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Don't Pretend You're Not Hungry: Madonna At Roseland

Satisfying sweet tooths for 26 years.

***NOTE: Tons of pictures and videos after the jump...all photos & videos by me.***

After stressing for a ticket and then lucking into getting one the old-fashioned way, last night was Madonna’s hotly-anticipated Hard Candy promo show at Roseland. There’s no way any promo show could top her 1998 Roxy appearance for me, because that came after a five-year dry spell and had not been done before—such a huge star contained within such a tiny club!—and Madonna’s emergence, unfurling from within her “Frozen” garb, felt like a spine-tingling, spooky spiritual visitation.

No dark arts this time, but if the Roxy in 1998 was black magic, Roseland in 2008 was a dazzling dose of white magic, a bit like Glinda beneficently mingling with her munchkin subjects.

I went with three pals. We arrived at 5:30 to stand in line ahead of the 6:00 p.m. suggested arrival time, ahead of the 8:00 p.m. doors and way ahead of Madonna’s 10:04 p.m. kick-off. It was cold, but the mood was fraternal, even when Jason got separated from us in a different, sectioned-off part of the line. It didn’t last forever and he joined us with some nice, chatty guys who at various times led mini-sing-alongs, reminisced about previous gigs and/or showed off their bulges. (We were near pornstar Spike, who is a sweet pocket Madonna acolyte, not as intimidating as his oversized digit.)

Jason—"Miles Away!"

As time went by, so slowly, the line started to snake forward, and stories of fake wristbands trickled back to us...thousands of dollars wasted. They were using blacklight to inspect them and were not suffering fools. A transgendered fan who’d flown in from Israel was set aside and seemed in danger of not going in because her wristband had been on her left, not her right, wrist. This was the only evidence of unfairness from the Roseland security crew, who kept things calm and were intent on rooting out any deemed impure of heart.

We were finally let in a bit after 8, snaking past hysterical VIPs who were having difficulties maneuvering will call out front. I had two shots at tickets that way, but I’m glad I went with the wristband, which got me in faster and got us way closer to the stage

A Rolling Stones throw from the stage. Courtesy of Jason.

We spotted Fran Drescher, Rosie O'Donnel and Zac Posen—Madonna attended an afterparty at The Box with Posen and other fans-masquerading-as-VIPs.

All the world's Madonna's stage.

Roseland is a bit of a dump, but has its charms when you’re 20 feet from Madonna’s stage. We packed ourselves in and I counted the minutes, flashing back to my panicked response to the claustrophobic atmosphere at the Roxy in 2005, a miserable promo show that was nothing more than Madonna dancing gamely with a couple of (cute) amateur pornstars as representative figure of the rest of the suffocating pack.

But Roseland was not so bad, nor was it without its thorns: One guy muscled in last-minute and barked at the woman he displaced, “Don’t like it? There’s the door.” (He is pictured at left, looking smug. Here's hoping he breaks a leg soon.) Some French guy behind us kept looking for ways to get around us, and his taller friend had to be told by one of my party not to even think about it, merci bien. Two Russian girls next to me pressed continuously against me as if moving sideways would help (it would be, literally, a lateral move), until one grabbed the other and was in the process of forcing her forward, which tipped me back and threatened to leave me crowd-surfing. Off balance, I grabbed her and tossed her a foot over. “Don’t do that,” I said calmly, regaining my footing. The same idiotic bitch was wearing a backpack into which she or her friend could easily have fit. Then there was the supertall, seemingly nice guy in front of us who felt the need to put his giant arm up in the air, and drape it over his head Beyoncé-style as Madonna performed. I wanted to tell him what the acid-tongued GF of one of my cousins once told me when I was sitting in front of the TV as a kid: “You make a better door than a window.” She made a better door than she did a girlfriend, because that was my only memory of her.

After a lengthy DJ set (Miami Sound Machine, Human League, Journey, Guns ‘N’ Roses, Paul Simon...???), the show began just after 10 (such a relief...no 2 a.m. appearances!) with two matching Hard Candy panels “melting” and the middle panel swiveling out to reveal Madonna in a mighty throne.

Madonna's sugar is still the stickiest, sweetest and rawest.

Roger Friedman is a fucking payola pussy for saying Mariah is the new queen of pop...she’s the reigning queen of radio is what she is, and Madonna can outsell her in concert and in single sales any day of the week. Anyway, Mariah's impact on the world is obvious without having to "dethrone" other legendary acts—why is it so important for her and her surrogates to displace accomplishments by Elvis, The Beatles and Madonna? Queens are not voted on, nor are they chosen by members of the illegitimate (FOX) press. And once their reign is established, it’s for life or until abdication. Madonna showed no signs of quitting, strutting through a hot rendition of “Candy Shop” that got things off to an ooey-gooey good start.

