Category — Concert Review

Wait, isn’t that Adam Lambert and Amanda Lepore?

Fair warning: My experience at the Scissor Sisters concert involved a great deal of celebrity ogling, thanks to a very kind VIP pass courtesy of the band. Shameless name-dropping and self-absorbed ramblings begin…NOW.

As we made our way into Terminal 5 on Wednesday night, my friends and I quickly hustled through the crowd and took our spot to the right of the stage, dancing like fools to the very good remixes being played by DJ Sammy Jo (There was Kylie playing!) and getting pumped up Jersey Shore style.

Though my good friend (and loyal Muuser) Parker and I had received VIP passes for access to the balcony above, we ultimately decided that it would be more fun to simply dance with our other friends at the show within the general admission crowd. Well, at the time anyway.

“Wait, isn’t that Adam Lambert and Amanda Lepore?” someone in our group asked, pointing up toward the aforementioned balcony. With a quick glance, it was confirmed: That was indeed Adam Lambert, guy-liner and all. And as for Lepore? Well, she has a way of sticking out like a sore, swollen thumb.

“Yeah okay, maybe we should go up there,” I decided.

And so, Parker and I shoved our way out of the pack, rushing to every corner of the venue desperately trying to find our way up the stairs. We eventually did (it’s in the back by the bar!), climbed our way up and, with a flash of the VIP bracelet (~glamourous~), we were up there too.

Instantly, the mood changed. It was more calm surely, but there was a strange buzz in the air. Like everyone just knew there were a gaggle of celebrities and socialites standing about. The faces started to look familiar: Club kids and scenesters swarmed about, including boys wearing glittery shoes and coat jackets with pom-poms glued to the collars. There was also a long-haired man wearing white who I’m vaguely confident was Jesus Christ himself.

Nonetheless, we elbowed our way closer until we finally reached Mr. Glambert. For a pop star, he was looking fairly understated, wearing a simple gray tee and black gloves. When we reached him, he was just sort of standing there waiting around behind his more extravagant looking entourage.

Okay, so look: I didn’t want to be perceived as an obnoxious fan boy standing around waiting for a photo at a concert. Believe me: I was there for the Scissor Sisters first and foremost. But how in the fuck was I going to prove that I was standing in the VIP balcony with Adam Lambert? I needed a photo.

Taking a deep breath, I tapped him on the shoulder (it felt like glitter, for the record), and said “I’m sorry. Can I have a picture?” He shrugged and said sure, turned around, and allowed Parker to snap the above shot. As you can see, there was a sad case of the blurs upon review, but I just couldn’t work up the courage to tap him again. Besides, he was already giggling along with his friends anyway. NONETHELESS MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Slowly but surely, the balcony grew more jam-packed. More glitterati filled the narrow aisle, and we started getting pushed back into the wall. “Maybe we should go back down,” I started to say.

“Look at that table,” said Parker, pointing in front of us. I read the place-holder resting on top: ‘Reserved for Katy Perry.’ And, at the table directly to the left: ‘Reserved for Drew Barrymore.’

“Yeah okay, so maybe we should stay,” I decided.

About five minutes later, a small troupe wormed their way through the velvet rope. It was Miss Purry herself, looking gorgeous in a leopard mini-dress. I immediately noticed her hair, which looked extra fabulous. I guess it’s either new or I just didn’t notice when I saw her perform on Live On Letterman, but she now has luscious strands of blue and red scattered within (I guess she’s really loving up that candy-coated theme lately).

So there I was, sandwiched behind Katy Perry, Adam Lambert, Susan Sarandon, Amanda Lepore, and Drew Barrymore, leaving me no choice but to do what has always come naturally: I stood there awkwardly. I mean, what else does one even do in these situations? I had no idea.

As the lights dimmed, the crowd downstairs began to roar and the Scissors took to the stage. Even in the VIP section, the buzzing bodies took to their respective places and began looking on eagerly. Sadly, we quickly discovered that if we weren’t standing directly against the banister among the celebrities (which we were not), we weren’t going to see much happening on stage–especially standing at 5′ 4″. And so, we decided to rush back into the crowd downstairs.

For a good story’s sake however, I am heretofore claiming that it was solely because I couldn’t see past Katy Perry’s head. It’s basically the truth!

As we rushed back down the stairs, the grinding sounds of “Night Work” kicked into the speakers. Parker and I quickly squeezed back into the main audience during the second verse of the song. Although we couldn’t get as deep into the crowd as where we stood prior to what I shall refer to as ‘the balcony situation,’ we still had a pretty good view of the stage (and Del Marquis’ crotch–I DIGRESS).

Throughout the night, the Sisters would bang out a bulk of their incredible album released in July, Night Work including “Fire With Fire,” “Any Which Way,” “Something Like This” and “Skin This Cat,” as well as favorites from their past records, including “I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’,” (which got the entire venue moving) “Tits On The Radio” (which got the entire venue vamping), and “Take Your Mama” (which had the entire venue crooning at the top of their lungs).

Every member of the troupe supplied their own flare of personality to the stage: From Babydaddy‘s cool swagger, to Jake Shears‘ unstoppable sexy, to Ana Matronic‘s endless attitude and vamp, to Del Marquis‘ stoic, cocky strumming. Admittedly, I did end up swooning a bit hard for Mr. Marquis and his tight black leather pants as the show went on. Again, I digress.

There were also a few delicious introductions before songs, as with “Skin Tight.” While taking a quick breather before launching into performance, Shears explained that the song was dedicated to his boyfriend who–after eleven or twelve weeks of touring–finally fucked him the night before. A sweeping “Aww…” came across the crowd, along with whistles, cheers and cat calls. A precious moment, no doubt.

“Skin This Cat” was a personal favorite, as Mizz Matronic came strutting out with the band’s sexified, lace-and-leather back-up singers and purred the song’s gloriously sexy lyrics along with some rather frisky choreography. Meeeow. (Hint: IT’S ABOUT HER VAG.) Loved it!

For the group’s final number (at least, before the encore), Ana came center stage and told us about the inspiration for the track (“Night Life”), which came from her first club experience as a 15-year-old in Portland, Oregon. She never wanted that feeling to end, she cooed to the audience, so she vowed never to stop living like that to this very day. Now that’s the spirit of a proper disco diva, my friends.

After a quick dash off-stage for a quick change after the song, the troupe soon returned for an encore, beginning with “Comfortably Numb,” with Jake now wearing an American flag-inspired jacket (it didnt last long–the man just doesn’t take well to clothing) and Ana in a gorgeous, geometric green dress.

