The 1980s are a highly contested time, particularly for music. Was it the beginning of the end? the last dying gasp from an industry that had been stuffed to the gills with the fat of the land that permeated American culture throughout the '70s? It makes sense that we would want to smother our troubles (an un-winnable war and recurring assassinations, the death of the hippy ideals, etc.) in the blubbery embrace of music that offered little in the way of content beyond songs about waking me up before you go-go, never dancing again (damn guilty feet), or being country (when country wasn't cool).
Leave it to the Brits to rain on our parade, melting our aural cotton candy into a pink and robin's egg blue pile of slop, like Bozo had gotten too into The Cure and splattered his whispy coif all over the pop charts.
Fronted by The Crow on Prozac (Crozac?), or off it, as the content may attest, Robert Smith and co. steered their cloud of droopy, damp bummer-tunes over the babes of this great nation, swaddling them in black, black and black. To be fair, they were never as dark as all that. "Just Like Heaven; Love Cats; Caterpillar," and "Friday I'm in Love," to name the obvious poser jams, are examples of their abilities to have a little fun. Although Danzig has recently proven that cats are actually dark as fuck.
So, the good news? THE CURE ARE COMING TO TEXAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And not with some over-inflated, Coachella caravan complete with horse corpses for requisite beating. They are heading out on the first headlining tour to grace the Lone Star State since...well, a long fucking time. They did one ACL show in 2013 along with an El Paso gig, but that was it.
The horribly sad news that makes me just wanna listen to The Cure? THEY AREN'T COMING TO SAN ANTONIO!!!!!!!!!!
Perhaps they hate us. Perhaps we have offended the lads to some great degree and they have chosen to never set booted-foot into the 210 ever, ever again. Perhaps there is no venue with an appropriate capacity (probably the case) in "this market" and they felt that their Texan fanbase would be satiated by shows in Austin, Houston, Dallas and El Paso. Unfortunately, we know them to be wrong.
What I propose is that we pit the already-at-odds British popes of mope, Morrissey and Robert Smith, further against each other by naming one an official Son of the Alamo City. It's just a matter of time before a Moz-head or Cure devotee are elected Mayor anyway, right?
So, calling all venues!! Get Morrissey here ASAP!! We'll lather him with pomp, praise and papas rancheras and make The Cure so damn jealous that they'll never want to set foot in San Antonio again. Then we'll pull the rug out from under them by making some grand gesture (not for me to think up, that's what the mayor is for) and we'll bring them BOTH here!!! Smith and Stephen Patrick will be so humbled by our outpour of love and devotion for each of them that they will finally bury the hatchet that has been between them for the better part of three decades! And they'll owe it all to their new home away from home, San Antonio!
You're welcome San Antonio, you're welcome, Mayor, you're welcome, world.