To those who know of them, The Cure’s shows are rightly the stuff of legend : not for The Cure, support acts or clockwatching. From three hours and six minutes, there’s no feeling of anything perfunctory : and nothing as superfluous as a drum solo or an acoustic interlude.

In this, a one-off Cancer benefit show in London’s cavernous, allseated Royal Albert Hall, it feels almost funeral in stature. Whilst the band – debuting returning guitarist Porl Thompson on English shores after a thirteen year absence – perform a relentless and epic set worthy of going down in legend, the same can’t be said for the audience.

Aside from the atmosphere, The Cure though perform with a commitment, spontaneity, and passion that should shame their contemporaries. Over the length of thirty eight songs, they run the gamut of emotions, from the intense and emotional main set, made mostly of their darker, more intense material to a rapturously received Greatest Hits encore, a second encore made entirely of material from their debut, and a final exhaustive encore. And the band are as tight as a coiled spring, operating with the type of near-telepathic fludity that only comes from having played together for years.

Whilst material from the bands most recent albums are in short supply – only four of tonight’s songs are anything less than fourteen years old, whilst the other thirty four come from their first fourteen years of recording – there’s no feeling at any point of this being a history lesson, or a nostalgic and comforting timewarp to the Eighties. 

When the dayglo lights and indie-disco reverie of “The End of The World”, “A Night Like This”, “Inbetween Days” and “Just Like Heaven” fade, the hall turns into a dark, monochrome fist of middle-class exorcism : the rarely played “The Drowning Man”, “100 Years”, and “Shiver & Shake” focus the mind. Under a soundtrack like this, the mind can’t help but move to introspection.

From my vantage point behind the stage, I get to see what the band see : a drum roadie dancing behind the amps, a beer cooler, Porl in high heels, and Simon Gallup pogoing around the stage like an old punk who never had to grow up. Robert Smith pulling silly faces at Jason during a guitar solo, or mouthing “I’m So Hot!” as he seems to sweat his bodyweight out at the end of ‘A Night Like This’.  Powerhouse drummer Jason Cooper meanwhile, plays something like 7,400 beats without missing a moment.

And the crowd : Staidly penned into seated rows, the random assortment at the front seem to consist of a guy with his hands in his pockets and an Impress-Me look on his face who doesn’t know any of the words (seen below), one guy who knows the words to the old songs, their wives, and two people who actually seem to like the new stuff. Dotted around the venue, small pockets of people dance – or at the very least seem to like the band – whilst most of the 5,522 people here who don’t have massive pictures of Robert Smith on old T-shirts on their chests and who don’t look like photocopies of him do the very British thing of not going nuts at the front and get transported by the music to a place that only exists deep within our hearts.

Sonically they have never been harder : the absence of a keyboardist sees familiar parts played on biting guitar, which Porl acquits with aplomb. This is clearest when, during the first encore, and the band exhume the rarely-played “Hot Hot Hot!”, and the song purrs and dances like a slinky cat, or when during “Why Can’t I Be You?” the song sounds bigger than ever – despite being played on only three instruments.

Second encore sees the band reprise half of 1979’s debut “Three Imaginary Boys”, including, for the first time on British shores for a decade, “Killing An Arab”, which rampages like some kind of unstoppable, biting animal, despite being plagued by the absence of bass. Racing past curfew like some kind of stolen car, “Boys Don’t Cry” and “A Forest” bring the show to a close at 11.11pm, and Gallup, lost in himself and frustrated, throws his bass at the amps.

In the future, when we are dead. All that will be left is the art. And who will remember Bryan Adams and Limp Bizkit? Nobody. And how will The Cure be remembered? At all, which is something. And as legends. Which is nothing less than they deserve.

set list :

Open, Fascination Street, alt.end, The Blood, A Night Like This, The End Of The World, Play For Today, If Only Tonight We Could Sleep, The Kiss, Shake Dog Shake, Us or Them, Never Enough, Signal to Noise, The Figurehead, A Strange Day, Push, Inbetween Days, Just Like Heaven, From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea, At Night, The Drowning Man, M, The Baby Screams, One Hundred Years, Shiver and Shake, End, Lullaby, Hot Hot Hot, Let's Go To Bed, Friday I'm In Love, Why Can't I Be You (extended version), Three Imaginary Boys, Fire In Cairo, Grinding Halt, 10:15 Saturday Night, Killing An Arab, Boys Don't Cry, A Forest

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