Category — Concert Review

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.

Click “Read More…” to see the complete set of photos and videos from my first PSB experience in Boston last weekend! My deepest apologies for not getting around to writing up a proper review for this one.

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Yes, friends…I’ve experienced The Circus: Starring Britney Spears for my third and final (never say final?) time.

Click below for photos and video!

Come one, come all…

“I can die happy now,” shrieked the giddy, overweight man flailing over to my left as she slowly began sashaying away from the stage. I am dead center in a room of roughly 500 occupants at the Hammerstein Ballroom, standing directly against the banister in front of Grace Fucking Jones.

As Michael and I approached the venue, we realized the audience was like nothing we’d ever experienced before. In fact, the only thing I could say as I marveled at the crowd was “This is the gayest crowd I’ve ever seen.” I’d literally seen no more than five to ten women scattered between the vast sea pf graying leather daddies, retired club kids, and small, concentrated spurts of lost-looking twinks. After some quick visual calculation, we deduced that Michael and I were literally at least twenty to thirty years younger than anyone at the venue.

At the same time, this was one of the most authentic, old schools-New York experiences I’d ever encountered. After all, half of these men were probably seated in the audience during Grace’s stints on nightly disco specials in the 1970’s. As I thought about the history of it all, an aging Grace impersonator walked up casually and stood in line next to me—decked out in a full, semi-circle headdress (with matching clutch), dark sunglasses, the signature Nightclubbing jacket as worn on the album cover, and large dangling earrings. “WORK!” he’d yell from time to time at passersby as we waited to be let in. Hot.

When we got in (well, ran in), we took our place at the banister and stood facing a black curtain for two entire hours. Opening extra, extra late (this is Grace Jones we’re talking about), the curtain slowly, mercifully rose around 9PM to reveal a towering statue of silver fabric in the center of a live band. “This Is Life” kicked in, and Jones’ unmistakable voice kicked in from beneath the fabric. For five entire minutes, Jones stood there, teasing us occasionally with an outstretched hand and a quick jerk of the fabric. It wasn’t until the last few seconds, as the crowd’s pleading cheers and whistles grew to a fever pitch that the reveal came: With one hurling cast-off of the silver drape, the statuesque beauty leapt down from her podium in a full black-and-white striped bodysuit and a massive headdress fitted with long, platinum hair. I, along with many other full grown men (and a woman or two) shrieked with unparalleled delight.

Words can’t describe encountering Grace Jones in person—she’s as stunning as she is on her covers, perhaps even more so. For a full two minutes, she stood at the front of the stage, posing in silence as the crowd manically hooted and hollered. Had I known that this would be her tamest outfit on the tour, I probably wouldn’t have taken so many photographs.

After a brief introduction and some initial diva griping, (“Where is my black sheet? I will not sit on this box unless my black sheet is here”), she sat down with her legs spread as “I’m Crying (Mother’s Tears)” began. Suddenly, something stole her attention from stage right. “Fix that curtain!” she growled to the stage-hands as the music began to swell. The curtain remained untouched. She grimaced at the sight of it and held a hand in front of her face, as though that mere sliver of light threatened to melt her where she sat—a diva through and through.

After a quick change backstage, out came Jones again, wearing what appeared to be two giant, glittery couture chicken legs and matching hat. As a laser beam shone down and broke light into a thousand different directions, the pulsating, familiar sound of “Love Is the Drug” stormed into the ballroom, I realized that this was what a Grace Jones song sounded like in person. Hearing the music I’d only heard performed on vinyl and CDs translated into a live, full band interpretation was worth the price of admission alone. And that voice?! It wasn’t even like she was trying—throwing her head back and leaping through scales as though it were child’s play. There wasn’t a single bum note in the mix (but there were a whole lot of masterfully improvised riffs and deviations). She was, without a doubt, the best vocalist I’d ever experienced live.

“Bring me my drink!” she barked into the darkness after “Drug” started to fade. Out scurried a fearful assistant, holding—what else? A glass of red wine. The legend surveyed the drink and, after an initial gulp, swallowed it all down. “Who wants a glass?” she implored. She’s not going to throw a glass into a crowd, I began thinking to myself. But before I could finish the thought, there it was, an empty wine glass shooting across the ballroom. From what I could gather watching the crowd’s tumult, someone did catch it—after it bounced off a man’s eye. I watched him half-laugh, half-groan from the pain as he held his eyeball in place. Lucky man, I thought—that’s a story for the ages.

