Concerted Effort

everyone's got to have the sickness
'Cause everyone seems to need the cure.
- Cure, Metallica

Well, it wasn't Metallica we saw last night.

I came into work in my boots and the black ruffled shirt. After work, I added the waistcoat, the necklace from azhure and the makeup. After walking around the Pitt Street Mall like that for half an hour, I meet ashamel, we dine and head off to the Entertainment Centre. We had a damn good view (at the expense of our left ears, and eyes whenever they flashed that particular spotlight). Initially, we sat watching the floor and seats of the arena fill with a mixture of black - both corsets and casual - more ordinary "night out" dress in a variety of colours and one guy wearing a NIN T-shirt, speculating on the survival chances of the roadies clambering over the lighting rig.

Then the house lights go down. The stage lights flash blue and silver. And all over the floor appears the ghostly luminescence of mobile phones and small cameras, all recording the event for posterity. I swear, some of those people must have viewed the entire concert through a viewfinder. Even in the seats near us, people kept taking photos and snatches of live footage. I didn't see one security guard take one action, and I think I know why. Where would you start?

I myself scour You-tube for rare concert footage. But it seems a slightly sad way to experience the event in situ. Still, there was a point where recording was definitely cut to a minimum. I'll come to that.

For me, the concert proceeded in stages. I can't pretend to follow it blow by blow. Given it was Friday night, I took a little while to warm up. But that seemed to be the purpose of the initial set, a very mixed bag including Fascination Street and The Blood. After following Pictures of You with Lullaby - the personal favourite of nearly everyone, it seems - and a wonderful rendition of Figurehead, the mood soared with Love Song, Friday I'm In Love and Just Like Heaven. Then they shifted gears into heavy: sometimes I forget the Cure can just rock, with Shake Dog Shake and Wrong Number among others. Sometime during that last bit we got an endlessly encroaching black and white spiral on the back wall which, with the music vibrating my sinuses, actually made me dizzy.

But what can I really say about the Cure live? That this is the band which produced both Friday I'm in Love and One Hundred Years (and played both)? That their lyrics are still audible at however many hundred decibels they were generating? That they all seemed to actually be enjoying themselves, especially Robert Smith during Lullaby? That they played for over three hours with only fractional breaks before the three encores? Smith actually said, "I would never have thought three hours could be too short." Of course, by this point most of the audience was up and dancing - I mean, in the aisles as well as on the floor - I mean, they played A Forest and Boys Don't Cry - and the ground was shaking and you could actually hear the collective voice roaring back the words. Yes, of course we were dancing. I've never left a concert with my ears actually buzzing before, but it was so worth it.

I've been kicking myself for years that I didn't go and see them when I last had the chance. I was an impoverished uni student at the time, which may have been a factor. I certainly wasn't going to let this one go by. And I felt - frankly, there were times when I felt like I was twenty - no job, no apartment, no weird allergies, just bursts of writing and wild enthusiasm.

Will it translate into anything? I'll let you know when my ears stop buzzing.