The Cult and me.

My heart thumped with excitement as I carefully applied black eyeliner and powdered my already white face whiter. It was November 1991, I was 15 and I was finally allowed to go to a major concert unchaperoned. The band was The Cult, I knew a few of their songs, I had dated a guy for a whole seven weeks that was mad about them and I liked their sound. I was going with a girl who these days might be known as a 'frenemy' but that didn't matter. She was a big fan and was so glad to have someone to come with her that she was being completely nice to me that day.

We got there early and made our way through the sea of black clothes and hair right up the front to the barrier. The support band came on; Bootsauce. They were good, sounded a bit like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. We danced a bit and cheered as the excitement levels rose. There was a break after them when we considered trying to buy a beer but we didn't want to risk getting thrown out for being underage nor did we want to lose our spot. So we waited as the tension built until the cheers, chants and screams reached a crescendo and this happened:

In 1991, Ian Astbury was already 30, twice my age and well older than anyone I'd consider dating; but whatever it was about his 'Don't Touch Me, I AM The Cult' stage presence, the flick of his hair, the pelvic thrust of his leather trousers, the 'Hey Baby!' with a click of the fingers attitude and the distintive raw crooning voice I was; for the first time in my life, completely, totally and utterly starstruck. There followed a good hour of pumping, rocking tunes. I sang along when I knew the lyrics. I made them up when I didn't. I danced, I sweated, I screamed like only a teenage girl at a concert can. When Ian and Billy pulled up chairs and performed an acoustic version of Edie, Ciao baby, I even cried.  Whatever happened that night, that concert made a huge impression on me. He became my definition of the perfect man.

I ran out the next day and bought Sonic Temple and Ceremony, I taped the frenemy's Electric and Edie EP. The  The Cult became a staple in the soundtrack to the rest of my teens. The upbeat, happy, good times playlist. The man with whom I later fell most deeply, self-sacrificingly in love wore the same leather trousers, had the same mane of hair and a similar attitude. Turns out he had been at that concert too. He had a Billy plectrum the roadie had given him after. I coveted it.

When I moved to Qatar in 2000, Pure Cult was one of the first CDs I bought to restart my collection. Many an evening was spent dancing around my apartment in the desert to Rain. When I felt homesick, Edie was still one of the ballads I turned to.

Life went on. I moved home, fell in love with a different style of man and had kids. My vinyl got left in an attic somewhere and the Pure Cult CD mostly got left on the rack. She Sells Sanctuary was regularly played on the radio but I didn't think much about them for years. I heard Ian Astbury was touring with The Doors but the night they played Dublin, I didn't bother going. Once, my husband played a request for me on Phantom FM and asked for 'anything by The Cult that's not She Sells Sanctuary' They played 'Lil Devil'. I danced in my seat all the way home much to the bemusement of my kids.

A year later, I hear they are playing. A mix up meant I thought I won tickets but had misheard. Then, they were sold out. I was beyond disappointed. My husband bought tickets to a gig and refused to tell me what it was. Soon after I heard The Cult had added an extra date. I suspected they might be my surprise tickets but I wasn't sure. He made me sweat it out. The night he gave in and showed me the tickets I was ecstatic. Pure Cult was put on loudly and I listened to it through twice. For the next few weeks I looked up everything they had done since 2001. I made Everyman and Everywoman is a Star my ringtone. My kids can now sing along with Rain in the car.

The morning of the gig, I woke excited. After the schoolrun I spent an hour choosing what to wear. I've seen so many gigs in the interim but this was the first one that had me jumping up and down all day long. I knew in my head that he must have aged and was overweight now but I figured he was still Ian Astbury; he was still The Cult; he still had The Voice and would still own the stage. We got there just as the support act was finishing up. This time I had no problem getting served. This time the sea of black was a touch faded and the manes of hair were a touch receded. I bumped into someone I hadn't seen in about 15 years and had fun catching up.

They came on. Despite being prepared for the worst, I was a bit shocked. He was wearing a pair of knee length jersey shorts with long socks and Converse. He looked like he'd  just staggered out of bed. They played Rain. The band were great. The same sound, the same energy. The rest of them looked great. They played Every man and Electric. By this stage I was giving it socks. In my mind, I was back in the 90s and if I closed my eyes or watched the musicians I could almost believe it.  The rest of the audience weren't dancing so much. There was lots of head nodding and foot tapping but no real rocking. Ian explained his 'dressing like an oompa loompa' was so his balls didn't get too hot. Lovely, Ian - dead sexy, baby. How many years did you prance around in leathers, hot rocks or not? Then they played Sweet Soul Sister and Ian appeared to get a bit annoyed at the sound or the audience or life or something. He shouted the melodious chorus out so it was practically unrecognisable. He gave the audience  a lecture about recording the show on phones and missing the moment. He created an atmosphere that wasn't so much one of a moody, arrogant rockstar but that of a grumpy oul' fecker. The band continued to rock. Ian missed half the words to most of the songs. Instead of dancing through the solos he stood in a corner and deep breathed. His short movie about Native Americans completely lost the audience. Edie has been replaced on the setlist by Embers, which he seems to find emotional but it has nowhere near the power of Edie. He insisted on starting Wildflower from the top when Billy broke a string and managed to miss the verse again. He stopped before the breakdown in Love Removal machine and gave another irrelevant lecture ruining the flow of the song. He didn't even manage to get the lyrics right to She Sells Sanctuary. All in all he gave a performance of the likes I've only read about in the latter part of Jim Morrisson biographies. Did the role go to his head, perhaps? For the encore they played a pretty rockin' version of Fire Woman which went down well, then he disappeared back into Jim Morrisson mode for Break On Through which it seems he carried off better the previous night.

This was The End. I had enjoyed the band and the music. I had danced my ass off. My neck still hurts from headbanging. I even got my own Billy plectrum. My husband bought me a Destroy Europa hoodie which I've barely taken off since. All in all, I had a great time. But I was left feeling let down, betrayed and disappointed. Ian Astbury had come crashing down off the pedestal in my head with a heavy thud. He's lost his confidence; he's lost his attitude and developed a metaphorical hump unbecoming of a rock idol. Now it seems he'd be more at home on a sofa with his hand down his shorts and a discarded pizza box nearby than pumping and grinding on a stage. He made me glad my teenage fantasies of being whisked away on a tour bus never came true. I wasn't even tempted when he invited the audience to meet him later in Temple Bar. For the second time after a Cult gig, I got the last bus home. I played all the songs he'd missed the lyrics to and danced to them again in my own living room. I relived my teenage experience at home and I was satisfied. I had closure.

And so it goes. Another teenage illusion dashed. Another road not taken revealed to have been potentially lethal. The question remains: would I go see them again? The answer is:  of course! - He was my first idol, my first crush, my first close up experience with a rockstar in leather pants, I will always give him another chance to rock my world.