Grace would perform the majority of her latest album, Hurricane, throughout the night, leading up to the title track of the album performed wearing a curved backpack atop a dark trench coat. Massive industrial sized fans began to whirl against the singer as the song began. Approaching the full-powered fans slowly, she stuck a hand behind her. With the quick pull of a cord, the backpack exploded into a long, flowing sea of black fabric covering the entire stage. Skillfully, she headed toward the fans while outstretching the parachute behind her—effectively skydiving horizontally right in front of our eyes.

Later on would come my personal favorite from the latest album, “Corporate Cannibal.” Out she came, fitted with a giant black-and-gold oversized dress that stretched across a quarter of the stage studded with dollar signs. On her face, a golden skull mask.

Several times throughout the show, Jones would stare down straight at us—the two children of the concert. Did I offend her with my youthful presence? Did she like us? Was my shirt visible? Did she mind that I suck at recalling lyrics in public spaces? I couldn’t read the gaze at all—but I knew that it rendered a mixture of fear and frantic delight each time our eyes met.

Luckily, we were able to experience some of her career classics along the way as well. “Demolition Man” profited from a cheeky, albeit entertaining twist as “Grace TV” flashed onscreen like a faux-Fox News report, proclaiming “Demolition Man Speaks!” alongside popular news reels, while “My Jamaican Guy” was appropriately crooned in a green, yellow, and black headdress and bead skirt. “Libertango (I’ve Seen That Face Before)” offered up another wardrobe surprise when Grace walked out with a half-body replica of…herself. On a stick. As the song began, she looked lovingly into her own eyes, stuck out a heel, and began to waltz with herself. It was silly, mesmerizing, and undoubtedly weird.

As I’d presumed after seeing countless interviews with Grace Jones, she’s an incredibly witty person. Far from the bloated ego other artists may seriously maintain, Jones proved unafraid to walk out in a dress fitted for five, work a fierce pose for a full minute, and give a knowing wink and smile at the ridiculous grandeur of it all. Even the ‘tude, demanding drinks and chastising the crew, were done for the love of over-exaggerated theatrics and not out of a genuine diva complex. She is an artist to be admired and laughed along with at the very same time.

Throughout the night, she delighted the crowd with countless sexual quips (“Don’t you hate it when you can’t find the hole?” she remarked backstage while changing into the next costume. ) I looked at Paolo—her son and occasional band member, looking down at his instrument now patiently awaiting his mother to return. Silently, I ponder the price and amount of therapy sessions necessary to exorcise the scarring thoughts his mother implants into his brain nightly.

It’s no surprise that the most fun performances came at the very end—her classics, “Pull Up To My Bumper” and “Slave To The Rhythm,” performed in what could be considered that night her most conservative garb yet. Shimmying against the groove of “Bumper,” she began a mini sing-along with the crowd, going back and forth on the chorus as the entire ballroom clapped and swayed along with the legend.

Perhaps one of the only things that irked me about the show was the lack of a sold out crowd. “You can’t take a break for 20 years,” one of the uber-fans standing next to me lamented after an hour of waiting while looking back at the only semi-filled balcony seats. Perhaps this was true. Or, perhaps, it was simply the case that has always been with Grace Jones, who remains an enigma to so many: Perhaps people still just don’t ‘get’ her. “One of my greatest fears, one of my nightmares,” she purred backstage as she slipped into something a little more latex-friendly for Hurricane track “Devil In My Life,” “is to be misunderstood.”

The show ran approximately two full hours, complete with seventeen songs, confetti, and a whole lot of innuendo. Best of all, I managed to grab a set list. My very first set list—and for Grace Jones, no less! All it took was a bit of flailing from the banister and desperate pointing at my shirt for the tour manager to point me out and say “Give it to that one with the glasses.” See, making your own concert tee pays off.

After all the concerts I’ve been to (and all the concerts I’ll see), I don’t know that I’ll ever encounter someone as positively entrancing and gifted as Grace Jones. The way she commands a stage (with little gimmick than a silly costume) is the stuff of legend, the definition of epic—truly an icon that will go down as perhaps the most sorely overlooked artist of our day.

