear that the audience – and Smith - had nothing to worry about. His voice – sometimes playful, sometimes haunting – was in top form and would stay that way for the remainder of evening.
Unfortunately, the textured layers of vocal enchantment were occasionally undermined by the conspicuous absence of a long-time Cure staple: keyboards. The Cure has been keyboardless since the departure of former keyboardist Roger O’Donnell in 2005, and for some inexplicable reason, they have never replaced him. Instead, in a bold yet poorly executed move, they have supplanted the keyboard with Porl Thompson’s guitar. Live, synth heavy tracks like "Catch" and "Play for Today" were depressingly thin, and the pleasure my companion and I experienced from playing air keyboard from the comfort of our seats was fleeting, to say the least.
Luckily, the overall strength of the setlist overshadowed the glaring keyboard omission. Smith and company (bassist Simon Gallup, guitarist Porl Thompson, and drummer Jason Cooper) brought back such Cure classics as "A Strange Day," "Doing the Unstuck," and "Push," and devoted a 4-song encore (one of three encores that evening) to treats from Seventeen Seconds, among them "At Night" and "M."
Such delights were lost on the majority of the audience, however, most of whom reserved their dancing for the poppy and the popular: "Love Song," "Just Like Heaven," "Boys Don’t Cry," and "Killing an Arab." Admittedly, not even the most seasoned of Cure fans could resist jumping out of their seats during many of these well-worn classics, but the lack of enthusiasm for the brilliant danceability of "One Hundred Years," for instance, was nonetheless disappointing.
Smith, at least, didn’t seem to mind, and the macabre crooner’s graciousness lent him an air of respectability that was strangely enticing. “See you next time,” he said – almost wistfully - before exiting the stage for the last time that night. Much like the Cure’s oeuvre, Smith’s simple parting words were mournful yet blissful, nostalgic yet full of wanderlust. See you next time.
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