That night, New Orleans didn’t just get a concert—it got a moment in time. The Cure’s return to the States for their Shows of a Lost World Tour felt like a pilgrimage for every fan packed into the Smoothie King Center. It was less “gig,” more communal art: deep cuts, new tracks, and signature wave-of-emotion tunes, all carried by Robert Smith’s voice and aura. Legends don’t just play shows—this one felt like a gathering.
Full Setlist
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Alone
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Pictures of You
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A Night Like This
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Lovesong
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And Nothing Is Forever
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The Last Day of Summer
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A Fragile Thing
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Cold
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Burn
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Fascination Street
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Push
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Play for Today
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Shake Dog Shake
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From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea
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Endsong
<em>Encore 1:</em>
16. I Can Never Say Goodbye
17. Want
18. A Thousand Hours
19. At Night
20. A Forest
<em>Encore 2:</em>
21. Lullaby
22. Six Different Ways
23. The Walk
24. Friday I’m in Love
25. Doing the Unstuck
26. Close to Me
27. In Between Days
28. Just Like Heaven
29. Boys Don’t Cry
The Energy
From the opening chord of “Alone”, there was an intimacy to the hall—that feeling that every scribble of guitar and mist of light carried gravity. Smith’s silhouette emerged, a beloved figure whispering into the darkness, and the arena seemed to inhale, silent, then exhale in unity.
Those early emotional tones weren’t just soft—they were purposeful. The crowd hung on every syllable, every echo. “Pictures of You” stretched out, rich with memory, while “A Night Like This” and “Lovesong” followed, their familiar swirl of melody and melancholy lighting sparks across faces.
Then we pivoted to the new songs. “And Nothing Is Forever”, “A Fragile Thing”, “Endsong”… they threaded through like fresh veins in old walls, reminding the crowd this wasn’t just a nostalgia trip—it was evolution. And yet, when “Fascination Street” and “Shake Dog Shake” ramped up, the energy surged, urgent and alive.
Smith and his band weren’t just playing—they were conducting waves. With each shift—from somber verses to rousing choruses, from tender confessions to full-throated belting—the atmosphere intensified. By the end of that first set, the air felt electric.
Highlights & Crowd Moments
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“A Fragile Thing”, a new track draped in tension and yearning, landed like a quiet revelation. It felt like Smith deliberately lowered his tone to make us lean in, forging a bond in collective hush.
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“Burn” and “Push” brought the edge-of-your-seat energy back, the drums punchy, guitars crawling with grit—and the crowd sprinted right alongside.
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“Endsong” closed the set with dramatic sweep—somewhere between picking up forgotten shards of emotion and setting them ablaze in unison. It was a statement of intent, and the crowd cheered in awe.
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Encore 1 opened with deep new cuts. “I Can Never Say Goodbye”—raw, grief-laced, rooted in personal loss—landed like a gut-punch. “A Thousand Hours”, played live for the first time in decades, was a gift to longtime fans. That rarity delivered goosebumps and quiet awes, and it felt sacred.
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The second encore unleashed the classics. One by one, “Lullaby”, “Just Like Heaven”, “Friday I’m in Love”, “Boys Don’t Cry”—they were uplift, release, and communal catharsis. Sing-alongs swelled, lights flickered over thousands of heads, and the venue transformed into a breathing organism of love for The Cure.
The Vibe
New Orleans isn’t just a city that knows music—it is music, and that synergy seeped into every corner of the night. The crowd were devotees, smartphones in hands but present in spirit; occasional lyrics drifted higher than the speakers, filling gaps with fellowship.
The band’s presence was familiar yet fresh. Robert Smith looked statuesque with his hair halo and black clothing, and he moved with purpose, pinning the lights, letting each verse marinate before striking. The rest of the band held fort—steady, expressive, and locked into the energy. Those new tour visuals weren’t flashy; soft backdrops and subtle hues underlined the emotional narrative, keeping eyes on the performance, not distractions.
The pace was deliberate. No rush to pack hits in; instead, a journey through somber openings, surging peaks, new vistas, then depths of sentiment, before finishing with roof-raisers. That arc felt designed to pull heartstrings, then set them free.
Tiny Quibbles
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A few of the quieter lines in “And Nothing Is Forever” and “Endsong” sometimes drifted beneath the waves of crowd chatter. At moments, seeking out the lyrics was a little effort—but there’s something delicate and real in that, in noticing and leaning in together.
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A couple of deep album tracks like “Shake Dog Shake” might’ve taken a little too long to click with casual fans—not every heart was ready for that turn into the murky and beautiful—but for the devoted, it was treasure.
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Long setlist, long night. Casual concertgoers might have longed for a bit more pacing earlier on; the emotional weight of new songs early felt heavy, though deeply rewarding.
Final Thoughts
The Cure’s New Orleans night wasn’t a headline tour stop—it was a gathering of hearts, a multi-decade story told across melody and silence. There was a kind of grace in watching a band still seeking, still growing—playing new songs in between beloved anthems—and doing it with unwavering presence.
In a world chasing spectacle, The Cure delivers atmosphere, intimacy, emotional architecture. Here in New Orleans, fans aligned on memory and novelty; they were participants in something rare—a living, breathing mosaic of sound and emotion.
If you ever get a chance to see The Cure, don’t go for nostalgia alone. Go to remember, to grieve, to grin, and to feel. This setlist was a map: old roads, new paths, chosen paths, and every single note taken on purpose—and New Orleans felt every one.