I honestly feel blessed to have experienced that concert.

Thanks to Michael for uploading his banging pictures and video from the show. Click here to see the rest of the videos!

Last night, I went to Webster Hall to go and receive the Teaches from the inimitable Peaches. And, much to my surprise, I was neither punched in the face nor violated by a fat hooker. I did, however, have a complete blast. And I got to meet Anthony (TastesLikeCaramel) and Hannah (SheenaBeaston)! Total douches, truly…I can’t even begin to explain how awful they were.

KIDDING! They’re fantastic. Can’t wait to go see some more shows with those crazy kids. Plus, they’re much cooler than I–they even got to meet her afterwards!

The show began a bit haphazardly: First, Drums of Death (originally scheduled to begin at were stuck at the airport, thus missing their opening performance entirely. Then came the pre-Peaches event: The Naked Cowgirl, a woman of advanced years who sang cheap, sexual ditties while stripping down bare and jumping about. Generally, I was over it (read: nauseated) after the third song–until she lit her nipples on fire. That was kind of fun.

But then, out came Peaches…and suddenly everything turned awesome. The Queen of Nasty rocked out to over twenty four tracks (!), armed with a wealth of tricks up her hairy sleeves for the night’s events: Among them, climbing up into the balcony to scream out a slightly rockier rendition of my personal favorite, “Operate,” a green laser beam shot into the disco ball hanging above for “More,” hairy back-up dancers for “Talk To Me,” six or seven costume changes between songs, and a self-proclaimed blinking “pussy light” for the final few numbers including “Fuck The Pain Away.”

Performance wise, the singer proved completely capable of tackling her hits on pitch and then some…I’m convinced Peaches could be a full-fledged singer after hearing her knock out the riskier singing numbers “I Feel Cream,” “Lose You,” and “Lovertits.”

One major set and two encores later, Peaches had left the stage. Such a performer! Loved, loved it.

Now if only I could feel my legs…

EDIT: Check out more pictures over at BrooklynVegan (including a brief review cameo by yours truly…I’m quite the big deal.)

Quote of the night:
Gay boy to boyfriend: (overheard while leaving the venue) “Can you believe people would pay $180 to see Britney when they can come and see THIS for basically free?!”

Click “Read More…” to see pictures!

Click here to purchase tickets to see Peaches live in your city!

No seven page review this time. Aside from the slight costume revamps, nothing new happened…’twas just plain good. Click “Read More…” to see pictures from Britney’s last show in the U.S.!

As the video screens start to pull upward along with the black curtains, the silhouettes of a half dozen circus performers slowly fill out across the smoke-filled stage. From above, the outline of a hanging cage begins to poke through the darkness. The crowd surges forward into manic squeals, shrieking at the mere sight of the descending platform. The ringleader stands motionless inside, wearing a crimson ringleader jacket and black riding boots; a long whip grasped securely in her right hand. The cage is halfway down at this point, now slowly rotating for all to see. On her face she wears a cheetah mask, with wildly ornate plumes flaring out from all sides.

The cage touches ground. She steps off onto her mark and slowly removes the mask to unveil a buoyant bob of healthy blonde, shoulder-length hair. Smirking slightly, she raises the whip behind her head and begins: “There’s only two types of people in the world…the ones who entertain, and the ones who observe.” With a short crack of the whip, the stage explodes with lights and sound. Aerial acrobats suddenly swoop down from giant rings, as dancing clowns and sideshow characters begin to fill the stage. As she begins making her way toward us, I notice an eerie silence from my right. I turn to find my neighbor entirely frozen, mouth agape and hands pressed firmly against her cheeks in utter disbelief. Yeah, I’d say Britney’s back.

And so, The Circus: Starring Britney Spears began—a show that, until only about three months ago, would have seemed more like a cruel joke if offered up in conversation than an actual, conceivable event. Though I’ve tried (in vain) to evade the overused, cringeworthy “C’ word in describing the night’s events (Get your heads out of the gutter, fools…I’m talking about the “comeback”), removing the infamous narrative from the equation would ultimately be to ignore the symbolism behind The Circus: Standing here is a young woman, once reduced to a mere shell of herself only two years ago, drugged against her will and lost in a barrage of shady business partners and barbaric media scrutiny, now standing confidently in the center of a sold out TD Banknorth, an arena that seats approximately 18,000 people. It’s a reality that lifts the production from the ranks of mere brilliance to a damn near miracle.

