Laurabelle's Blog

Yesterday evening Jeff and I went to a Cure concert. It was initially supposed to be two weekends ago (as part of the Curiosa Festival), but it got postponed because Robert Smith had to go back to London for a few days. I was actually pretty excited about the change, because new location was much closer to home, and it was just the Cure (no other bands, not even an opening act), so they were going to play a longer set. I would have been glad to hear the other bands play, but I was really going to see the Cure.

The music was awesome, though nothing more than I would have expected from them. Each song also had a sort of background movie that echoed the imagery in the lyrics and made the performance into a sort of live music video. I'm not usually one for music videos, but the waves crashing behind By the Edge of the Deep Green Sea really drew me in (wave after wave after wave, it's all for her). It was cool.

On the other hand, the band kept leaving the stage every few minutes for the last hour of the show, which was very disconcerting. They played for an hour and forty minutes, then left for the first time. They came back, played for another twenty minutes, came back, played another song, left and came back, played two more songs. At that point everyone but Robert Smith left, and he said something like It's about fucking time. How much time have we got left? and left too, but a couple of seconds later everyone came back onstage, played one more song, and then Robert Smith said That's it and left for the last time. In all, the show lasted for about 2 hours and 30 minutes.

In retrospect, I guess the last 40-50 minutes were encores, but I felt rather gypped because I had been expecting an extra-long set (we paid $50 for an all-day festival, after all!). I had been led to believe, by the promotions leading up to this concert, that it would be extra-long, and 1h40 before encores isn't extra-long (for the Cure, at least, it isn't). I just wish that Robert Smith had said something when they left the stage, some signal as to whether this was just a break, or the end of the show, or what. As it was, I spent the last hour wondering what the hell was going on and not enjoying the music. It was very jarring.

That was my first and probably my only Cure concert. Next time, I think I'll spend the money on CDs instead.

Last night a Seattle radio station called The End hosted a concert by a UK band called Muse that has recently become very popular over here. It was at a club called Neumo's in Capitol Hill; I'd heard about Neumo's (which is located at the same spot as an old club called Moe's — get it?) in The Stranger but never expected to go there myself.

Last weekend Jeff was talking about going to Bumbershoot to hang out with a few friends, and he mentioned that R.E.M. was going to be there and that I was welcome to come along. I'm an R.E.M. fan (like who isn't?), and of course $20 (the cost of admission to Bumbershoot, after which all shows are free) is a steal for an R.E.M. concert.

Last week Jeff took me to a concert, so this week I took him to see Dar Williams. Obviously it was a great concert, since Dar herself is awesome. (The Ben Taylor Band opened for her and were pretty good too, I thought.) I didn't know most of the songs she performed, since I'd only heard the songs on Mortal City, but it was lovely to hear them first in concert, and I love just listening to her gorgeous, full, flexible voice (the performer's voice that mine will never be). The two encore songs were from Mortal City: Iowa and As Cool As I Am, which is my very favorite of all her songs. I hoped during the entire concert that she would play As Cool As I Am, and when she did, I got up and danced, like most of the audience as well.

You play the artist, saying, Is it how she moves, or how she looks?
I say, it's loneliness suspended to our own like grappling hooks,
And as long as she's got noise, she's fine.
But I could teach her how I learned to dance when the music's ended

I’ve been in Seattle, the land of rain, for eight months now, and we’re just now having the first real thunderstorm. A couple of minutes ago there was a huge crash of thunder which alerted me to the fact that rain was pouring down outside. If Maggie were here, I would grab her and run dancing outside to get soaked among the tumbling droplets, but she’s not, and I’m a wimp, so I won’t.

Yesterday Jeff dragged me to Jason Webley‘s first concert of the year. It was as much theater as music, and while I enjoyed it at the time, I’m not quite decided about whether I’d go to another concert of his. I probably would, but it was certainly strange. Men and women were in segregated seating (this irked Jeff, since this is the only time Jason has done this at a concert and the only time Jeff brought a girlfriend along), and there was a strong fertility theme (which involved throwing seeds and condoms, one of which, allegedly vanilla-flavored, hit me just above the left breast). That was all fine and good and fun, although I overheard one woman complaining, This is getting a bit too heterosexual for me.

The concert’s other theme was flying, which led to trekking out to a clearing in Ravenna Park, in the light rain, and launching a paper hot-air balloon powered by an alcohol fire. This being a small clearing in a thickly-wooded park, the balloon lost no time in catching itself in a tree and burning. At that point, Jeff and I left; the little alcohol fire was still burning, and the rest of the crazy people, undaunted, were evidently proceeding to launch another flimsy and fiery flier. Evidently Ravenna Park didn’t burn down, since I haven’t heard anything about it in the news, but nevertheless I’m not too crazy about going to concerts with pyromaniacs with no common sense. There’s not much sense in handing out condoms if we’re all going to play with literal matches.