After an opening band "Dear Boy" that was very good, and obviously (and admittedly ) influenced by both of the headliners. They were a pleasant surprise. "James" the co-headliners- with the Furs - a band Laurie liked and who wound up on my playlist came out and while they were more trippy than their album work, they were really fun and interesting- most of the crowd seemed very into them and excited- singing along and crowd surfing the lead singer. It was great fun. Even the lad seemed invested. I knew something was possibly amiss when our friends decided to go after James. William mentioned that the Psychedelic Furs were releasing a new album- the kiss of death for antique English rockers of the late Jurassic- I was immediately dubious. Laurie had seen them twice in the 80's, at the height of their popularity, and while she liked them, she was essentially "meh" about seeing them then. I guess I should have seen it coming.
They played their greatest hits, of which, there are many for me. While I never expect anything to sound like their recorded versions, everything seemed to be at some barely recognizable half speed, with none of the hard driving edge that they had in the day. It was Indian Casino cover band material. Richard Butler used to have an almost Johnny Rotten snarl quality to his voice. I realize nobody keeps that gravelly tone forever, and can still speak, but he seemed to be a lounge impersonator; complete with ridiculous rock stereotype Kabuki moves and smirks. It was a band counting heads in the audience and multiplying by ticket price to see if they made their mortgage payment. Where the audience (many of whom, like our friends, had left) had been energized by James, the remainder crowd seemed unmoved, like they were staying out of respect. After the first set I grabbed my son and we left.
I wanted to salvage what I could of my Psychedelic Furs affection. I missed several of my favorite songs that I am sure they played after we left. I didn't want my most indelible memory of a band from my post college days of romance, to be chubby old guys in curated "rock" wardrobe crooning "Into You Like A Train" like it was some sort of meandering ballad. Everything will eventually disappoint you, and that what you thought was special, will eventually be proven not to be. You can still hold things in their memory, in their own space and time as special. Seeing the Psychedelic Furs in 2019 was not that space and time. I hope I rescued something of them for myself by leaving early.
