At the edge of the world
I suspect there'll come a day when I look back and regret curtailing regular posting on this LJ. Even if there isn't as much back-and-forth interaction as there used to be, it's a great reference to come back to and remember the standout moments that have happened-good, bad and ugly.
So in the spirit of recording standout moments, can I tell you about my experiences seeing The Cure twice in the past month? I'm pretty emotional about it all.
Salt Lake City
The last (and until recently, only) time I saw The Cure was when they passed through Phoenix in 2008, and I was extremely annoyed when the 2016 U.S. tour had them skipping my hometown altogether. I stewed and grumbled and complained about this to a handful of people, most of whom didn't have much sympathy for my #firstworldproblem. But as luck would have it, one of those listening ears happened to be a huge fan, too, despite being the hockey jock dude bro boyfriend of one of my good friends and colleagues-essentially, the last person I thought would like the band. Several beverages had been consumed prior to this conversation, and before I knew it, I was drunkenly purchasing concert tickets for the three of us on my iPhone for The Cure's SLC show, which was geographically and logistically convenient.
Fast-forward a couple of months to June 3, and we go to the show, and it's great. I didn't love the setlist-there are certain Cure songs that I'm never going to like, no matter how much I like the band in general-but it was joyous to see them. Honestly, Robert Smith could read a phone book to me for the duration of the concert and I'd be thrilled and pay good money for the privilege. We danced for three hours straight, lights flashing every which way and Robert Smith's voice reverberating through the arena, and when it was over, hockey jock dude bro was drenched in sweat and hoarse from screaming Robert's name. I thought I had an experience, but he truly had An Experience.
(Truthfully, it was fun and slightly reassuring to see someone love something more-or at least, love something in a much more tangible, visible way-than I do.)
We talked about that concert for days afterwards. And I personally could not get over it-it was so much fun, and I'd waited for eight years. Did I want to wait eight years again? I spent a lot of time poring over The Cure's remaining schedule to try to find another show that I could swing. It was a challenge, because by the time I decided I had to find a way, they'd already meandered to the East Coast, which added a certain amount of complexity to the planning process. But I really, really wanted to go.
And fortunately, I'm really good at logistics.
Atlanta
Things fell into place really quickly after that. The Atlanta date on Friday, June 24, which I'd previously dismissed because of a trip to Vegas I was taking the following day, suddenly seemed workable in my newly-determined state. There was a reasonable flight to Atlanta on Friday morning-it left at 6am, but with the time change, I didn't have a lot of options-and another flight first thing Saturday morning that would get me back to Phoenix in plenty of time to hop on my plane to Vegas. I redeemed some hotel points on a room close to the airport. I made plans to visit my firm's Atlanta office in the afternoon and go to happy hour with my Southeast counterpart. Then I splurged on a seventh row ticket via Stubhub.
A couple of observations: A 6am flight is no big deal when you are Really Excited About Life (and Robert Smith). That 3:30am alarm was like a siren call to me. Also, Atlanta is a beautiful city-I'd never made it past the airport previously, so it was nice to see a bit of it, even if most of what I saw was through an Uber window.
The Cure were playing at Lakewood Amphitheatre, which is an outdoor venue. It was a warm day-90º and about 60% humidity-but that was almost refreshing compared to the 118º days we've been having in Phoenix. I grabbed a bottle of water and a Tito's on the rocks (with extra ice) and settled in.
When they came out, all I wanted was for them to play the opening sequence I'd been praying for (Plainsong, Pictures of You, Closedown, High). As soon as I heard the chimes, I got a little emotional and teary because I knew I'd gotten my wish. I've never heard Plainsong live, and it was as gorgeous as I imagined it would be. Also, that song gives Robert ample time to wander around the stage, awkwardly wringing his hands and peering out intently into the crowd-which everyone finds amazing and charismatic despite the fact that, objectively, it should not be so. But that's Robert.
The setlist was as good as I could've hoped for-very Disintegration-heavy, including the title track, which is my favorite Cure song-and it was truly an incredible progression of music.
But after a while, I had a new observation: After a couple of hours, 90º and 60% humidity is no longer refreshing. It's fucking oppressive. I was dripping with sweat; my clothes were soaked through; my hair was wet. Onstage, Robert slowly but inexorably melted, which seemed like a very Cure-esque thing to happen. "It's so bloody hot," he observed at one point, to which I replied, "Take your clothes off!"-a sentiment which was repeated by exactly no one around me. Which surprised me-I realize that Robert Smith has done the exact opposite of age well, but he still is "A+, would do" to me.
Four encores later, and it was over. I sat on a guardrail in the parking lot for an hour, texting photos and videos to The Cure fans in my life and enjoying the afterglow, until the traffic had cleared enough for an Uber to get through. Then it was back to my hotel for a much-needed shower and a few hours of sleep.