Then came “Invisible Light,” the song I had been patiently waiting for the entire night. I can now officially confirm that the six minute opus is, in fact, as utterly EPIC live as it is on a record. By the time that swelling, cascading break in the song came in around the five minute mark, the entire room erupted into a manic, frenzied hands-in-the-air euphoria. The moment was absolutely perfect, and no doubt the night’s shining highlight for me.

After a quick announcement of their after-party location, the band took on their final song of the night: “Filty/Gorgeous.” By the time the song was wrapping up, pure pandemonium began to ensue on stage: Jake Shears took a quick dive into the crowd, at this point wearing an ass-less latex one piece (I can only imagine the unholiness he’s experienced while being passed around in that outfit). Miss Matronic doused him in water and ripped off the top of her dress to reveal a black bra underneath. Mic stands went flying, and confetti and fake cash baring the Night Work album cover and the motto “Make Some Cash – Fuck The Rich” burst high into the air, showering the crowd. It was utter insanity in the most fierce, most glamorous rock ‘n’ roll sort of way.

“We are the Scissor Sisters, and so are YOU!” Ana shouted out as the audience roared for the final time.

The Sisters delivered an immense, electrifying performance for their adoring fans in New York City. It was an endlessly fun experience–not to mention an impressive display of the band’s talent and professionalism.

Honestly, I wasn’t even that close to the stage for the show, and I still had such a blast. The band is just so much fun! An amazing experience, without a doubt.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a call: My new BFFs Kitty Purry and Glambert are tots blowing up my phone right now.

Many thanks to Parker F. for the photos (and upcoming videos).

“Where da fuck is you at, ho?”

On August 5, the All Hearts Tour made its final stop at Webster Hall in New York City, featuring the Far East Movement, Dan Black, Kelis, and Robyn. I attended that concert, and this is what I have to say about it.

When my friend Eric and I arrived at Webster Hall around six, the bar was already full with waiting fans buzzing about. After claiming our free Cherrytree Records label sampler on the sidewalk (Natalia Kills! Agnes! Kelis and Robyn!), we quickly squeezed into the stuffed room, running in the moment the doors were finally opened to the crowd.

The priorities were immediately taken care of: “Don’t Fucking Tell Me What To Do” tee? Check. Front row positioning? Check. Camera settings test? Check. And so began the wait.

This happened. I’m still not sure why.

Almost immediately after we wedged our way into the front of the crowd–about three rows deep at that point–the tour openers came out in rapid succession. Far East Movement provided some danceable, LMFAO-friendly party anthems (perhaps a bit too similar in moments) and Dan Black his indie-electro pop anthems, I have to be honest: I was there solely for Robyn and Kelis. As a result, I don’t have much to say about them. Sorry about it.

Then came the ‘air situation,’ which will do me no favors in perpetuating stereotypes about Jews and the heat. While the AC seemed to circulate during the first two openers, it was painfully, disgustingly apparent that it had completely ceased by the time Dan Black and crew cleared the stage. It deeply displeased the gays.

“Bitch, get out here already!” whined one. “Someone turn on a damn fan!” came another. There was also my personal favorite: “Da fuck you at, ho?”, which resulted in a smattering of giggles each time. Despite the various attempts to fan ourselves and/or disrobe, the body glitter was fast beginning to drip down to the floor.

At around 8:30, the lights dimmed, the microphone glowed fluorescent, and Kelis took to the stage. The singer, dressed in a shimmering metallic blue one-piece catsuit not unlike her Sea Monkeys-inspired piece, smiled calmly and began to launch into a mini-monologue about tolerance and unity. I think, anyway.

Sadly, the crowd mostly drowned out her words. “I’m trying to get you guys to answer back,” she half-whined, laughing deeply and rolling her eyes. She returned to her initial point: “I will not judge,” she instructed us to repeat. “I will not judge!” The crowd responded. “…Because we control the dance floor,” she commanded. The crowd returned the call. She repeated it again; the crowd thunderously echoing it back. There. That was better.

Before the crowd could applaud their group effort, the grinding synthesizers of Kelis’ gay anthem, “Emancipate” rocketed into the venue, turning the entire floor into a ballroom of fierce poses and snapping wrists.

Kelis provided a powerhouse performance of sex, sass, and soul. Tackling some classics (“Trick Me”) and some covers (Ol’ Dirty Bastard‘s “Got Your Money”) along the way, the singer performed almost the entirety of her latest album for the crowd, including “22nd Century,” “4th Of July (Fireworks),” “Scream,” “Acapella,” and “Emancipate.” And, of course, there was “Brave.”

As you all might well already know, “Brave” isn’t just an album favorite, but one of my favorite songs of the year. So as the stinging electronic beats entered the speakers, I had what we in the industry like to call a “moment.” More specifically, I grabbed my friend’s arm–a bit too hard–and began jumping like a loon and lightly convulsing.

In contrast, Kelis played it stone cold cool with her delivery of the track, singing the song pitch perfect and stepping back during the song’s chaotic explosion of grinding synths to allow the beat to speak for itself.

“Milkshake” was, of course, another crowd favorite, made all the better (and gayer) thanks to a mash-up with Madonna‘s “Holiday.” “Work, bitch…WORK!” one group offered to my left. And so she did.

These hips don’t lie.

I’d like to take a moment to show some appreciation for Kelis’ hips at this point. Never have I ever seen a woman work and twerk her body the way Kelis did that night–shimmying and sashaying in a way that would have Shakira blushing.

By the time Kelis casually strutted off stage, the entire audience was consumed in a sweat, semi-stunned by the sheer energy of the singer’s performance. It was an incredible performance. How was it exactly that this concert was only halfway over?

After about a half hour of set up, the lights faded to black again. A voice-over began to announce Robyn’s arrival–sort of like an updated version of “Curriculum Vitae” from Robyn’s 2005 record. The lights began to flicker and the bass boomed, making the entire venue feel like a rocket was about to make a crash landing.

Out walked Robyn, or rather–strutted, with a cool smirk and a bossy swagger. As she took to the mic, a fat bass began to grind and electronic noises began to pulsate, prompting the singer to gyrate and moan in delight, punching the air with an energy that wouldn’t cease until the closing note of her set. And then she started to sing “Fembot.”

Gays: Do you know the part in Moulin Rouge when Zidler selects the Can Can as the dance of choice and the entire place erupts into a chaotic frenzy of dancing and screaming to the point where you couldn’t quite tell whether people were celebrating or going into epileptic shock? That was Robyn’s set.

The singer put on a show like no other, stopping just once for a swig of water and a quick sit-down in front of the keyboardist during a dance-laden set that lasted over an hour. Apart from that, she was a dancing fool; refusing to stop between songs. Instead of breaks between tracks she performed dance interludes, raging against manic strobe lights as though she were exorcising her demons for all to see.

