The Cure for Banality

By MATT WELCH

"Half my life I've been here
Half my life in flames
Using all I ever had
To keep the fire ablaze"
-- "39," by The Cure

The Cure freaks are in town again. Dressed in black, moping perilously toward 40 with those frail French bodies unspoilt by exercise, they have been in Los Angeles these past few days to watch their 294th and 240th Cure shows, respectively.

Actually, they've lost count, but it's in that neighborhood. And it's not just the concerts -- they watch every afternoon sound-check, and go to every possible after-party as well. The band has long since adopted them, doling out free tickets and the occasional hotel room for their efforts, not to mention exclusive interviews for their various fanzines.

I learned quite early not to ask them fundamental questions like "er, why...?" and instead have enjoyed the perks, like good band gossip (such as: the other members were horrified when lead singer/songwriter Robert Smith broke band tradition by filling the cover of their latest album with a picture of his own face ... airbrushed to produce cheekbones, no less), terrific and rare live bootlegs (including one stunner recorded just after the Tianenmen Square massacre, with a blood-chilling half-hour ad-lib bit about a soldier slamming a gun into a student's mouth), and of course free tickets to concerts I could otherwise not afford.

Last night I caught my third Cure show, at the beautiful Greek Theater just up the street from my apartment. It was classic Southern California -- blase record-industry people mixed with Latinas wearing black lipstick and sunburnt white guys in Hawaiian shirts, all under a breezy night sky with the scent of pine trees drowned out by the odor of garlic fries and marijuana.

The Cure has evolved over 20 years, from a perky little guitar-pop New Wave combo obsessed with Albert Camus (Robert Smith has probably introduced more teenagers to The Stranger than all U.S. high schools combined), to a swirling Gothic human soundtrack for all doomed romances, always trading off between soaring dirges and genius throwaway pop gems that the hardcore fans don't need to hear anymore. Lately, old chubby Bob has been more concerned with issues of maintaining artistic inspiration and the spark of love after two decades of success (he has been with the same girl and the same popular band since the late 1970s).

"And I know we have to go
I realize we always have to turn away
Always have to go back to real lives
But real lives are why we stay
For another dream"
-- "Out of this World"

Not everyone, unfortunately, can be a rock star, but most people know what it's like when dreams and ambition collide with reality and loss of nerve. Bob Smith may feel like a bit of a fraud wearing pancake make-up and blood-red lipstick on stage past the age of 40, but you could tell by the grin on his face during the popular numbers that he will never grow tired of playing beautiful songs he wrote to thousands of people who know every word.