Salon Salute

You don't have to be rich and famous...to be a fan.

Every major and most of the minor reviews I can think of have been positive or better for Madonna's Hard Candy, making it probably her best-reviewed since Ray Of Light...though I do recall Music being quite well-received, and Confessions On A Dance Floor was also considered a critical success.

This Salon piece here by James Hannaham is beautifully written, understands Madonna and truly takes the time to contextualize what she's up to:

"The underappreciated but ultimately more influential Madonna has always been the multifaceted feminist of 'Deeper and Deeper,' 'Papa Don't Preach' and especially 'Like a Prayer,' who can't control her own desires, doesn't need to control yours, and blames her parents for any faults she cares to admit ('Oh Father').

"Vulnerability makes that version of Madonna sympathetic but not weak. She exists in harmony with the one who encourages fans to verbalize their feelings and get down, sometimes simultaneously ("Express Yourself," "Into the Groove"). It's hard not to side with her when she embarrasses herself by trying to go confessional or political, gets too artsy, or reveals too much flesh ('American Life,' 'Bedtime Story,' 'Justify My Love,' 'Sex'), and it's always delightful to see her recover from gaffes that would obliterate someone else's career. Madonna's at her most compelling when even her blunders expand our view of what's possible for women."

True, and I think part of what makes a star of her magnitude, what makes any serious artist, is the willingness to do things that might be called stupid by others; you can't be great if you hesitate.

Hard Candy Reviewed: Give Me A Chance To Grow And I’ll Take It

Did you get that?

Who knew when “Candy Shop” leaked—or oozed—months ago that it wasn’t a sneak peek at a future single, but a viral invitation to Madonna’s next phase, as a guilt-free purveyor of guilty pleasures more closely resembling her first-album self than any other persona in her extensive inventory?

When that song first began making the rounds, the reactions were mainly...underwhelmed. The chief complaints were that Madonna sounded awkward, dare we say too white, to pull off the urban mer-girl routine, and that the lyrics were both insipid and undignified...why should a 49-year-old sing about the virtues of her Turkish delight?

Madonna successfully turned around expectations with lead single “4 Minutes,” a bombastic hit that I have predicted will go on to become one of her big signature tunes over time. It didn’t win over Perez Hilton (easy enough to fix; send him a personal video), and there are still some grumbling music purists who feel pop is art and hip-hop is noise, but the staying power of “4 Minutes” in the realms of sales and airplay has candy-coated those sourballs.

And now, we have Hard Candy unwrapped...and, considering advance promises of extensive contributions from Pharrell Williams, Timbaland and Kanye West, surprisingly un-rapped. The album has an obvious urban feel, but not in the overt, trying-too-hard way that killed “American Life” or that made Bedtime Stories arguably her most dated collection. Instead, what we have is a Halloween bag full of delicious goodies that range from favorite indulgences to new sensations and even an M-Dolla...but absolutely no annoying pieces of fruit or bundles of pennies.

And just like on October 31, it’s time to spread out the loot and see what the nice lady up the street treated you with this time.

“Candy Shop,” which I never hated and never loved, is clearly one of Madonna’s most beloved tracks—it opens the record, inspired the title and all the album art, was leaked first in what now seems must have been an intentional ploy and is rumored to have made the cut for Wednesday night’s Roseland show (tickets for which are turning her fans into would-be prostitutes). Heard as a free sample of what’s to follow, this song is very likeable. With a Bee Gees command to “get up outta your seat” (not the last time you’ll be asked to leave it) and a nod to Prince’s “I Would Die 4 U” sounding under the title verse, it’s easier to see why Madonna would think this will have us “begging for more.” The parts I always liked—her suggestive “sticky and sweet, those thumping beats—are somewhat hypnotic now that they have context, now that the waiting game is over and we know the record has more than lived up to its potential. I would not skip this song after all, even if it’s not one of my preferred cuts, even if it’s the least interesting of Pharrell Williams’s many contributions. 7/10

