A few more reviews from around the country (late reviews relatively speaking as they came out in the past two days)...
PHILIDELPHIA
ROCK'SBACKPAGES
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The Rock’s Backpages Rewind: Lady Madonna Storms Philly
A report on Madonna's MDNA tour — first stop Philadelphia! — from the redoubtable Carol Cooper——Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages
As I write this Thursday night, I can hear Madonna singing from Yankee Stadium through the window of my Harlem apartment. In fact, the sound mix on 'Girls Gone Wild' and 'Papa Don't Preach' gets so good that her vocals cut like a Samurai sword across a perfectly balanced backing track and the audible appreciation of the crowd. The concert seemed to start just as Vice President Biden ended his televised speech at the Democratic National Convention.
I, of course, saw the smaller, arena-sized production of this spectacle in Philly last week, which kicked off the North American leg of her MDNA tour. But we early birds were warned that unless we saw the stadium show we weren't seeing Madonna's definitive version of this show.
Be that as it may, Philly inspired me to contemplate the live performance Madonna put together for her fans this year, and nothing could be more inspiring as I share these thoughts than hearing her rock Yankee Stadium from a few blocks away.
MDNA, but for one letter, alludes to Ecstasy. But like the dance party drug, Madonna promises no unalloyed pleasures. Even as early as her Blonde Ambition tour Madonna was performing more to prove thematic points than to entertain. Unlike lesser pop stars who also think their songwriting is strong enough to support artistic, "attitudinal" staging, only Madonna sustains the palpable strength of character to pair the blood-splatter visuals of Dexter to a homicidal song about her ex-husband and somehow make it a gleeful collective catharsis.
Shifting from girl backup dancers to male dancers from song to song also creates interesting juxtapositions you wouldn't see from, say, Katy Perry, Gaga, or Taylor Swift. To begin with, it's her manly queens that get to strut and ki-ki through 'Girls Gone Wild', while her guerilla girls butch it up and flash rifles through 'Revolver'.
A raw, defiant Nikki Minaj appears via video like Madge's adolescent alter-ego to bring ghetto realness to the coda of 'I Don't Give a F***'. And it was Nikki's chirpy yelps which gave generational balance to the magnificent gospel singer who contributes a solo near the end of the show during Like A Prayer. Madonna actually genuflects onstage to this diva's wail, much as she visibly salutes the talents of the many side-performers she borrows from diverse traditions—Basque/Indian/Hip-Hop/drag balls—who help Madonna push the envelope of the acceptable sound of contemporary dance pop.
There are periodic momentum problems within the live show because Madonna refuses to program all the uptempo tracks into a seamless attempt to peak the crowd then keep them in a kinetic frenzy like a deejay would. Instead she will slow things down for elegiac meditations on relationships: like 'Best Friend' or the Golden Globe-winning 'Masterpiece'. That she leads into the latter with a languid 'Open Your Heart' transformed by the Bollywood sway of Kalakan's 'Sagara Jo' lets the mod-era lilt of 'Masterpiece' allude both to the inspirational diversity of the Beatles and to the imperialistic history of the land which gave her a British ex- husband.
Speaking to the risky sacrament of marriage, the church backdrops featured throughout this show repeatedly shatter or dissolve via projected images which telegraph all five "stages" of the MDNA experience (ranging from "Transgression" to "Celebration") and underscore the jittery momentum of the pacing. Opening in a shadowy gothic cathedral with buff monks ringing a bell, the set shifts to reveal a open chapel showing stained-glass windows streaming with sunlight and grace.
This is the Church of Love, in which Lady Madonna has worshipped long enough to sacrifice two marriages on its altar. Accordingly, twice we see projected images of the church shatter or dissolve on screens above the stage. Sometimes the bricks explode into literal visions of heaven and hell; another time into Christ's heart wreathed in thorns. Madonna didn't enter either of her marriages lightly. She held as an article of faith that she could (and should) be able to make a marriage of creative equals work. She was betrayed in that belief, and a large part of MDNA's drama reflects wryly on the ramifications of that betrayal.
That's why her live mash-up of 'Express Yourself' with 'Born this Way' resonates as much more than snarky commentary on Lady Gaga. First, let's give Gaga a break here shall we? Until Gaga puts out four or five more hit solo albums, there's no way her slender output as a singer/songwriter can be measured against Madonna's track record. So if it's not all about Gaga what is it about? It's about what the lyrics are saying. 'Express Yourself' talks about a talented woman respecting herself enough to want a creative/intellectual equal for a spouse then doing everything possible not to settle for less. '(I Was) Born This Way' is about that same woman refusing to apologize for her aggressive drive and dominant personality. The repeated ad-lib "She's not me!" in this context reads like disappointment, not outrage. It's the mordant battle cry of every career girl who has survived watching men leave them for less "difficult", less ambitious women. To pull her head out of these sobering epiphanies with the sassy marching band swagger of 'Give Me All Your Luvin'' proves that our Madge knows how to bounce back. Gladly trading the faithless love of a husband for the admiration of millions, Madonna, now in her fifties, returns to the arms of her muse and gently maturing fandom.
