Standing alongside thousands of people as dark transformed to a blinding burst of crisp white. An eruption of vocal chords rising to a deafening volume, reserved only for artists that defy the boundaries of time, connecting multiple generations of music fans.
Few artists have the knack of producing albums worth of huge songs that influence so many lyrically, musically and fashionably. Effortlessly they're their own subculture and it's an addiction to the people listening and peering in.
That guitar tone, those basslines riding the beat and of course Robert Smith's voice, that cumulative sound you recognise as The Cure. It feels and felt like home.
A surreal sense of inner warmth that the entire amphitheatre was mesmerised by. You didn't have to look far to know that everyone was rocking in unison, tapping into that nostalgic bliss underneath a starlit sky.
The second song they played was Pictures of You,I could have died.