The Robyn I saw last week at the iHeartRadio taping was hardly the Robyn on stage at Webster Hall this night. Growling, grinding, thrashing, and taunting, the singer was an unstoppable force of bossiness and brattitude. She worked the stage like no one’s business, often approaching the crowd (and myself) within an inch of touching someone’s outstretched hand, squinting her eyes and swiveling her head curiously. “Oh, what?” she’d mouth to the crowd member. “You want some of this?”

Perhaps the most impressive and awe-inspiring aspect of Robyn as a performer is her indescribable presence and performance quality. She weaves in and out of attitudes–at one moment sweetly chirping “Thank you all so much for coming tonight!”, the next, on the floor grinding against the stage and flipping the bird to the crowd. There is no other artist that even comes close to delivering the performance Robyn can with simply a mic and a stage alone other than Madonna.

The singer certainly stuck with the uptempo side of things, including the fist-pump friendly “Cobrastyle,” and her collaboration with Royksopp, “The Girl and The Robot,” delivered while basking in an eerie green glow.

Midway through her set, Robyn took a rare, highly deserved moment to herself as “Don’t Fucking Tell Me What To Do,” the intro track from Body Talk Pt. 1 and unofficial All Hearts anthem boomed overhead. The singer swung a sweat towel around her neck, and pulling out–what else? A banana. Literally right in front of me, she peeled and ate the banana, staring down the audience like a bad boss bitch. It was fantastic. I just wish she shared a bite.

Of course, there was her latest single from Body Talk Pt. 1, “Dancing On My Own,” which was performed to the pinnacle of perfection. The same fierce choreography, the same solid vocal performance. Nothing beats that moment when she steps away from the mic for a brief power snap backward–except, of course, the rapid-fire punch-the-air mania of the bridge. AMAZING. I just wish she’d punch out the mic again!

To my great surprise, Robyn also whipped out a treat from her self-titled 2005 record, an electro-enhanced re-rub of one of my favorite songs from the singer, “Who’s That Girl?” Donning a beret, the singer sauntered her way across the floor to the song’s killer beats, and, approaching the drum set, began furiously banging out a quick drum solo before throwing out her drumsticks into a swarming sea of wanting fans. Delicious.

By the end of the show, all sense of decency was out the window. Shirts were strewn and dangling as cameras, now visibly dripping and slipping between fingers, fought against waves of people thrashing to Robyn’s unbelievable performances. The entire venue was flailing and swaying–so much so that the floor below us began to wobble uncomfortably underneath our feet. Even the uptight, pretentious gay to my right with his hands folded that did nothing but sip a beer the whole night broke out into a somewhat vigorous head-bob. (But seriously, who does that at a concert? And in the front row, no less?)

After the show’s “ending” (there’s always an encore), Robyn quickly popped back onto the stage for two more songs: “Dream On” and “With Every Heartbeat,” two of her most anthemic tracks.

“And it hurts with every heartbeat!” the crowd shouted back breathlessly in the final seconds of Robyn’s set. With a final wide grin, Robyn held up her hands together to form a heart shape in between her fingers and thumbs. A thousand more greeted her from the audience, thus concluding the All Hearts Tour in the most literal sense.

When we somehow found our way back to the hotel following the show, we could do nothing but crawl onto the ground and moan in pain. As a famous Swedish songstress might say: My legs were killing me. My neck was killing me. My arms were killing me. It literally felt like I’d just gotten beaten up–and really, we did. Robyn and Kelis had sonically punched us in the gut, leaving us lying on the floor, panting and otherwise motionless.

Officially speaking, the All Hearts Tour was unmistakably, undoubtedly, and indubitably one of the greatest and most exciting concert experiences I’ve ever had.

Unofficially? OMFG BEST SHOW EVARRRR.

Many thanks and so much love to Muuser Eric H. for joining me for this most epic of adventures, as well as selected photos above.

Photo courtesy of iHeartRadio.

If you didn’t already know from my manic, semi-nonsensical tweets, I trekked down to the city yesterday to attend a private performance by the one and only Swedish princess of pop Robyn for iHeartRadio, which was taped at the P.C. Richard & Son Theater in Tribeca.

The singer performed her killer set of seven songs for an enamored crowd of sequined super fans and tattooed hipsters alike, beginning with Body Talk Pt. 1‘s “Cry When You Get Older” and finishing off with her international Kleerup-produced smash, “With Every Heartbeat.”

While the show was consistently solid throughout, the highlight for me started off with an unfamiliar series of icy electronic beats stuck on repeat. As the music progressed, the singer launched into the song’s instantly recognizable lyrics: It was “Be Mine,” and this mix was seriously the business.

I’d later come to find out from Muuser and soon-to-be All Hearts concert buddy Eric H. that the song was actually a remix that’s been out for a while–the Verschwende Deine Jugend mix. (Try saying that one three times fast.) I’m telling you, get on that shit NOW.

Photo courtesy of iHeartRadio.

Since my friend and I were a bit, err…fashionably late for the performance, we ended up getting stuck towards the back of the venue. Standing at a whopping 5′ 4″ behind a general admission crowd, my view was limited at best. Nevertheless, I was still able to keep track of the superstar on stage by keeping my eyes trained the tuft of blonde hair gyrating about.

And in the short glimpses that I did catch of Robyn in performance mode–punching the air during the epic, rapid-fire synth breakdown of “Dancing On My Own,” hanging vulnerably onto the mic during an acoustic performance of “Hang With Me–I saw the same energetic, effervescent pop star that I’ve always known and loved.

Thanks to the magic that is today’s technology, you can now see the fabulous video of Robyn’s performance of “Dancing On My Own” last night on iHeartRadio right here.

It’s probably one of my favorite performances I’ve seen of the song thus far–and it doesn’t hurt that I caught it going down LIVE.

An amazing show, but this was really just a warm up session: The real fun begins when the All Hearts Tour hits NYC next week. Yeah…it’s going to get ridiculous. I’ll probably lose my pants.

Many thanks to my friend Charlie, who won tickets to attend the taping!

If I were a sinner, why would Jesus let me play the Garden?

On Wednesday night, I became a full-fledged monster…again.

July 7 marked Lady Gaga‘s second performance at Madison Square Garden–her hometown show during the second American leg of her seemingly ceaseless tour, the Monster Ball Tour.

Gaga’s tour has improved dramatically since the last time I saw her last year in Boston. Dropping the forced perspective, minimal bluntness of the initial Monster Ball tour stage, the arena-armed Gaga has given us room to breathe, and the results are much more memorable.

Once a self-indulgent art installation, the Monster Ball Tour now operates as a cheeky, playful homage to The Wizard of Oz, as Gaga and her clan of gender ambiguous, S&M-clad buddies traversed the sketchy, unfamiliar streets of New York City to try and find the greatest party of all time–the Monster Ball! And just how would they do that? Why, by following the Glitter Way, of course!