Opening up the show an hour prior, the Pussycat Dolls took to the stage to power their way through a forty minute set of their most crowd-pleasing singles. “This one here is for all my ladies,” Nicole Scherzinger howled before kicking into their empowerment anthems, “I Don’t Need A Man.” As the Dolls slid down their metallic poles, shimmied, and high-kicked their way around the stage, I couldn’t help but notice the sweet stench of complete and utter irony.

Between songs, the burlesque beauties made sure to keep the crowd hyped until the very end. While the Dolls generally held their own in keeping the energy level high, it was clear they’d been thanking their lucky sparkle thongs for landing this gig. Launching into the chorus of their recent single “When I Grow Up,” Scherzinger riffed: “When I grow up, I wanna be famous / I wanna be a star…be on tour with Britney Spears!”

Split between four main acts and an encore, The Circus remains true to its name: Incorporating a healthy dose of magicians, aerial artists, gymnasts, ringmasters, clowns, and a fair share of freaks, the show is a dizzying 90-minute powerhouse of nineteen of Britney Spears’ finest pop anthems set within a three-ring stage in the round.

While the show may borrow its incredibly marketable theme from her latest album Circus (Britney-branded popcorn, balloons, and light-up lollipops are all sold from faux-vending carts), its musical contents are ironically Blackout based (including only three tracks from Circus, as opposed to Blackout’s eight.)

Accordingly, the show is as manic as the album is most heavily borrows from, such as the “House of Fun” segment, jumping from the Rhythm Nation-like military stomp of “Boys,” to the girly glee of “If U Seek Amy.” Brandishing a giant, glittery pink Super Mario-sized hammer, the star merrily skipped her way around the stage, bopping her dancers over the head and effectively turning the last thirty seconds of the song into a live action game of whack-a-mole.

Never one to shirk her duty in getting dirty, the “Freakshow” segment of Circus comprises a medley of some of her most seductive numbers, leading with what I’d consider one the show’s greater highlights, the “Sweet Dreams” video interlude—a gritty raunch-fest featuring Spears and her masked dancers tangled in an orgy of limbs and leather aset to the sound of Marilyn Manson’s cover of the Eurythmic’s classic. Very “My Prerogative” meets “Erotica”—very much essential.

Following the interlude is fan favorite “Breathe On Me,” which finds the starlet taking to the sky inside of a massive picture frame, only to return to the stage and deliver one lucky male fan an impromptu striptease, complete with a few hair flips to the groin.

The deliciously silly, sexual romp then leads swiftly into “Touch Of My Hand,” Britney’s self-exploration ode filled to the brim with Madonna-like gestures and poses. The performance also features the tour’s most awe-inspiring visuals, as the star is lifted not once, but twice up into the air during a particularly steamy make-out session with an aerial acrobat—all without the assistance of ropes or wires.

The only drawback to the most provocative sequences of the show was the miserable costume selection, which went from bad (a glittery one-piece with massive boobie tassels), to really bad (a faux-tattoo one-piece with Keith Haring-esque squiggles pasted across Brit’s naughty bits.) Thank you, William Baker, for your continued hatred of the female form.

Speaking of outfits, the golden metal leotard worn in previous shows during the rock rendition of “I’m A Slave 4 U” failed to make an appearance in Boston, presumably after a microphone caught the singer colorfully complaining about the costume’s revealing quality during the show in Tampa—not that it’s anything we haven’t already seen.

Scattered throughout the show were also many moments clearly designed to re-establish Spears’ public image as the shot-caller. Following “Boys,” the singer instructs her male dancers to drop down and “give me ten…real ones.” After counting it out, Spears skips up and down the line of sweaty soldiers at her feet, sing-songing along in an army chant: “I don’t know what you been told…This mama is in control. Sound off!”

