“It should be a great gig – but they won’t play “Killing an Arab”” – this was the last text message my dad, at home, sent to me before my phone battery died in the sweltering heat of The Cure’s 40th anniversary celebration concert at London’s Hyde Park earlier this month.
My dad grew up on The Cure. He had the hair, the platforms, and the drainpipe jeans. He’s stuck with them through every sea change and slump. Against the grain of critical consensus, he reckons that “they’re at their best pre-“The Caterpillar”” – he’s a man who likes OG Cure, from “Boys Don’t Cry”, to “A Forest”, and the band’s first ever single, 1978’s “Killing an Arab”. If not for the inconvenient timing of his wedding anniversary, I’m sure Dad would have dusted off the Doc Martens and hopped on the train to the gig with me.
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