The new-and-improved show includes the best musical bits of the first leg, including the greatest video interludes remixed and refreshed (including the one where she vomits blue glitter all over herself, which I affectionately refer to as “Vomi-Gaga,” now with a bloody good bit of cannibalism to boot.) The dancing is sharper, the energy has reached a new high, and everything about the night just felt good–even while watching Gaga eat her own bloody heart out.

Particular highlights included the performance of “LoveGame,” which incorporated both the opening subway sequence from Gaga’s performance at the Much Music Video Awards in 2009 and the throbbing, rave-inducing Chew Fu Ghettohouse remix breakdown at the song’s end. Just like last time, as the words “disco stick” stutter over and over on top of the remix’s punchy beat, the stadium burst into nothing short of pure, hysterical euphoria (which you can see here). Such bliss.

Then came a personal favorite: “So Happy I Could Die,” performed on high in one of the Haus of Gaga’s newest contraptions–the living dress. In short, it’s a gorgeous, bat-like gown with the ability to move on its own. As Gaga belted one of my favorite cuts from The Fame Monster from a platform center stage, the dress slowly expanded and constricted, as if she were wrapped inside of a living, breathing silver Komodo Dragon. Who needs fur when you can wear it alive?

There was also the obligatory piano bit with “Speechless” and the arena-rock, Elton John-friendly ballad from her upcoming album, “You & I.” Now with Gaga, the piano prowess shtick is kind of nothing we haven’t already seen before: The spins around the piano stool, the leg in the air, standing straight up on the stool while playing–yes, we’ve seen it all before, and yes, she’s very talented.

Yet she trumped expectations still again tonight. In the final few moments of “Speechless,” the singer suddenly hopped on top of the piano and, peering over the keys with an eager glimmer in her eye, began playing the final few chords of her power ballad backwards, delivering what was undeniably one of the best vocal performances I’d ever witnessed or heard from her. Just watch the six minute mark above…Unbelievable, to say the least.

Of course, there was also the Fame Monster himself, a kind of Anglerfish-meets-Cloverfield monster creation come to life that ends up making a cameo behind Gaga and her lady friends prior to her dramatic performance of “Paparazzi.” I won’t say exactly what happens, but it appeals to the live action, Disney World-loving part of me in a way that no pop star ever has before.

Like the last time around, Gaga continued to bark out commands ad nauseum: “Dance, you motherfuckers!” we demanded. “Clap for me!” “Show me your fucking teeth!” “Paws up!” “Get your dicks out, New York!” But make no mistake–it was all out of love.

As has come to define the Gaga, the show was colored with positive self-affirmations and long monologues of praise directed toward her fans. “I was right where you are,” she said suddenly, pointing to some unsuspecting little monster at one point during the night, “looking right up here at some bitch on the stage. This is proof that you can be anything in the world that you want to be!” she bellowed. The crowd roared in approval.

As the show went on, Gaga would occasionally double-take while looking out into the crowd, briefly distracted. “Get that camera on her!” she yelled to a cameraman at one point, earnestly pointing at a little monster in the front row, decked out in her Gagaloo greatest.

Later, while wielding a disco stick, La Gaga took a minute to shine her light across the stadium to see the faces of all her fans, quietly murmuring to herself in approval and occasionally chuckling aloud. “Oh my God, you’re all so beautiful.” If the singer’s obsession with her own fans is a lie, it’s a convincing one.

Having already gone once, It was wonderful to witness what has been essentially the evolution of the Monster Ball From wheeling out a single, sad looking tree for the performance of “Monster” a year ago, to the now full-blown twisted forest set that the song came to be performed in during the second leg, it’s beyond clear that Gaga’s artistic vision (or at least, her budget for set design) has expanded tenfold in less than a year’s time.

Above all, the most glaring difference between the Monster Ball‘s new emphasis on fun. Far from the overly pretentious amateur-avant garde approach of the first leg (yes I know it’s Lady Gaga we’re talking about, but still), the second leg of the Monster Ball Tour was surrounded by an air of camp celebration and genuine mega-wattage entertainment that had the entire arena dancing and thrashing with their paws the entire night.

Last year, I concluded that the Monster Ball Tour was “the next step in the natural evolution of Gaga’s artistry; yet another rung in her blood-laden ladder to icon status.” If only I knew how quickly she’d climb in less than a year’s time.

Well done, Gaga–you’ve staged a show worthy of rivaling that of your fellow pop legends.

All photos and videos courtesy of MuuserMonster, Parker. (Thanks for accompanying me to the Monster Ball, bb! I had a killer time.) Click here to see more videos.

On Thursday (two days ago), I heard a few rumblings and rumors across the blogosphere about a possible surprise appearance by Kylie Minogue at Splash Nightclub in New York City. It made sense, given that she was already in town for the amFAR Gala this week. So, after a few choice e-mails, her appearance was quietly confirmed and I found myself headed into the city in a last minute dash out the door late on Friday night.

Photo courtesy of HardCandyMusic.

After quickly meeting up with my blog buddy, Camille (of HardCandyMusic), we headed to the club at around 11:30.

And now, a brief side note: Splash was insane. I’d never been before, and I don’t know if it was just because of the night we chose to come (I hear it’s more reserved at other times), but it was like witnessing Queer as Folk‘s Babylon on E. No, really. I saw a butt within the first fifteen seconds of walking into the doors.

There was weird, amateur hardcore porn playing on the walls featuring actors wearing clown face make-up while lovely sentiments such as “FUCK FAGGOTS” flashed on top of the action. Everyone was making out, or groping, or something more. I got groped a dozen or more times. I’m no prude, but this was a full-on meat locker; a stewing cesspool of lust and creepers.

But it was no matter. Camille and I, along with a few of her friends, squeezed by to the stage area to begin standing our ground almost an hour before Kylie was expected to make her appearance. While we waited, we bopped around to the semi-decent music (there was La Roux and Whitney Houston) and excitedly chitchatted/yelled in each other’s ears about what we thought she’d do when she made her grand entrance.

As we waited, the crowd grew and continued to gather behind us. The heat that floated around the stage area was thick, sticky and heavy; a nearly tangible cloud of sweat and heavy breathing. I truly don’t ever remember sweating so much in my life. Literally, I was covered from head to toe. From me, from neighbors…at some point, I stopped being able to discern whether it was sweat or a flood of drinks were being poured on me from above. I like to think it’s the latter.

At around 1 A.M., security began escorting everyone off from the stage and sweeping out the bottles and glasses from the floor. The muscled-up go-go boys, previously whirling around poles with dollars stuffed in their trunks, were now lining the stage wearing their best pairs of tight briefs. I turned to Camille and mouthed “Oh my God, she’s really here.” I literally couldn’t believe it. She was here.

