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"Cowboys & Indie Fans"


...The Cure are currently getting European Championship matches video-ed and Fed-Ex-ed to them overnight. Consequently, as Bob nervily schmoozes with his virtual-namesake support band pre-show, he is desperate not to hear the outcome of the England-Denmark game (it hasn't arrived yet). Toni Halliday contemplates announcing the score mid-set, since Bob has requested he watch Curve from side-stage. This is an idle threat (Hers, not his.).

No surprises from The Cure's official US support - Cranes - either. Except that they are not appalling. Curve have been added to one stadium date because, although they turned down the whole tour, both parties were up for a one-off. Poor old Cranes - shunted down-bill and the sign on their dressing room reads 'Crane'. Still, let's hope this substantial leg-up grants them instant international fame and dog sex the way it did Shelleyann Orphan in '89. Not.

Toni H reckons men like Alison Shaw's mannered child-like warbling for reasons paedophilic. She is, of course, bonkers. Cranes' lo-alcohol gotchic pageantry is the very peak of unrequited stude asexuality. Assuredly and gamely, they fill the hot dog slot (7 o'clock to 7.25) to the eager first 20,000-odd, and it really could be a lot, lot worse. Sadly, despite Shaw's curious, trembling signature, Cranes' set is but a seven o'clock shadow of what's to follow...

It's no picnic opening for The Cure. Bright young Texans are still strutting about at eight o'clock, stuffing their already acne-dotted faces with pretzels and Dr Pepper, posing like it's Prom Night. Girls are done up to the nines in hot pants and bra tops, their attendant males topless and scrubbed. I spy three incredibly brave dudes in lipstick. They'd like Curve, they really would. But Curve are just the warm-up and these people are warm enough, thanks. Let's preen and make out!

The Curve thunderdome sound really gels in a sports ground. Augmented by (ssshhh!) tapes and samples, their grandiose, neurotic cabaret flypasts scream for your attention. LISTEN, YOU ZITTY F---WITS!!! What a pity you're loitering round the mixing desk like a horsefly, vainly waving your programme at Cure keyboardist Perry Bamonte and missing the fireworks. Toni will confess afterwards that she is not used to folk walking about while she's baring her soul. Curve, it seems, work better after lights-out.

review by Andrew Collins (nicked from 'New Musical Express', dated 27 June 1992)

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