Far more important than musical asides about men or momentary rivals are the sly in-jokes Madonna will sometimes deploy to amuse herself. (Remember that equestrian montage she did around the time a male bestiality ring went public?) 'Justify My Love', a provocative tone-poem which dates from the time of her Sex book, introduces a suite of libidinal material which functions here as a John Waters-esque retort to any critic who ever wanted to reduce Madonna's girlie show allusions to mere prurience. The rapid segue into the stylistic diversity of 'Vogue,' 'CandyShop,' and 'Human Nature' lets Madonna and her dancers work the proscenium in a parade of all the edgy fashions she introduced to MTV. The costumes culminate in her stripping to her underwear to give us Dietrich at the Blue Angel crooning a waltz-time piano remix of 'Like A Virgin'. Then she goes Miles Davis one better by turning not only her back to her audience, but also a nearly bare ass.
This dramatic stroll down memory lane could be seen as a beautiful mess by those who are too linear and literal in their thinking. To be sure there is a certain amount of chaos throughout the MDNA carnival . But it is controlled chaos with a creative purpose. There is a quote from the arts criticism of C.G. Jung that illustrates this point. It reveals Jung's reaction to the "diabolical" literary style James Joyce applied to his experimental novel Ulysses. By replacing every reference to Joyce with a reference to Madonna and replacing the word Ulysses with MDNA, a marvelously Jungian view of this tour emerges below:
"Under the cynicism of Madonna there is hidden a great compassion. Madonna knows the suffering of a world that is neither beautiful nor good, and worse still, rolls on without hope through the eternally repeated everyday... dragging with it man's consciousness in an idiot dance through the hours, months, years. With MDNA she has dared to take the step that leads to the detachment of consciousness from the object. She has freed herself from attachment, entanglement and delusion, and can therefore turn homeward. MDNA gives us more than a subjective expression of personal opinion, for the creative genius is never one but many, and MDNA speaks in stillness to the souls of the multitude, whose meaning and destiny it embodies no less than the artist's own." — "Ulysses: A Monologue" (1932/1934) from The Spirit in Man, Art, and Literature
[live review] Madonna bludgeons the Garden to a bloody pulp
“Oh my god.”
As these lines, the opening exhortation from “Girl Gone Wild”, the opening track from Madonna’s new long-player, MDNA, reverberated around the cavernous environs of the TD Garden, and a large digital crucifix adorned the Jumbotron onstage, and cloak-covered minions toiled onstage amidst the swinging of an enormous thurible with frankincense bellowing out, most in attendance probably thought they knew what they were in for: some light blasphemy, a circus-smorgasbord of dancing, and a smattering of hits from the Material Girl’s three-decades-deep catalogue.
And they would be kind of right, but mostly wrong. And I could even pinpoint the moment we all realized how wrong we were, easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy: it was when Madonna herself emerged to begin the opening lines of “GGW”, decked out in all-black everything, holding aloft a massive machine gun pointed at the air. As the song bled into her little-heard 2009 jam “Revolver”, and then into MDNA curiosity “Gang Bang”-- well, let’s just say Madonna took the capacity crowd into a dark place that few were expecting minutes earlier from this queen of 80s pop music.
Before I delve into the nasty details, though, let’s back up and get some perspective on what we’re talking about here: this is Madonna, who is, yes, a pop music artist with more #1 hits than Elvis. But she is also an artist who, for most of her career, or at least since she has had complete control of her aesthetic and output, has strived to confront and provocate not only a society that has misunderstood her, but an audience that has attempted to reign in her most outre impulses, wanting nothing but poppoppop. Madonna’s career, especially in the past ten years, has been a matter of giving the world the pop they crave, but with an aftertaste of shock and awe, of upping the ante of shock as she grows angrier and angrier.
Because, let’s face it, Madonna is one of the angriest pop stars ever. With good reason, too, since she is probably the most hated beloved pop star, with her every move eviscerated by a public that still pays attention to her while doing so. Every album may hit the upper reaches of the charts, but not without a chorus of shouts regarding her irrelevancy; and then there’s her continued attempts at a film career, now as a director with the 2012 release of the much-revilved W.E.; and perhaps just the general apathy of the public to a hardened bitch continuing to reign supreme decade after decade, when so many probably wish she would just stop with the effort and do the rounds like other stars her age, trotting out the hits in a retrospective nostalgia-fest that acquiesces to the acknowledgement that she is embodied by her 80s heyday.