“4 Minutes” has been described as a “Timba-lake” song on which Madonna guests. The original leak that played on French radio did sound that way, and I admitted as much, but the final version—while remaining the most obvious stylistic departure for Madonna on the record—is the first hint that perhaps Madonna will hold her own against/with her hired guns. Timbaland reserves a lengthy intro for his combo of beats and tics to get listeners marching to the beat of his own drum and Justin Timberlake trades lines equally with his hostess, but Madonna’s voice is strong. She sounds invigorated to be singing in a different way, one that leaves no room for her preferred hard “Rs” or other reflexive inflections. “4 Minutes” fits nicely with the album’s unapologetic, yet not thoughtless, exploration of dance, possibly being about the irrational feelings of salvation and empowerment that can be gleaned from listening to short, simple pop songs. It’s a strong enough song to overcome the vague memory that, gee, didn’t she just use ticking and tocking on her last lead single? 10/10

“Give It 2 Me” would be this album’s “Sorry,” except that as much as I love the latter, the former has evolved for American radio, taking on a more contemporary feel rooted in its eclectic combination of ‘80s pop (the throbbing opening reminds me of cheesy hits like Matthew Wilder’s “Break My Stride”), techno and a pleasantly jarring hip-hop interlude: “Get stupid! Get stupid! Get stupid! Don’t stop it!” Compare that to Madonna’s lofty, “Let’s get unconscious, honey,” from 1994’s “Bedtime Story.” Lyrically, this song is fascinating for how much of the Madonna mystique it spells out despite being a straightforward, accessible club banger.

For example, Madonna’s motivational-speaker element has been present from her earliest songs (“Dance and sing/Get up and do your thing!”) and this verse:

New York Times Rings Madonna's Bell

Here is a first look at a lengthy critique (best described as a begrudging rave...or a hate fuck?) of Madonna's Hard Candy by Jon Pareles as it will appear in the New York Times on Sunday.

Oh, and a first listen of Madonna's "Ring My Bell," the Japanese bonus track. (I like it fine, but definitely feel it's the one I would have cut. Still, it's way better and more finished than listenable but silly tripe like "History" and "Super Pop.")

Finally, if you wanna hear Hard Candy yourself, visit Madonna's MySpace page for a preview in advance of its official release Tuesday, April 29.

The rest after the are-you-ready-to-jump...

Candygrams

Madonna's Hard Candy gets a sweet review in Rolling Stone—one of her best star ratings (4/5) in ages. I believe it's her best since Music...okay, that's only two albums ago. It's a great, interestingly written review, too, one that seems to get Madonna.

Also, here are 30-second clips of...all the songs on Hard Candy! I'm shocked, but I absolutely love it. I think my first impression—and it's only an impression—is even more positive than my first impression of Confessions.

"Candy Shop" sounds crisper; it's still going to have some haters, but I like it well enough, as long as it's not a single. "Give It 2 Me" sounds like another Top 5 smash. Outside of that, I think "Heartbeat" is amazing (I love her voice on it), "Miles Away" I'd heard before and I still find it really pretty and "She's Not Me" had sounded unpleasant from descriptions but has a quirky, Gwen-esque vibe. The impression of the first six songs is of Madonna being forced to try new things—or, at least, different-for-her things—and coming out smelling like a rose.

"Incredible" sounds a bit more empty in some strange way. I still think the delivery makes it jaunty and fresh as opposed to a song like "Amazing" on Music, which was okay but felt sort of phoned-in after the brilliance that was "Beautiful Stranger."

I can't recognize "Beat Goes On" almost at all. I love it. I always liked it more than "Candy Shop" (which has a much less noticeable yet also helpful new sheen to it), but it's now single-worthy. Madonna's voice is terrific on all the tracks, very prominent (with the exception of "4 Minutes," meant to get her laced-up boot in the door at radio). "Dance 2Night" sounds like pre-disco; it just needs a string section to segue from 1974 to 1977.

I can see why "Spanish Lesson" was not a Rolling Stone favorite. The clip has the uncomfy-white-lady-trying-to-be-street vibe that fans were fearing would be the dominant tone of the album. It's much less effective than the "Candy Shop" clip, and that song already elicited some wariness. This might be the "Push" of this album—a song I skip.

Even the devil made her do it.

"Devil Wouldn't Recognize You" is lovely and still a favorite Madonna song title of mine, one of her most interesting since "Love Tried To Welcome Me."

"Voices" strikes me as a Middle Eastern confection, hardly the ponderous sound I expected. It didn't blow me away, nor did it turn me off.

I don't hear many clunkers in there, at least based on these 30-second clips. More, more, more!

