By Nicki Escudero
By Amy Silverman
By Brian Palmer
By Chris Parker
By Troy Farah
By Lauren Wise
By Lauren Wise
But by the late '90s, The Cure had lost a lot of its momentum, and fans like me had already gotten distracted. I kept the eclectic, Cure-inspired musical tastes but dropped the Drumbeat Red, at least on a daily basis. In college, the band was still on my radar screen, but it had a lot of competition.
Then several years ago, I reconnected with the skater boy, who was all grown up. We wound up getting engaged, and were in the middle of planning our own wedding when he was asked to be a groomsman in a friend's wedding. He patiently stood up front throughout the entire ceremony, beaming with happiness for his buddy. But after the bride and groom sealed the deal, they headed down the aisle together to the tune of "Just Like Heaven." I could see my man's eyes widen in shock. "That's our song!" he mouthed. "I know!" I mouthed back. It's no surprise that such a popular tune would make its way into our friend's wedding, but nevertheless, we couldn't include it in ours.
The disappointment was long gone when we went to Coachella this year to hear our song performed live. After a bunch of younger bands played sets that hinted of Robert Smith's tortured lyrics and voice, The Cure headlined the second night, mixing old favorites with a batch of songs from a new self-titled LP that combines the dark, regret-filled sounds of earlier albums like Faith with the upbeat melodies of Head on the Door and mysterious rhythms of Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me. It was a satisfying way to end a weekend of anticipation. And I wasn't alone. From the looks on the faces singing along to every word, I realized that my relationship with the band probably hasn't been so different from that of thousands of 20- and 30-somethings who have their own tales of lipstick and hairspray.
I was older, a little wiser, a lot less gloomy -- and even happy. Sometimes a band really does live up to its name.