And then, as the house music swelled, the shrieks of a dozen or more gays stole our attention to the right side of the stage. There was Kylie fucking Minogue, walking up the stairs being guided right up to the stage, wearing a glittery silver dress and standing no more than a foot or two away from me. The crowd completely lost it (or at least I did–absolute shit show.)

After greeting the crowd with a lot of giggling and smiles, Kylie began introducing her new single, “All the Lovers,” which soon started to play above. The results were incredible: Despite the fact that we’ve only had the song for a little under a month, the entire crowd fired back with a loud, deafening sing-a-long. The power of Kylie.

For the record, Kylie Minogue is without flaw in person, and I’m proud to say that I can confirm this fact from one foot away. Her face is angelic, her smile infectious, and her body language? Utterly electric.

As she sashayed up and down the stage, she giggled gleefully and fanned herself often, dropping lots of nods and flirty winks into the adoring glitterati below. This was the definition of Kylie’s turf, and anyone could she she was gobbling up the moment.

Returning from the DJ booth after “All The Lovers,” we all expected that she would wish us a good night and head off. That is, until she turned right back around and announced a massive surprise–a mega-mix of her new album, Aphrodite.

Our mouths (or at least mine) dropped. This was the first time anyone outside of the press would be hearing songs from the new record. And just as quickly as before, the music swelled in and Kylie kicked off with an incredible first stomper from the record, “Get Outta My Way.” It was an insanely catchy, Light Years-esque number, and the chorus reminded me of the way she sings “get out of my way” in “Spinning Around.” Incredible.

During the song, Kylie reached across the banister and began holding hands with most of the front row for a few short seconds. And yes, dear Muusers…I held hands with Kylie Minogue. Well, her fingers. BUT WE WERE CONNECTED IN SPIRIT (See the one minute mark above.) During those fleeting few seconds, visions of glitter drenched ponies and dancing lollipops clouded my vision. So that’s what it’s like inside Kylie Minogue’s world, I realized.

Later on, Kylie requested a water bottle with a quick fanning hand motion to her publicist. After dousing her neck a bit (and doing an extra sexy shimmy), the disco diva took a few quick swells and proceeded to soak the first few rows with the rest of the water. I was absolutely drenched in Kylie water. It was truly the holiest of baptisms.

Photo courtesy of HardCandyMusic.

More songs from the record followed, including “Cupid Boy,” “Aphrodite,” “Put Your Hands Up,” “Can’t Beat the Feeling,” and “Too Much” (we think, anyway). I cannot gush enough how incredible these songs sounded. The album sounds like it’s shaping up to be hit after hit, like “Love at First Sight” on repeat. The songs were all lush, anthem-worthy disco melodies nearly destined to become classics in the annals of pop. I believe it’s safe to say: Stuart Price, you’ve done it again.

At the very end of the mix, as the go-go boys behind her began wringing out their soaked (and rather see-through) tighty whities, Kylie gave us a last wink before one final tease: “I’ll be back very, very soon.” A hint at a new tour, perhaps? God, I hope so.

And to think, we weren’t even expecting her to perform. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go shake the glitter out of my hair.

All photos courtesy of Camille of HardCandyMusic, except for the first photo, which is my own.

Many, many thanks to Camille for videotaping the entire performance in the videos above (as well as the pictures!) Had an absolute blast…Thank you so much for everything! It was a pleasure flying KM Air with you. Xo

Passing by Fenway Stadium on May 6, the street was paved with red and white. Pedestrians mobbed the street. Drunk men in Red Sox jerseys swerved into my path with their drunker girlfriends, while small children ran rampant and unrestrained. The air still reeked of stadium hot dogs and spilled beer as I waited in line to enter into the House of Blues. Making my way deeper into the venue however, remnants of the outside world soon began to slip away as we came to greet a dark, moody stage.

The set-up seemed minimal, if not dilapidated at first, complete with cracked, dusty glass boxes, old looking suitcases and knickknacks, and a large, weathered screen. It was only as the performances carried on through the show that the set took on a new life–the lanterns burning bright inside the glass boxes; the harmonium being played inside one of the suitcases, the screen turning into a mangled, metallic structure–molding Jónsi’s on-stage world into a multi-colored show of nature and the elements.

Later that evening, Sigur Rós‘ lead singer and beloved Icelandic figure Jónsi Birgisson would bring his Go Tour 2010 to the House of Blues in Boston, an innovative showcase of the singer’s talents as a musician and his flighty imagination as an artist.

All in all, Jónsi had performed nearly the entirety of his solo album Thursday night, beginning with the sobering beauty of “Stars in Still Water” and “Hengilás,” moving into the bouncy, alive territory of his sparkling up-tempos including “Go Do” and “Sinking Friendships,” and ending with the colossal, earth-shattering sounds of “Grow Till Tall.”

Given his status as the lead singer of Sigur Rós, I had assumed the Icelandic crooner would stick to what he’s come to be revered for–his voice. And truly, he did: With each song, Jónsi delivered his signature vibrato and alien cries and extended howls, at one point holding a note for what must have been over thirty seconds. His voice is just as it sounds on record–wrought with emotion and tenderness–meaning that I’d find myself getting choked up more than once as the night progressed.

Yet Jónsi did more than just sing. In fact, it seemed as though the artist took turns at each instrument at some point during the night as he moved across the stage, plucking away at the piano, the guitar, and even playing the xylophones along with the rest of the band.

As a troupe, the group worked together effortlessly. While Jónsi would be trashing about onstage singing or playing the piano, one player would be sliding together stone bowls into the microphone, while another would sit on the floor and thoughtfully pluck at the harmonium. All together, it was nothing less than organic.

While the whole of the concert seemed to envelop the entire audience, it was undoubtedly the finale that truly had the crowd speechless. As the noise of “Grow Till Tall” grew increasing distorted, it pushed the speaker’s deep bass capacity to the max, making it seem as though the entire room was shaking (or was it?) The strobes flashed like lightning, the instruments jarringly crashed atop one another, and the screen behind the band was shattered to pieces in a massive, threatening rain and wind storm that grew increasingly violent and blinding. All was destroyed in the end, leaving nothing behind on the screens and no one on stage. That is, until the band re-emerged for their final bow to wild applause and cheers from the elated crowd.

Jónsi’s show captures and bottles the essence and magic of the live performance, unleashing a torrent of color and sound onto the audience who, like myself, looked on with nothing short of wonder and awe.

See this tour while/if you still can–it’s entirely worth it.

And now, a montage of clips from the show, which do a little bit more justice than the photos.

This is my head penis!

