“He was a genius”: How Robert Smith’s first gig changed his life
We all remember our first-ever concerts, even if the details have become hazy over time. You always recall exactly who it was and who you went with—perhaps a random family member or a friend you haven’t spoken to in years. Sometimes, it changes your life for the better, offering a glimpse of what real fun feels like. Other times, it’s completely forgettable. Luckily for Robert Smith, his first concert experience was the former.
While it has become somewhat rare to find anybody whose first concert was The Cure, you can probably imagine what that must have been like. For those of us who grew up relating to the goth or emo subcultures, The Cure has been a significant soundtrack to this kind of emotional and aesthetic-lead self-discovery, Smith’s nightmarish lyrics making the perils of youth feel much less difficult to endure.
Musical themes aside, Smith has created some of the greatest-sounding music, bringing a certain accessibility into the dark tones of rock that garnered widespread appeal. Some may criticise Smith for his perceived lack of nuance or betrayal of the genre’s typical sensibilities, but for the rest of us, this is exactly what makes his music so great. It’s dark and enigmatic, but it exudes charm, and that’s a difficult balance to strike.
As a pariah from birth, Smith’s tastes have been largely dictated by those around him, like his brother, who enjoyed rock outfits like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, and his sister, who enjoyed pop-leaning songs with a more lighthearted and melodic appeal. It’s tempting to assume this is exactly why The Cure adopted the sound that they did, but Smith’s mind became filled with more abstract relics than you could ever imagine.
For instance, his first gig was “the greatest guitarist you’ve never heard of”, Rory Gallagher, who Smith recalled impulsively buying a ticket to go and see. At age 13, he remembers getting his father to call up because “he knew someone who knew someone who knew someone”. Then, he “went down on the train, stopped in the pub, had two pints.”
“He was a genius,” the musician continued. Granted, the memory has become embellished by the haze of being able to get an alcoholic drink despite quite obviously being underage, but that was the beauty of such a simpler time. He also left after the gig feeling an insatiable desire to go to more concerts, and so he did, absorbing every aspect of musical wisdom he could.
“I came away from that gig thinking it was so fucking excellent that I went on a series of Brighton jaunts for the next few years to see whoever was playing,” Smith said. “I saw Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers and Alex Harvey because I’d seen him on a BBC2 arts show doing Next with a string quartet, and that was another hugely formative moment because it was so fucking good. He was, essentially, the first punk.”
Smith’s repertoire of influential favourites might span far and wide, but it’s easy to see why guitar legends like Gallagher impacted the young musician. Smith’s words possess this somewhat mystical energy, even when they seem a little mundane, made possible by the fact that the musical arrangements swim around anything he says like one big, luscious piece of poetry.