I'm so glad I did that. So, so glad.
Hopefully this post wasn't too disjointed-I just wanted to get it out, whatever the final form.
So in the spirit of recording standout moments, can I tell you about my experiences seeing The Cure twice in the past month? I'm pretty emotional about it all.
Salt Lake City
The last (and until recently, only) time I saw The Cure was when they passed through Phoenix in 2008, and I was extremely annoyed when the 2016 U.S. tour had them skipping my hometown altogether. I stewed and grumbled and complained about this to a handful of people, most of whom didn't have much sympathy for my #firstworldproblem. But as luck would have it, one of those listening ears happened to be a huge fan, too, despite being the hockey jock dude bro boyfriend of one of my good friends and colleagues-essentially, the last person I thought would like the band. Several beverages had been consumed prior to this conversation, and before I knew it, I was drunkenly purchasing concert tickets for the three of us on my iPhone for The Cure's SLC show, which was geographically and logistically convenient.
Fast-forward a couple of months to June 3, and we go to the show, and it's great. I didn't love the setlist-there are certain Cure songs that I'm never going to like, no matter how much I like the band in general-but it was joyous to see them. Honestly, Robert Smith could read a phone book to me for the duration of the concert and I'd be thrilled and pay good money for the privilege. We danced for three hours straight, lights flashing every which way and Robert Smith's voice reverberating through the arena, and when it was over, hockey jock dude bro was drenched in sweat and hoarse from screaming Robert's name. I thought I had an experience, but he truly had An Experience.
(Truthfully, it was fun and slightly reassuring to see someone love something more-or at least, love something in a much more tangible, visible way-than I do.)
We talked about that concert for days afterwards. And I personally could not get over it-it was so much fun, and I'd waited for eight years. Did I want to wait eight years again? I spent a lot of time poring over The Cure's remaining schedule to try to find another show that I could swing. It was a challenge, because by the time I decided I had to find a way, they'd already meandered to the East Coast, which added a certain amount of complexity to the planning process. But I really, really wanted to go.
And fortunately, I'm really good at logistics.
Atlanta
Things fell into place really quickly after that. The Atlanta date on Friday, June 24, which I'd previously dismissed because of a trip to Vegas I was taking the following day, suddenly seemed workable in my newly-determined state. There was a reasonable flight to Atlanta on Friday morning-it left at 6am, but with the time change, I didn't have a lot of options-and another flight first thing Saturday morning that would get me back to Phoenix in plenty of time to hop on my plane to Vegas. I redeemed some hotel points on a room close to the airport. I made plans to visit my firm's Atlanta office in the afternoon and go to happy hour with my Southeast counterpart. Then I splurged on a seventh row ticket via Stubhub.
A couple of observations: A 6am flight is no big deal when you are Really Excited About Life (and Robert Smith). That 3:30am alarm was like a siren call to me. Also, Atlanta is a beautiful city-I'd never made it past the airport previously, so it was nice to see a bit of it, even if most of what I saw was through an Uber window.
The Cure were playing at Lakewood Amphitheatre, which is an outdoor venue. It was a warm day-90º and about 60% humidity-but that was almost refreshing compared to the 118º days we've been having in Phoenix. I grabbed a bottle of water and a Tito's on the rocks (with extra ice) and settled in.
When they came out, all I wanted was for them to play the opening sequence I'd been praying for (Plainsong, Pictures of You, Closedown, High). As soon as I heard the chimes, I got a little emotional and teary because I knew I'd gotten my wish. I've never heard Plainsong live, and it was as gorgeous as I imagined it would be. Also, that song gives Robert ample time to wander around the stage, awkwardly wringing his hands and peering out intently into the crowd-which everyone finds amazing and charismatic despite the fact that, objectively, it should not be so. But that's Robert.
The setlist was as good as I could've hoped for-very Disintegration-heavy, including the title track, which is my favorite Cure song-and it was truly an incredible progression of music.
But after a while, I had a new observation: After a couple of hours, 90º and 60% humidity is no longer refreshing. It's fucking oppressive. I was dripping with sweat; my clothes were soaked through; my hair was wet. Onstage, Robert slowly but inexorably melted, which seemed like a very Cure-esque thing to happen. "It's so bloody hot," he observed at one point, to which I replied, "Take your clothes off!"-a sentiment which was repeated by exactly no one around me. Which surprised me-I realize that Robert Smith has done the exact opposite of age well, but he still is "A+, would do" to me.
Four encores later, and it was over. I sat on a guardrail in the parking lot for an hour, texting photos and videos to The Cure fans in my life and enjoying the afterglow, until the traffic had cleared enough for an Uber to get through. Then it was back to my hotel for a much-needed shower and a few hours of sleep.
I'm so glad I did that. So, so glad.
Hopefully this post wasn't too disjointed-I just wanted to get it out, whatever the final form.