As a massive cloth banner sporting the singer’s name was hoisted into the air, strange alien noises began overlapping and spewing into the speakers. “We are born, we are born,” they began to disjointedly chant, hastening and finally meeting in a frenzied rally cry.

At once, Sia pranced out with her band from behind stage wearing a red-and-white striped gown and a glowing light piece attached to her forehead, looking not unlike a glorious technicolor unicorn. “This is my head penis!” she announced while pointing at the contraption. The crowd cheered in approval, thus propelling her into the first of many Woody Woodpecker-like giggle fits.

Last Saturday, Sia arrived in Boston for the American leg of her We Meaning You Tour, a tour to promote her upcoming release, We Are Born, due out on June 7.

As the singer formally known best for her more solemn, downtempo work with Zero 7 or her classic ballad “Breathe Me,” Sia has certainly had an image reversal as of late: Saturday’s show was, if nothing else, a bubbly affair (literally!), complete with crocheted set design and colorful patterns.

On stage, the microphones and instruments were wrapped in fabrics and yarn. Even the amps were covered in fuzzy knits, making the show look a bit like it were an impromptu performance inside of a Mexican souvenir shop. As if to purposely counteract the rather dreary ambiance of her last few efforts, tonight was a spunky celebration of color and dance-ready pop tunes.

Sia herself is an effortless, understated powerhouse of a performer. Standing barefoot at center stage, the singer playfully twitched around–doing robot-inspired dances and playing with the fringes of dress–while effortlessly belting out some of the toughest, scale-heavy numbers from her discography including “Little Black Sandals,” “The Girl You Lost to Cocaine” and her brilliant cover of Madonna‘s “Oh Father.” Literally, these were studio-ready vocals (if not better than the original recordings!) being produced as though it were no big thing.

Aside from “Breathe Me,” the most celebrated songs of the night also happened to be the newest ones, especially the new single, “Clap Your Hands.” It seems no concertgoer, no matter how dedicated or ambivalent, can resist such a dirty bass groove as the one in her latest single. The entire audience seemed to sway and clap in unison to the song’s impossibly massive disco beat. “Bring Night” and “You’ve Changed” were equally beloved by the crowd, only further emphasizing the very real fact that a happy Sia is just as wonderful as a downtempo Sia.

Later on, after the “fake encore” (as she referred to her intial exit from the stage), the Aussie songstress returned to the stage with a set of colorful plastic wheel wings attached to her back. Yes friends, it was time for bubbles! From behind the singer, a machine began spinning the wings on Sia’s back, resulting in flurries of bubbles that carried across the venue. “This is the first time it’s worked the way I want it to!” she announced giddily, doing a quick victory dance before rounding out the concert with a moving rendition of “Soon You’ll Be Found,” complete with accompanying sign language.

As has come to be the custom at the Sia show, the singer was showered in a bunch of gifts from her fans, about half-way in (though she accepted gifts throughout the show), including a Barbie, a new purse, handerpants (no really, educate yourselves about that one), CD’s and more.

“Who wants to do some more heckling?” she would ask a few times throughout the show. As the crowd would begin to cheer, choice members of the audience threw out their best, silliest ‘insults’–or whatever was on their mind, really. “Your girlfriend is hot!” shouted one. “Thanks, I’ll tell her you said that!” she responded gleefully. “Your drummer is hot!” shouted another. Not exactly the jeers she was expecting perhaps, but silly nonetheless.

While there were no costume changes or major video installations, the singer kept the crowd engaged with her adorably off-kilter anecdotes and interactions with the audience. It’s hard to believe that the bouncy, effervescent character dancing around onstage is the same one soulfully belting out her songs like some of the best songstresses of the last century. But then again, you’d have to see it happen live to truly understand.

And now some random bits from the tour, courtesy of my camera. Prepare for shoddy video and audio! Apologies.

DL: Sia – Clap Your Hands (Diplo Remix)

Photo courtesy of AzyxA.

HIKKIIIIIIIIIIIII!

On Utada Hikaru‘s last tour, the Utada United 2006 tour in Japan, the average audience size per venue varied from 20,000 to 50,000 attendees nightly. Tonight, the singer responsible for the highest selling album in Japanese history was about to play to a tiny club of about 300 people in Boston, a few of whom only vaguely familiar with the music she was to perform.

When I got to the venue around 5 p.m., there were already about fifty people waiting outside the door. As I later learned, the first people in line had been waiting there since 9:30 that morning. In a split decision for the sake of sustenance, I ducked into (or rather walked into, really…I never have to duck) the Qdoba next door for a chicken burrito, which I feverishly devoured while waiting at the very end of the line. It was perhaps not my most glamorous moment (and also, I suspect, the reason I vaguely smelled of cilantro throughout the night).

Read the full review…

MuuMuse Excluusive photo. Please credit for use.

I can’t say I’ve ever seen Madonna do that one.

A projection of Gaga appears on the giant LED screen in front of us, floating slowly across the stage as the Vandalism remix of Ce Ce Peniston‘s “Finally” surges into the speakers. On the right side, a small ticker begins counting down, starting at sixty seconds and counting down.

The timer ticks down to zero. The crowd bursts into a frenzy as purple and green smoke begin wafting from the stage floor. At once, the stage goes dark, only to be re-illuminated by the dull glow of green, cross-hair lasers.

And then, she appears. Performing behind the green laser grid projection, Lady Gaga‘s LED-lit body, frozen in monster vogue, forms a sillouette against the industrial, diamond-shaped stage behind her. “Silicone, saline…” she begins with cold-blooded vitriol, as the Monster Ball takes way and the claws come out from everywhere within the audience.

Video courtesy of YouTube user, TabbyButah.

Filled to the brim with tweens and dads, sloshed twenty-somethings and gaggles of gays, the Gaga concert was pretty much as I expected audience-wise. As I tweeted during the show,  it was  “Roughly the same clientele as the Britney concert, though with better shoes.”

The first opener (and Gaga’s longtime tour-mates), Semi Precious Weapons, were a happy surprise: A cross between Hedwig and the Angry Inch, the better parts of Glambert and a hint of Jeffree Star, the glam-rock outfit thrashed through a set of their finest electro-rock, yelling obscenities at the crowd about showing their tits, performing cunnilingus and encouraging us all to get laid tonight.

It worked, as the crowd cheered and fist-pumped in approval. By the time their set is over, the energy in the theater is electric–so much so that the main act should have come next.

MuuMuse Excluusive photo. Please credit for use.

Instead, it was time for Kid Cudi. Everyone (well, not me…elitist?) was on their feet, swaying to his bass-heavy beats with their cups of brew raised high. As I told my friends during the show, the music was good and all, but I just didn’t care (aside from his brief performance of his David Guetta collaboration, “Memories,” at which point I briefly stood and danced.)