To which Madonna’s metaphorical retort last Tuesday was KAPOW as she BLAMMO’d her ski-mask-covered henchmen in a sick Theater of Cruelty display that was both shocking and captivating. She played out a series of scenarios that all revolved around her as a gun-wielding moll obliterating assailants, with the Jumbotron displaying blood spatterings in a grotesque jolt that couldn’t help but turn ugly the rave party that the faithful had turned out to see. It reminded me of a production I once saw of Titus Andronicus, with a stark white backdrop rendered bloody with the pulp of murder by the end. It really was kind of a waking nightmare, as she kept us captive through her darkest violent fantasies, which when you get down to it has been her thing since she put out her Sex book in 1992 and forced the public’s face into the dark netherworld of her most twisted imaginings.
And it got darker: a brief respite in the form of “Papa Don’t Preach” was cruelly interrupted when Madge was accosted by a crew of facially-obscured miscreants who were decked out in what could either be described as the tattered uniform of a band of serial killers or terror cell members; she had a black bag put over her head and she was hog-tied to a pair of long poles and carried to centerstage, where she serenaded us in this captive state to the dulcet tones of 2006 megahit “Hung Up”. It was ironic I suppose, but also an awful juxtaposition, with “awful” in the truest sense of the word. It reminded me of the terrifying tune from Public Image Ltd.’s 1979 Metal Box album, “Poptones”, a shattered account by a soon-to-be-murdered woman as she focuses regrettably on the pop song blaring on the radio of the car her attackers threw her in as they drove her to a secluded woods that would be the place of her demise.
Like “Poptones”, Madge knows that taking a pop song, whether it’s “Hung Up” or “Papa Don’t Preach” or “Girl Gone Wild” and transferring it from the usual setting into one of terror and shock imbues the song with dark pangs that didn’t seem there before. The way that she pleads “Don’t stop loving me, daddy,” sounds so much sadder; “time goes by, so slowly” is so much truer with a bag on your head and a gun to your head. In the wrong hands, music can be torture, if even through association. As a filmmaker in a post-Tarantino world, Madonna knows this, and this whole escapade seemed far more cinematic in terms of the re-framing of her pop aesthetic than any of her previous tours.
Ms. Ciccone eventually loosened her grip on us by the one-third mark, after a rambunctious runthrough of “I Don’t Give A” assured us that she indeed D.G.A.F., except that she definitely G.A.F. about her meticulous control of her own spectacle. After the jolt of the opening portion, everything seemed more alive, if only in its display of her own effort. When “Open Your Heart” had the airwaves awash with its soothing melody in 1986, it seemed like a lightweight pettifour in Madonna’s oeuvre; but tonight, lines like “I’ve had to work much harder than this for something I want, don’t try and resist me” felt so sincere, and so ominous.
The centerpiece of this show, after the Grand Guignol of the opening’s shock, was the towering softstep of “Vogue”, followed by an intimate runthrough of her 1984 breakthrough hit “Like A Virgin”. For the former, Ciccone emerged with pulled-back hair, black straight pants and a white work shirt; for this number she didn’t so much dance as oversee her dancers with exacting precision, nimbly strutting and jigging around her coterie with assured command. It was a certain kind of full circle for this former dancer who walked away from the craft to try her luck in NYC’s post-punk world, famously telling her final instructor, the legendary Pearl Lang “I think I’m going to be a rock star.” Lang may have finally approved of Ciccone’s poise this evening, or maybe not-- again, Madonna’s whole career has revolved around avoiding situations where she needs that kind of approval or acceptance. Which explains why she has always had a lyrical preoccupation with dancing solo, and also why her confrontational moments seem less aimed at anyone present and more at herself and her own expectations of herself.
“Like A Virgin”, then, was the moment of frailty after the juggernaut of assurance that was “Vogue”; alone and half-naked on the catwalk with only a lone piano as accompaniment, Madonna took the bounce-y sass of the original arrangement and stripped it bare until it quietly screamed its message of a longing for things to be what they once were. “Your love thawed out what was getting cold,” she intoned, pawing at the floor in a combination of agony and ecstasy that was a strangely internal performance to be taking place in an enormous hockey arena. The hushed low-key nature of the song in some ways showed that this show wasn’t for the masses, but for Madonna and her alone, her need to exorcise her inner debates even if it meant laying prostrate for all to see. Even as we all left the building a half-hour later, ebullient with the endorphin rush of the 1-2 punch of “Like A Prayer”, resplendent with a full choir backing its heartfelt power, and the electro-whump of “Celebration”, it was the moments of fragile honesty that remained in memory.