Truly, the mama was calling the shots that night. Whether it can be attributed to creative input or simply to threatening to cancel the tour, Britney’s getting her way. As anyone familiar with Spears’ personal tastes might conclude, the setlist comprises nearly all of the singer’s favorites, including “Boys,” “Touch Of My Hand,” and of course, “Do Somethin’,” during which the singer dons a pair of dark sunglasses, drills away at a metal contraption, and flips off the audience several times while images of tattooed pin-up girls flash overhead.

As the media has been quick to pounce upon, the show was indeed lip-synched. Shocking I know, given that Britney Spears has always been known for her vocal prowess and artistic integrity. It’s truly difficult to believe that people still harp upon the lip-synching gig. I mean honestly, (and trust me, this comes from a loving place) but does anyone actually want to hear her live? While I pride myself in being one of the greatest fans of Spears’ ill controlled, drowning cat warble, even I would put my foot down at the notion of a live concert.

Nay, vocals should not be the reason one attends the Britney show. The Circus is exactly that—a circus, an engaging visual experience put on by one of the world’s most established pop artists, complete with an extensive array of choreographed stage theatrics provocative imagery, and catchy beats. Really though, it’s just good fun.

Perhaps more than just simply being fun, The Circus is very much a lasting statement; further proof that Britney Spears has indeed found her stride along the seemingly endless “comeback” route and—by the power vested in Madge—will continue to be around for the long haul.

Picking up my gum-ridden program from the floor and wiping off the paper confetti from the brim of my hat at the close of the encore, I was once again struck by the same wanting feeling as I did the first time I saw Britney—the “it” factor she possesses that simply beckons the audience to yearn for more. As I turned for a final word with my newfound friend, one of her high school gal-pals said it much better than I ever could have: “This is the best night of my life. Seriously, this is probably going to be better than my wedding night.” Well, I couldn’t argue with that.

After approximately three miserably failed attempts at sleeping on the night of December 1st, it became evident that I would not be getting in that three hours of sleep before the concert. Instead, I waited up patiently until I met up with my fellow Britney buddy, Erica to hop onto the 4 AM train and begin our journey into New York. Contrary to my deepest fears, the train was not delayed, our taxi did not get us lost, and I did not die. Instead, we got there promptly at 6 AM.

Once we got there, we stood in a massive line for about ten minutes, only to find out later that the line was for people standing around hoping to get tickets. As it turned out, the ticket winners could walk right in the entire time. Oops.

After being poked, prodded, and patted down profusely by a fleet of security teams, we were led into the venue and given a paddle that said “Britney Spears” on one side and “Happy Birthday!” on the other in Circus letters. Cute! We also found out later that the Elizabeth Arden Company was handing out Curious and Fantasy tees somewhere else in the lobby. Anyway, the venue itself was quite fitting: The inside lobby featured popcorn and cotton candy vendors, little gaming areas and bright decorations, and even authentic port-o-potties! I’m always one for accuracy.

Almost immediately, the madness began. Within just fifteen minutes of getting seated, Jamie Spears and Larry Rudolph casually came out from behind stage to survey the arena with each other, no more than fifteen feet away. Two of the major players in Britney’s life and career…Just wandering aimlessly around me. Our section soon went wild upon spotting them, triggering the entire auditorium to follow suit. Later on, choreographers Wade Robson and Andre Fuentes showed up on stage to survey the floor. They seemed overly interested in one of the hinges on the cage door, which the stage hands had to fidget with until the very last moments of the show. Lynn Spears entered along with Britney’s brother Bryan, and I saw her assistant, Brett, soon after. Britney’s babies, Jayden James and Sean Preston, decked out in their signature berets, made a show-stealing cameo around the venue about a half hour before Britney came to perform.

The crowd was truly very warm and loving throughout the two hour event. Clearly, many of the winners were also hardcore fans who rushed to enter their names into the contest. Often times, it was impossible to decipher what the producers and reporters were saying amidst the voice-cracking shrieks of “Happy Birthday Britney!” and “I love you!” echoing from ringside.