Photo courtesy of Phellipe at GagaDaily.

With the exception of “Telephone” (saving the song for a Beyonce cameo somewhere down the line, perhaps?), Gaga performed the entirety of The Fame Monster, as well as most of The Fame and even, to my greatest of  delights, “Fashion,” a shelved Fame track once covered by the impossibly untalented trash bag, Heidi Montag, spanning nineteen tracks in total.

Video courtesy of YouTube user, TabbyButah.

The concept of the Monster Ball Tour, like the album itself, is a meshing of technology (digital countdowns, scanning lasers) with the macabre (gothic Gaga, guns, and growls). Highlights were beyond frequent, altering between genuine show-shopping entertainment and somewhat unintended hilarity.

The latter applies to instances such as in “Alejandro,” where the singer danced a semi-awkward, interpretive dance with two of her male back-up dancers. As the song began, one of the two dancers knelt down behind Gaga, thrust his fist through her legs and, in one sweeping motion, lifted the singer…FROM HER VAGINA. I can’t say I’ve ever seen Madonna do that one.

“Paparazzi” was another winning moment, as Gaga slowly marched out from the right side of the stage wearing 40-foot pigtails being carefully held by her flock of dancers. As she sat perched atop the broken-metal light fixture, three dancers came out and snipped at her locks until they fell. Rapunzel no more, as it were.

MuuMuse Excluusive photo. Please credit for use.

Honestly though, there were just too many moments that require full attention attention here: Writhing around the dentist’s chair for “Paper Gangsta;” the shirtless male celebration of “Boys Boys Boys;” her playing the keytar atop a glass cube for “Just Dance.” It was all so juicy!

As for the artist herself, Gaga’s onstage persona is a mixed bag of vulnerability and sado-masochistic delight: She’s weird; she’s broken; she’s entirely dependent on approval and validation. “Do you love me?” she would ask time and time again behind a coquettish smirk. “Do you think I’m sexy? WOULD YOU FUCK ME?” she’d shriek even more urgently, only to be met with wild hooting and cat calls from around the theater.

Photo courtesy of Phellipe at GagaDaily.

The Gaga that saunters to the audience and, using her best baby voice, coos “I love you, my little monsters. When you’re feeling lonely, I’m lonely too…” is not the same Gaga that performs “Teeth” only seconds later, who, upon clawing her way into the front row and pointing her finger menacingly into one monster’s face, shouts: “SHOW ME YOUR FUCKING TEETH!” It’s a terrifying dichotomy, to say the least.

MuuMuse Excluusive photo. Please credit for use.

Yet Lady Gaga proved an adept entertainer throughout the show. When she wasn’t harassing the fans, she was busy barking out choreography for us to emulate: Hands! Teeth! Claws! Guns! Every song had its own designated hand sign that the audience was required to provide. It worked well, making the show feel even more intimate and interactive than it already was.

For an artist so heavily driven by the visual, it was somewhat surprising to see how focused and minimal the visuals actually were: There are no elaborate set designs, less dramatic wardrobe changes than one might have expected, and only a handful of high-contrast interludes. Instead, the show’s energy is carried solely on the (very high) shoulders of the performer.

MuuMuse Excluusive photo. Please credit for use.

Yet even with the lack of narrative in video, the few interludes we did get were sublime: My favorite of course being the brief visual study of the dual Gaga personality: As a blonde-bobbed Gaga poses in a white couture dress, the dark-haired version appears standing next to her suddenly, vomiting what appeared to be neon blue milk all over the dress, repeated and reversed relentlessly time and time again. Mmm…

Later toward the end, Gaga indulged in her inner freak once more, donning absurd, comical reinterpretations of spiked fetish garb, feather and bone pieces, and gas masks featuring a Mickey Mouse print while reciting a passage about perception and art. Is it too soon in her career to declare it ‘Classic Gaga’?

MuuMuse Excluusive video. Please credit if used.

Throughout, Gaga entertained us with a few personal anecdotes regarding her relationship with fame and excess, as with the opening of “Beautiful, Dirty, Rich”: Pacing the stage, the singer reminisced about the days she spent living in New York with her friends, having no money and gallivanting around town with the lead singer of Semi Precious Weapons.

(Funny, as I remember reading about how she used to spend her days doing ‘bags and bags’ of cocaine that were hand-delivered to her Lower East Side apartment but sure Gaga, whatever you say…you were ‘poor.’)

MuuMuse Excluusive Photo. Please credit for use.

Settling down for the ballad portion of the show (can I call her only two slow songs the ‘ballad portion’?), Gaga announced that her mother was in the audience tonight. As she broke into song–which was pitch-perfect faithful to the studio recording–she urged us all to sing along during the chorus so that her mother, scratch that, her father could hear us.

Sitting back and hearing the audience scream the chorus, she was immediately overcome. “You know all the words…” she began incredulously, wiping her eyes for a moment as the crowd exploded with support. Gotta love those Gaga tears!

Photo courtesy of Phellipe at GagaDaily.

With “Speechless” over, Gaga began plucking away at the piano, stretching, standing and fussing all over the piano chair like an impatient 12-year-old at her opening recital. At one point, she even began raising one leg high into the air behind her while riffing alo ng with her acoustic version of “Poker Face,” a look that just about resembled this. At that point, Gaga got a bit of Regina Spektor fever in her, pulling at her high heel behind her while singing sweetly: “I hope you enjoy my show…If you don’t like it, you can fucking leave!”

Photo courtesy of Phellipe at GagaDaily.

It wasn’t until the show’s final moment that the crowd truly seemed at its most manic state (and rightfully so!) as Gaga performed her greatest song to date, “Bad Romance.” Clad in a black top and white high-waist pants, Gaga nailed all the moves from the video, causing the entire audience to raucously jump and yelp along, from the song’s first charging chorus until her final bow.

As Gaga returned to the darkness, an outro video blurred the video screens: It’s Gaga, suited in her best “Bad Romance” skull couture, getting an actual tattoo–the word “Dad,” on her upper back. Watching her in slow-motion in those final moments of the process, meshing her personal life with her business, the concert at which we were all watching her being tattooed, solidifies the fact that Gaga truly does live and breathe her art. Lady Gaga really is Gaga, 110% of the time.

Photo courtesy of Phellipe at GagaDaily.

While it’s becomes more difficult to reconcile the sky-high prices of some artists and their arena-wide tours, Lady Gaga has defied the pop landscape once again by staging a show worth the $300 her contemporaries are charging for only a $60 entry fee.

Aside from a few slip-ups during the show (minor trips and falls along the way, some lights and sound cues coming too early), Gaga’s already cleared enough hurdles in her career as a performer to come startlingly close to garnering comparison to the superstar idols who’ve done this for far longer than she has.

