Live Review: The Cure

Groups of middle-aged dudes with nicknames such as "Jobbie", who have probably been mates since high school, hover around in the arena foyers smashing pints. As we take our seats, we're pretty pleased not to be in GA for a three-hour standing stint (#sorrynotsorry). 

The Cure take the stage at 8.05pm and immediately those guitar strums sound crystalline as the band open with Plainsong. But the guitar work in this band has always acted more like a second voice. If you're Robert Smith, you're allowed to wear silver sequins to bling all the black. The hair, though! Spotlights are unforgiving when illuminating thinning tresses that have been tortured by back-combing and hairspray over the years. Pictures Of You follows and we die. And those descending tubular bells break collective hearts. A computer couldn't replicate Jason Cooper's drum precision during The Walk. He also pounds out the fastest drum rolls we've ever heard. "In that instant I remembered everything/Everything," speaks to all of us as we're transported back to '80s dancefloors, checking out our first crush's dance moves. The only downside to being seated is that one feels bad constantly springing up for a boogie.

The urgency of In Between Days' guitars makes us suspect Reeves Gabrels gets singed fingernails by the end of this song. Smith introduces Doing The Unstuck as a song they haven't played "in ages". We all need Friday I'm Love on repeat in our lives and an enthusiastic singalong ensues atop the upbeat, jangly guitars. Smith's voice is truly matchless; emotive beyond self-consciousness. He then intros the bizarre Bananafishbones, which demonstrates the band's rougher, taunting edge. On the strips of video screen interspersed across the stage's back wall, pink clouds pass across azure skies during High (cue photomontage of romantic highlights from your university days thanks to the memory bank). With each passing song, we think, 'That one's gotta be the night highlight,' but then the hits and favourites just keep on coming! Case in point: Love Song. And the mix is perfection. Just Like Heaven turns the clock back: "I'll run away with you" - remember when it was you and me against the world? Anything was possible? Energetic bassist Simon Gallup constantly pulls focus with his low-slung yellow guitar and quiff that rocks. Even during lulls, no mobile phones come out.

After a brief intermission, Smith introduces "a new song": It Can Never Be The Same. The guitar textures in this song create a perfect blend. It does go on a bit long, but they're The Cure! Of course there's nothing wrong with the band's new songs and when all three guitars lock in? Heavenly. Those haunting, oriental keys elevate Fascination Street, which destroys us with electric-shock guitar fuzz. And Smith still does an amazing irate toddler impersonation. Everyone yells along with Never Enough as if it's a direct reference to experiencing The Cure live. Smith's guitar work is so intricate yet powerful. And his speaking voice makes us wish he'd narrate some audio books. His vocal channels the essence of teenage humiliation and heartbreak. And let's not forget how tantalisingly sensual The Cure can be, as demonstrated by the gentle seduction of Lullaby. All the fortysomethings singing "Spiderman is having you for dinner tonight," as if it was the most commonplace sentence in the world is priceless. We swear we hear brass and/or harmonica, but instead it's actually keys whiz Roger O'Donnell. Let's Go To Bed triggers desire and Close To Me sounds like our wildest, most mischievous fantasies brought to life.

When they're called out for their fourth encore, Smith acknowledges this as "awesome". Gallup's bass during The Lovecats is extraordinary; he twangs those strings - an aural aphrodisiac. A swinging, syncopated drum beat unfurls into The Caterpillar - we're "hypnotised" and "mesmerised". Sure, Smith sometimes sings in a lower octave than back in the '80s, but the sensitivity of his delivery and the tortured, unrequited-love ache in his vocal haven't wearied. And Cooper just keeps on impressing with those beats. Why Can't I Be You - where's the brass? Hiring a couple of additional brass players for this track would've been "simply elegant". Closer Boys Don't Cry delivers a message that's still so important. The band take their bows and leave the stage, but Smith remains for a while longer, pacing across the front of the stage as if touched by the audience's reception. He then promises The Cure will be back. We squeal with delight.