“So the fire is almost out and there’s nothing left to burn,” Robert Smith claimed on 39, which dealt with the prospect of turning 40. That was almost 25 years ago. On the basis of The Cure’s live shows over the past decade, three phenomenal performances at Wembley Arena this week, and five spectacular new songs, someone had better call the fire department. That fire’s still blazing.
It all started with the videos. Striking, cinematic, breathtaking, they’re stuffed with sweeping helicopter shots of deserts, mountains, and men playing instruments high up on rocky outcrops — not unlike those Bon Jovi and Guns N’ Roses videos from 30 years ago. But there’s no sign of Richie Sambora, Slash, or a Gibson Les Paul.
Instead, the scenery features a Mongol warrior on horseback and four musicians in traditional Mongolian costumes playing traditional Mongolian instruments, singing in Mongolian about their heritage, their history, their culture, their respect for nature, their message of unity.
Placebo really don’t want you on your phone — filming or taking photos — during their show. A polite, heartfelt note on their social media platforms explains how a sea of mobiles makes it difficult for them to connect with the audience and disrespects other fans. Plus watching a gig through a screen takes you out of the moment.
“Our purpose is to create communion & transcendence. Please help us on our mission,” urge Brian Molko and Stefan Olsdal in the message, which is also projected onto the backdrop while the roadies set up. Eventually, Molko’s disembodied voice even reads it out.
Selling out three consecutive nights at Hammersmith’s Eventim Apollo is a pretty good hint you’ve made it as a live act. So is having a sea of people in the stalls — sometimes surging, sometimes raging, always moving.
But the real sign is an audience that doesn’t just shout back every word; they sing along to melodies with such gusto it almost renders the musicians pointless. The Cure have Play For Today. Iron Maiden have Fear Of The Dark. On the last night of their London residency, Fontaines D.C. have A Lucid Dream and Big Shot.
About 45 minutes into her performance, Beth Orton asks: “Can we have the big ball?” KOKO’s massive rose gold mirror ball starts spinning, bathing the already magnificent venue in floating specks of red light. It’s yet another reminder — from the singer’s gold-sequined frock to the fairy lights decorating her keyboard — that this is less of a gig and more of a celebration. A celebration of an artist, her determination, and the resulting masterpiece.
The last time Andrew Cushin played Lafayette, it was just him and an acoustic guitar supporting The Sheepdogs. Seven months, one EP, and three outdoor summer spectacles with Paul Weller later, he’s headlining the venue with full band in tow. And yet the emotional centrepiece of tonight’s show is a song he performs alone.
The Covid-19 pandemic was tough on The Coronas. A six-month world tour was cancelled, shutting their main revenue stream in an instant. The release of their album True Love Waits was delayed by a few months, with limited promotional opportunities available. And the only real way to keep the creative spirit alive during lockdowns was to write even more new songs, even if it wasn’t clear when anybody would actually get to hear them performed live.
A group of people, including assorted members of The Black Crowes, amble onto the Brixton Academy stage and assemble at a bar set up at the back. They mill about while a bartender in black bowtie and pink dinner jacket mixes drinks. One man walks over to a jukebox and presses play. Elmore James’ Shake Your Moneymaker blasts out of the speakers.
The Ramona Flowers celebrate their ongoing success with an intimate show at Omeara that’s big on their vibrant new songs.
Size isn’t always everything. Just ask The Ramona Flowers. Over the last couple of months, playing Firenze Rocks Festival in Italy and supporting Tom Grennan at his summer shows, they’ve been able to stretch their legs on sprawling open air stages. Needless to say, Omeara’s is somewhat smaller.
The National aren’t your typical festival headliner. Their catalogue’s not big on rousing “wooah-oh” choruses. Their lyrics are opaque at best, often further obscured by mumbled delivery. They’re sometimes wilfully obtuse, following their most commercially successful album, 2013’s Trouble Will Find Me, with more challenging, introspective work.
Nils van der Linden