MuuMuse Excluusive Photo. Please credit for use.

As an artist, Gaga remains in her own league, strictly of her own kind by being perhaps the most art-minded, intellectual personalities to ever break onto the mainstream pop scene. The Monster Ball Tour is the next step in the natural evolution of Gaga’s artistry; yet another rung in her blood-laden ladder to icon status.

And now, I collapse…This little monster is toasted.

“Do you see the sign for the New Yorker Hotel and the long line of gay men?”

Queens, fairies, and muscle Mary’s of every shape and size (okay, perhaps even a few ladies–hey, Camille!) lined the streets of 34th and 8th Avenue on Sunday night to await the one and only Kylie Minogue.

Tonight marked the first of three New York shows for the For You, For Me Tour, a two week North American tour created as a way for Minogue to thank her longtime American and Canadian fans. For a career spanning over twenty-two years, complete with ten studio albums and fifty-three singles under her belt, that’s a long time to keep a fan waiting.

So…was it worth the wait?

Once inside, we were crammed together almost immediately against the stage, packed together like sardines (hey hey, writer’s cliche!). Gay, glittery sardines. We stood about six rows from the front, which in retrospect was prime real estate for the show, considering that the very front row was inhabited by the person who queued up at 2 a.m. the night before.

At only about fifteen minutes past than the show’s projected start time, the lights dimmed and the ballroom went pitch black until the dull glow of three or four blue bulbs hung overhead. Soaked in a sea of blue light, the crowd immediately began to chant, “10! 9! 8!…” as the familiar countdown of “Light Years” began booming overhead.

Then, the great reveal: Floating down on a giant, metallic skull borrowed from the KylieX2008 Tour, the superstar was decked out in a glitter-and-glitz (and admittedly, Gaga-esque) metallic leotard and a giant white fur wrap, complete with a solar system cap encircled by small, glittery planets orbiting around the head of Miss Kylie Minogue.

“Listen, can you hear the distance calling?” she crooned to the crowd, now thrown into a full-on frenzy of flashing cameras and hands held high in praise. From below, she appeared to be miles away. Even at that height, she looked as stunning as ever; the wild shrieks of the ballroom only confirming this further.

It was a far cry from the veracious introduction of Grace Jones seen in this same space only months prior. Different, elegant…just what one would expect from the Showgirl school of etiquette.

More than Grace, or Madonna, or any other larger-than-life or flavor-of-the-month pop diva on the scene, Kylie Minogue possesses the greatest feminine sensibility of all. “Red Blooded Woman,” performed on top of a pommel horse a la the Showgirl Tour, displayed her coquettish charm in full. With each bend (and snap), Minogue oozed sexuality; winking to the crowd, and pouting and pursing her lips. With every coo, twirl, and flirty hair-flip, she embodied what it is to truly be “lady-like.” For a very brief moment, even I was turned on.

The For You, For Me Tour is as much a career retrospective as it is a concert “greatest hits,” showcasing the best elements of the Fever Tour, the Showgirl Tour, and a large portion of the KylieX2008 Tour. The result is a thoroughly comprehensive Minogue experience, complete with all the classics, fan favorites, and even a few surprise obscurities hidden in between for the hardcore enthusiasts.

Though the set-list would have to be about four hours long to fully satisfy the crowd’s want, plenty of the favorites made the cut, including “Spinning Around,” “Slow,” “Shocked,” “Better the Devil You Know,” the ballad version of “I Believe in You,” and even “White Diamond,” a ballad I never thought I’d experience in person.

Early along the way, Minogue debuted a song from her upcoming album, the Nerina Pallot-penned “Better Than Today.” It was simple and sweet, a glee-filled go-around choreographed between microphone stands and performed with along with two back-up singers (which you can see from her video blog.) It’s chipper and all, but admittedly, I can’t say that it truly stuck with me long after the show’s end.

Kylie Minogue knows her audience only too well, playing up her camp appeal to no end. One needed to look no further for proof than the shower sequence played about halfway through the show, featuring a video medley of her male dancers stripping down and lathering up on screen, all four eventually coming out from behind the stage, stripping down together behind a single towel, and throwing their briefs into an adoring crowd.

Mercifully, the costumier has toned it down a few notches for this tour. Gone are the abysmal Jean-Paul Gaultier geisha outfits and puff-ball cheer costumes from the X tour–in their place, form-fitting futuristic garb, complete with sexy, complimented cuts and elegant sophistication.

As far as audience approval, the fan favorites were heard loud and clear: “In My Arms” and “Love at First Sight,” both of which briefly transforming the Hammerstein Ballroom into a full-on neon rave, complete with bursts of confetti, smoke jets cascading from the stage, and a roaring crowd jumping together in unison. In that euphoric moment, as members of the audience raised their hands in the shapes of hearts, there was no finer feelings…it was pure, true love

If there were any drawbacks to the performance, they were all external to the spectacle onstage. Being 5′ 4″, i can’t say that my view of the stage was all that good amidst all the fist-pumping and sign waving. Still, I saw more often than not, and can confirm that Kylie Minogue is as stunning in person as any of her recent couture-happy photoshoots.

More than my semi-blocked vision, my experience was skewed thanks to the mouthy neighbor to my right, who’s boyfriend of four years (Jeffrey) failed to show up tonight. I mean, they had been having problems this whole week, and it probably didn’t help that he told Jeffrey to “fuck off,” but to Jeffrey’s credit, I wouldn’t exactly want to attend a concert with this guy either.

I can’t stress how bad he sucked: from shouting parody lyrics over Kylie’s own voice throughout the show, to loudly proclaiming his fandom (he owns the super-super rare Canadian promo of “Love at First Sight”), to nonsensical, eye-watering screeching, to recalling to no one in particular that had Kylie sung “Breathe” and Jeffrey shown up tonight, he would have been having sex right there in the audience.

“God, does he ever shut up?” the flamboyant man to my left whispered to me. I nodded back, “I don’t think so.” If you’re reading this gay man, I sincerely hope Jeffrey leaves you…and takes your super-rare promos along with him.

Personal highlights included the opportunity to experience “Speakerphone,” “The One,” “Confide in Me,” and the pommel horse routine for “Red Blooded Woman” in person for the very first time. And of course, the mere sight of the icon that is Miss Kylie Minogue.

A class act through and through, Kylie Minogue is one of the most gracious, genuine personalities I’ve ever encountered in a performer. With this tour, the artist at last proves to America just why she truly is the reigning showgirl of the music industry.

My only regret was in not purchasing tickets for the two preceding nights in the city–and for opting not to punch my neighbor in the face.

Photo and video credits to my faithful concert buddy, Artful Michael.