We saw The Cure at Marley Park on Friday night. After driving up from Cork that day I should have been wrecked tired, and I dreaded the heat, but there was a breeze and the stage provided shade if you were close enough.
Visitors weren’t allowed to bring “professional cameras” so I left my Sony mirrorless and zoom lens at home, but I did have the tiny Sony RX100 IV. It’s only got a 70mm zoom but we were reasonably close, along the side of the stage.
Arriving at Marley Park around 19:35 to be confronted with a sea of humanity. 40,000 people were there that evening to watch the concert.
I’d been at Nick Cave’s concert at Malahide Castle a couple of weeks ago but this was on another level again.
Robert Smith on the big screens. You can see him if you look carefully on stage.
The screens were spectacular. I could see tiny figures on stage but the screens made sure everyone saw something. The little figure in red, underneath the huge speaker setup, was wearing headphones, thankfully.
They played for more than two hours. No break, no encore, but Robert Smith came across as someone who was really enjoying himself and appreciated the audience. Before he left the stage he smiled and waved.
If you couldn’t see over the crowd, there were ways around that!
Here’s a ChatGPT-enhanced photo of Robert Smith, original photo was taken with my Samsung S23 Ultra phone using a 10x zoom with 10x digital zoom. It was a mess of pixels so I only present this here as a curiosity and a sign of perhaps things to come.
Some great photos were shared here on The Cure Facebook page.
It was a great concert. They played loads of their hits and some lesser-known deep cuts for the fans. Robert’s voice hasn’t changed. He sounds great!
The roses lean out of their black plastic pots like they’re craning for a better view of the customer, and she’s giving them a proper once-over, but what I noticed was the tote bag so floral it could be for sale at the flower stall.
The poster girl gets the beach, the dunes, the perfect light and a 30% discount; the actual shopper gets a footpath, a purple handbag and a too-warm day in the town.
The boardwalk pulled me straight in. Those weathered planks running across the dark volcanic sand towards a sea gone smooth from a long exposure, like the Atlantic had decided to hold its breath for me.
Playa de Ajabo at dusk is a different beast to the postcard Tenerife of packed loungers and factor-50. This was the middle of winter after all. Even during the day there weren’t huge crowds, the two thatched parasols stood there in silhouette like a pair of scarecrows off duty, and the sky was transforming from molten orange at the horizon up to a deep, cool blue overhead.
A wall of glass tilt over your head and you start to feel very small, very corporate and very much in need of a strong coffee. This is the WeWork office in London. Look closely and there’s one warm pendant lamp glowing in a window, a tiny pocket of cosiness in a tower of cold glass, and that’s the bit that gets me.
I’d rather be working from home and I think most people would too.
The man in the red jacket became my anchor the moment I set up. Henry Street on a sunny day is a river of people. Shoppers, buskers’ audiences, lads cutting across to Gino’s for a cone, and a slow shutter turns all of that into smears of colour and ghostly half-people mid-stride. But he just sat there on the utility box, hands clasped, watching the world rush by at a blur while he stayed pin-sharp.
Number 9 had clearly decided that the racing could wait. I was wandering around at the Dingle Races and right in front of me this dark bay racehouse reared up on it’s hind legs while the poor jocket and two men tried to calm the animal.
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