NEW YORK
VICE (This is too funny and DISTURBING. I wanna punch that smoking girl by the bathroom)
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We Saw This: Madonna (By Kelly McClure)
Some people have negative things to say about Madonna, but when faced with that information, it's important to keep in mind that some people are also very stupid.
When I first heard about Madonna's New York dates for her MDNA tour, I mentally brushed aside the fact that I haven't had to pay for music or concert tickets for the past ten years, and whipped out my debit card. Tickets to see Madge are literally more expensive than a blood transfusion, and I even went so far as to buy a pre-sale code in an effort to not have to sit across the street from the venue, or on a cloud in the sky. When all was said and done, I was set back over $300, but I gave nary a care, because I'm an actual crazy person.
Because this is my life, it was sunny every single day from the moment I purchased the tickets, up to the morning of the show, where it then turned pitch black, rained forever, and two tornados touched down in Brooklyn—which isn't even a thing.
I've never been to Yankee Stadium, where the show was being held, and had previously only ever been to the Bronx once, and that was to go to the zoo. My friend Jen and I took a car there on VICE's dime, and the driver kept trying to roll the windows down, even though he could clearly notice us rolling them right back up because, hello, our hairdos. Once we finally got there, I had to sit on a concrete bench and smoke a cigarette before we walked in and found our seats. I was overstimulated and felt like I was gonna have a nervous breakdown, but I also feel this way sometimes just going to the grocery store. Really though, I couldn't believe that I was finally about to see my childhood diva icon, 'ol Madge. What would she sing? What would her butt look like? We were about to find out.
When you go to a big stadium show, it's quite possible that you won't be able to afford anything there. I didn't ask my friend to pay for the ticket I gave her, but she did buy me a beer in a blue plastic souvenir Yankees cup, which I drank in three seconds and wanted to remember to bring home, but of course didn't. Wrapped head to toe in $5 ponchos that we bought in the parking lot, we settled into our seats and waited for Madonna. Here's a view from our seats:
I was hoping that I'd never have to go to the bathroom, because I could only imagine the horrors that would be waiting for me there, but my one beer went straight to my peeps hole and I had to make my way to the potty zone. While waiting in line, a woman in front of me kept turning around and making this weird face that at first I thought meant she thought I was cute, but then I realized she was pissed about the women behind me illegally smoking cigarettes inside Yankee Stadium like some manner of assholes. The women who were smoking caught on that she was upset, and said something to the effect of "What's your problem?" The woman making the face explained that she had cancer, and had just had surgery, to which the women responded with "SHUT THE **** UP!" At first I thought they meant it like, "You're not serious," but then I realized that they were actually telling a woman with cancer to shut the **** up about them illegally smoking in her face, and I felt a strange wave of fear wash over me. If they were insane enough to yell at Cancer Lady, God only knows what else they were capable of.
Madonna didn't have an opening band, but after waiting for a couple of hours, the house lights went off and a DJ played some booty shaking hits that made all the weird hetero dates stand up and awkwardly dance, while craning around to make sure that everyone was seeing them. My dad once taught me that any man who wears jewelry is a homo (oh, dads). I wonder what he'd say about guys who fake tan and carry a man purse.
Once the DJ stopped making me want to die, I became THRILLED at the knowledge that the next booty to shake on that stage would be Madonna's. I meditated for a bit so I wouldn't pass out, and then lights started shooting all over the place and Madonna was heard on the loud speaker saying "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," over and over. I have to say, as a former Catholic School girl turned lesbo, her love for religious iconography really gets me soggy in the pants.
Say what you will about Madonna, but she still completely has it. Her dancers were flipping her all over the place, she went through about 20 costume changes, and she slipped/slided all over the stage in the rain. I was impressed. Highlights included me crying hot tears and feeling a million emotions during "Like a Prayer," and when she had her little son Rocco running out and making rapper arms during a few songs. The only lowlight I could think of is when she'd come out with a random guitar and pantomime playing it by just flapping her elbows up and down.
Oh, and during one song she broke into a snippet of Lady Gaga's "Born this Way" and made a joke by pulling up her skirt to show her pubic mound, which I assumed was a jab at Gaga maybe having a penis.
Screw buying a $50 t-shirt when you can get the same thing for $10 out by the pay phones.
Girls, I'm tweeting my ass off at Guy in hopes of winning Pit tickets. I don't know if you need tickets to the show already to be eligible for them, but I'm not lucky enough to have any, so I'm really goin' for it.
