Kevin Bronson on September 1st, 2019

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Seasoned Los Angeles festival-goers might have done a double-take on Saturday night, when as the Cure returned for their encore at Pasadena Daydream, Robert Smith giddily proclaimed: “It’s been the best day of summer!”

That, of course, was the longtime mantra of Sean Carlson’s dearly departed FYF Fest, which faded away in ignominy in 2018. Smith’s pronouncement was not the only parallel between FYF and Saturday’s 10-band one-off, which was headlined and curated by the Cure.

The August heat was merciless, reaching a sticky 97 degrees in the tree-dotted expanse of the Brookside Golf Course adjacent to the Rose Bowl, where the festival was staged. Lines to enter the festival were long and slow-moving. The eclectic lineup was the vision of one person, this one being Smith’s. And with the exception of a couple of production hiccups, the music more than compensated for any discomfort.

The Cure held up their end of the deal. The freshly minted Rock and Roll Hall of Famers’ outsider aesthetic has evolved over the decades into a unifying force, owing to indelible songs that pull the sad strings in everyone. The cross-generational crowd during Saturday’s 2-hour, 20-minute set was dotted with celebrities, as well as the usual suspects who dress for a Goth ball, or as Robert Smith look-alikes, or sport vintage Cure T-shirts from tours past. There were only a few sightings of melted eyeliner.

The sound of thousands, heads tilted toward the cool night sky, singing along to “Just Like Heaven” was indeed just like heaven.

Smith’s plaintive wail has, if anything, gained strength over the years. It sailed atop the mix as Smith alternated between center stage and playing off the dynamic work of bassist Simon Gallup and guitarist Reeves Gabrels. The Cure’s set featured seven songs from “Disintegration” — now 30 years young — and earned a surge of crowd participation for earlier 80’s-defining classics like “In Between Days,” “Play for Today” (a surprising singalong to the instrumental chorus) and the closer, “Boys Don’t Cry.”

The festival’s undercard proved well worth any sunburn. Smith’s longtime pals the Pixies (Smith dropped in a snippet of “Where Is My Mind?” right before “Friday I’m in Love”) roared with jagged fury for a solid 1 hour and 15 minutes, sans banter … in fact, not really acknowledging the crowd at all. It felt like a public rehearsal, and a very good one at that.

The festival’s two Scottish entries, Mogwai and the Twilight Sad, met with different fates. Mogwai cut wide swathes of beautiful noise in the unforgiving afternoon heat; you’d swear they were the reason the breeze picked up. Post-punk torch-bearers the Twilight Sad had the misfortune of being first up on the main stage, and the sound cut in and out throughout their 30-minute set. Main man James Graham was gracious, though: “To be on this lineup … is just a dream. Thanks to the Cure for asking us. Hope you’re hydrated … and, oh, nice shade over there.”

Deftones’ dinnertime set on the main stage was good reason to postpone getting in the long queues at food vendors in favor of getting closer to soak up Chino Moreno and gang’s substantial energy.

The festival’s second stage was actually a tent — the same set-up that promoter Goldenvoice used for the third stage at its Arroyo Seco Weekend festivals in 2017 and ’18. On Saturday, curiously, it featured all female artists or female-fronted bands, and thanks to its relative intimacy, boasted some riveting performances.

For sheer energy, it was hard to beat Welsh popgazers the Joy Formidable. Frontwoman Ritzy Bryan pointed out that they were celebrating their 10-year anniversary and did so with an eight-song set that balanced three songs from their latest album “AARTH” with deep cuts, such as “Ostrich” from their first EP.

Chelsea Wolfe, going full electric, also plied the darkness of her latest release “Birth of Violence” in a sweltering daytime set with full band blasting ahead of their upcoming tour with Ionna Gika.

Cutting to a deeper place, though, were the sets by Emma Ruth Rundle and Throwing Muses.

Despite her formidable resumé in the Red Sparowes, Marriages and Nocturnes, L.A. native Rundle (who now lives in Louisville, Ky.) was new to many who witnessed her band’s mid-afternoon set. She made quite an impression. Post-rock/doom-folk/ambient rock — however it is classified, Rundle’s music is spellbinding, from its sensuously dark guitar tones to her commanding vocals. Thirty minutes, five songs (three from 2018’s “On Dark Horses,” two from 2016’s “Marked for Death”), and you were left wanting more. It’s easy to imagine Mr. Smith himself in a darkened room somewhere in England enjoying an Emma Ruth Rundle soundbath.

Throwing Muses, like their Northeastern brethren the Pixies, were college-rock favorites back in the day, and their set was largely populated by former collegians whose studies were likely once interrupted by deep dives into the work of Kristin Hersh. Backed by bassist Bernard Georges and drummer David Narcizo and overcoming some sound hiccups, Hersh proved mesmerizing as ever, her half-screamed, half-growled vocals playing chicken with her unconventional guitar chords and runs. There’s a new Throwing Muses album in the works? Thank you.

Throwing Muses’ 13-song set ended just in time to make a brisk hike up to the main stage for the headliner. Because the festival grounds were chalked off to delineate between pedestrian lanes and sitting/standing areas, it wasn’t hard to find a spot to end Saturday’s daydream.

Cure setlist: Plainsong, Pictures of You, High, A Night Like This, Just One Kiss, Lovesong, Last Dance, Burn, Fascination Street, Never Enough, Push, In Between Days, Just Like Heaven, From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea, Play for Today, A Forest, Primary, Shake Dog Shake, 39, Disintegration. Encore: Lullaby, The Caterpillar, The Walk, Friday I’m in Love, Close to Me, Why Can’t I Be You?, Boys Don’t Cry