The dynamic of my own section was amusing: In front, a fleet of overly concerned fans who spent a great deal of the first hour alternating between panicking about a few pieces of dropped popcorn in the ring and cooing over Britney’s family. “Look how cute she is!! Man, Why can’t she be my mom?” one of the girls longingly sighed in front of me while staring over at Lynn. Behind me sat the ever reliable catty gays, who were never too shy to offer a poisonous stab of criticism about the physical flaws of…Well, everyone. They kept themselves entertained by prescribing loving little nicknames of affection, like “big nose,” the dancer. There were also a great deal of fat bitches, tranny bitches, and bitches in general. Later on, Britney was thankfully kept out of their line of fire, apparently meeting their seal of approval. Or, as they put it: “God DAMN, bitch looks hot!”

Throughout the first hour of the program, we were responsible for breaking into applause about once every ten minutes. Naturally, we all hammed it up for the cameras. I got on for about two seconds, though with the faces I’m making on screen, I’d rather not draw attention to the matter. Other than that, there wasn’t too much excitement for that first hour, aside from trying to get Wade’s attention. He’s quite nice in person…Trust me.

At around 8, the lights finally dropped as the dancers took their marks on the stage along with the circus performers. Following a shrill chorus of “Oh my God, oh my God!” from around the arena—as well as my anxiety-induced nail digging clench onto my friend Erica’s leg (apologies in retrospect for that one)—the spotlight shone onto a blonde-haired silhouette that came dashing out from the back and up onto the cage ceiling.

Let me just say that Britney looked absolutely stunning in real life—I cannot emphasize it enough. Her body was toned to perfection: Defined abs, muscular legs, and a butt that could have only been sculpted with the aid of divine intervention. Of course I’m far from unbiased, but in my honest opinion, I do believe that she is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my entire life. She was standing only ten or fifteen feet away from me the entire time, and I simply could not take my eyes off of her. It’s her aura, her presence…She truly is an icon. To describe the moment I finally saw her in the flesh for the first time is impossible. Finally being able to see someone you’ve adored and admired for over ten years of your life? No words.

And so, “Circus” began. I won’t really go into detail about the performances because what I saw is essentially what everyone else saw on screen. She did the damn thing, plain and simple. I can say that the beginning vogue atop the cage was utter perfection; the spotlight cast an amazing silhouette, and she looked like an absolute superstar. I don’t think the cameras really captured just how awe-inspiring that moment was.

After the crowd spent a moment or two staring at each other in disbelief, we began to wait for the crew to set up for “Womanizer.” I sat around waiting, occasionally watching as Lynn, Jamie, and the babies interact with each other. It was unbelievable that I was just watching them in front of my eyes! At one point, JJ grabbed a Happy Birthday sign and began to flail it around in the air, cooing loudly and giggling—probably one of the cutest things I’ve seen in a very long time.

Then came “Womanizer,” which was a similar affair as everything we’d already seen during the European promotional week. Less props and somewhat less dancing, it was essentially was I expected. Most importantly, I got to witness the signature Britney boob-jiggle that leads into the chorus…Epic.

On a curious side note, after Britney’s performance of “Womanizer,” I did see her angrily talking to Larry in the back as they prepared the cake segment. They looked quite serious. I don’t know what it was about, and I don’t want to start any rumors. Chances are she was just being critical about some detail within the performance or something. Whatever it was, she was due out again a few seconds later to receive the birthday cake. And so, like a champ, she turned right back around, put on a big smile, and began her birthday segment…Business as usual.

However, as strictly business as she is, she did manage to crack just once: For us! I was lucky enough to be seated directly behind the opening prop for “Womanizer.” Once she took her spot behind the ring, our section was absolutely going berserk trying to get Britney to look over. She stood there waiting for the lights to drop. Finally, after a few final screams of “I love you, Britney,” she turned to us, smiled, and quickly waved! Success: We broke the Britney.

Of course, following the birthday celebration was the announcement of Britney’s new tour: The Circus: Starring Britney Spears, which launches in March in New Orleans. Diane Sawyer, who continued to prove her incompetence as a host as the morning went on, threw off most of the crowd when she asked Britney why the first tour date was so important. “It’s home,” Diane hinted to her. “Oh, yes…We’re starting the tour in America.” Britney responded, slightly confused. “Well yes, but it’s your hometown…New Orleans!” Diane responded triumphantly. The awkward confusion on Britney’s face afterward was priceless.

Picture Sources: Mixture of UntouchableBritney, UnusualBritney, and me.