Good luck DWG, I'm pretty sure you don't need tickets for Guy's tickets.
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Like a Prayer is definitely the highlight for me too.
Madonna giving us those spiritual experiences.
It's literally like the (un)Holy Madonna Spirit taking you to Church during that song. It sends an unexplainable power through the crowd... If it wasn't at least partially about sex, it would have been the greatest church song ever,
Good luck DWG, I'm pretty sure you don't need tickets for Guy's tickets.
Good! I'm trying so hard! I should be in bed, but I want this so bad.
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Originally posted by PopRock2012
It's literally like the (un)Holy Madonna Spirit taking you to Church during that song. It sends an unexplainable power through the crowd... If it wasn't at least partially about sex, it would have been the greatest church song ever,
Well I was at her 7th show and still the golden triangle tix were mess...
the previous shows had 48hrs before the show apply-to-win at madonna.com and for the Milan show it was 4 days before the show as they made a new rule where they only accepted for the 3 dates in Italy 24 hrs before the 1st show in Rome... and we didn't knew.
Then we didn't wore anything special, just white blue jeans, white t-shirt, tho we waited for 10hrs at least... and didn't win.
But Golden Circle wasn't bad, In the very front of the catwalk.
She's always in such a good mood and so lovely with her fans. Why are people so blind about this? it's so obvious that she has so much love for the crowd and for her work.
She's always in such a good mood and so lovely with her fans. Why are people so blind about this? it's so obvious that she has so much love for the crowd and for her work.
i guess it's all about jealousy.
a 54 yo still slaying is too much for a lot of not open minded people.
the second toronto show was btw awesome.
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Last night was the absolute best night of my life. In case you don’t remember how, Madonna herself personally gave me pit tickets to her MDNA concert at the Air Canada Centre last night.
When we got to the venue, I went to the box office with my email confirmation and was redirected to the booth to pick up my tickets and wristbands. This booth was a little different than “Will Call”. It was simply titled “Madonna Friends and Family Tickets.” Cue heart attack number one.
After waiting in line with my baby blue and gold wristband with my mother and sister for an hour, the doors opened and we ran to the golden triangle we would call home for the next six hours of our lives. I texted Guy Oseary’s assistant, Sam – yes, you got that right, texted her- to come out and say “hello” to thank her for helping me organize my tickets, and the conversation went a little something like this: “Madonna loved your video. She watched it again from her home on her T.V. Enjoy the show!” Cue heart attack number two.
By this point, I’m on Cloud 9. My friend David [Robert] called me to go have a quick beer before the show, so I went to meet him (I still had about two hours before the show was to start). Not even five minutes pass and my mother calls to let me know Madonna’s team had come to look for me. Needless to say, I didn’t finish my beer. I return to find Guy Oseary with his camera taking pictures of fans before the show, as he is known to do. He notices me, so I go to shake his hand. He pushes my hand away and comes in for the biggest bear hug I’ve ever given someone (my attraction to older Jewish men is now in full-effect). I thanked him for the tickets and he thanked me for “everything.” Me?! He then goes on to say that “we love you.” We?! Cue third and final pre-show heart attack. I am already losing my **** by this point.
Madonna comes on stage at around 10:30 PM and performs like the Queen she is. She was definitely more into this show than I’ve seen in videos of the tour before (yes, I can tell you exactly what has happened at each show). She was smiling, she was glowing, she looked fantastic, she sounded fantastic and she was having so much fun.
The highlights of the show for me were definitely “Express Yourself” – performed as a majorette leader: you could not wipe the smile of her face with a million dollar bill; “Open Your Heart” – a Basque, folk street party, complete with son Rocco by her side, reminiscent of Madonna and the little boy from the music video; “Masterpiece” – I knew my mom wouldn’t be able to control herself for this song and, as expected, as soon as I saw her cry, I couldn’t help myself; “Holiday” – only performed once before on this tour, Madonna gave Toronto a vacation as she did a long, sing-a-long version of the most-performed song in her catalogue. The entire night was just magical.
During “Vogue,” “Like a Prayer” and “Like a Virgin,” I could smell her. During “Turn Up The Radio,” I am convinced she winked at me. I have never been happier in my entire life, and nothing or no one could have made it better. My life is complete.
she always does little things like this, but yeah madonna is a "cold hearted bitch" right? and little monsters lurking this thread: pit tickets are FREE for madonna's shows.
But it was HoliSLAY
I knew it was all weird, I literally just uploaded it, so it would show it to me on my own page, but not publically.
and little monsters lurking this thread: pit tickets are FREE for madonna's shows.