It's Trick-y

Marc Andrews reviews Hard Candy exclusively for ArjanWrites. It's a mostly positive review that lists "Give It To Me," "Miles Away," "Heartbeat," "Dance 2night" and "Voices" as stand-outs (along with acknowledging the power of "4 Minutes"), "She's Not Me" and "Devil Wouldn't Recognize You" as halfway there and "Beat Goes On," "Incredible" and "Spanish Lessons" as lacking.

Most interestingly, he compares it to Music as being "patchy." I always liked the Music album, but didn't love it thanks to a couple of clunker songs ("Runaway Lover" is so much worse than the much-maligned "Candy Shop") and the uncertain mixture of styles. (Her worst album is, for me, Bedtime Stories, for that same reason.) But Music, which like Hard Candy was gifted with a smash-hit lead single, was a gi-normous hit that was listed on "best of all time" polls for a while, so if that's what she has to look forward to, Madonna is probably going to have a very good 2008 indeed.

The Madonna Beat

Gordon Smart's Bizarre has the first track-by-track official "review" of Madonna's Hard Candy—it's mostly positive, though he sniffs at Madonna venturing into "rap" (uh, it's hip-hop...more like hip-pop...and the only serious rapping we know of is a Kanye touch to "Beat Goes On," but okay). I'm very eager for "Miles Away" and "Heartbeat" from these notes.

Got Hayden?

Hayden Christensen graces the cover of Russian GQ (February 2008) with photos by Mark Zibert:

More after the Jumper...

Springer Awakening

Cross purposes.

After watching Young@Heart (review to come) with my friend Jason, he urged me to come with him to Carnegie Hall to see if tickets might still be available for the controversial Jerry Springer: The Opera, which I remember was playing in London when I visited years ago (I think I opted for Bombay Dreams instead—yikes, mistake!) but which I'd never fully grasped to be what it is, truly an opera, not just a send-up of an opera. I went with him, we snagged tix to the last row and we walked in as the music was beginning.

At the start, I was dreading a couple of hours of torture as the singing began to bore me, just as it had the first time I ever heard opera, at the Lyric in Chicago on free tickets from my late boss. But just like the Jerry Springer Show did with many Americans, this show—directed by Jason Moore with music by Richard Thomas and book by Thomas with Stewart Lee—it quickly became addictive.

The first act involves Jerry (a non-singing, almost non-acting Harvey Keitel) hosting at typical episode of his show, featuring a man who confesses to simultaneously cheating on his girl with her crack-addicted BFF and also with a transsexual. There is also a hysterical situation involving a businessman who wants his baby to treat him like an adult baby, and to let him poop his Pampers in the process. And let's not forget the chunky housewife who dreams of being a slutty pole dancer. Whacked-out stuff, the kind you'd see on any Springer show, but hearing it communicated with beautifully-sung opera was unexpectedly hilarious and also thought-provoking.

"Crack! Whore! Crack! Whore!" intones the on-stage audience as the cheating BFF slinks onto the stage. "Talk to the hand!" she sings back.

Is trash TV the opera of the millennium? Is low art high art, and if so, how much lower can the new low art go?

"Blasphemous?" Talk to the ass!

As the act closes, Springer is shot, leading him to a forced engagement in hell, where Satan demands that he host a show featuring the devil vs. Jesus Christ. The two don't get along well at all, and Jesus is depicted as a slightly gay black man with an axe to grind—blasphemy is just another ingredient in this shock casserole—while the devil can't seem to move on from being cast out of heaven.

The show ends momentously, and not before showering the audience with several memorable recurring tunes, including "I'm seein' someone else" (part and parcel of any real Springer show) and "this is my Jerry Springer moment," a sentiment that answers the age-old question of, "Why the fuck would anyone go on TV and say and do these things?"

I was really impressed with this show, but I wouldn't invest in it on Broadway unless I were David Geffen and couldn't care less about money—are tourists going to line up for a show that features a Klansman chorus line and a cuckolded woman confessing, in song, that she spent the previous night pissing in a strange man's mouth?

Still, I wish more people could see it (it only played two nights), because watching it, I felt like it was a good example of exactly what connects cosmopolitan people with those who watch and enjoy and don't judge the real Jerry Springer—we have no qualms making light of life, death, sex, the sacred and the profane.

Oh, and speaking of low culture, we saw Monkees man Mickey Dolenz hangin' around and stood next to him during the ovation:

I'll Remember

José and I were lucky enough to spend the weekend at the newly rechristened Planet Hollywood Resort & Casino at the invitation of my boss, leading to our first trip to Sin City. I can’t say that I’m a Vegas kind of guy, having gone for broke there, but it was an adventure and the hotel was absolutely gorgeous—one of only two places on the Strip I saw that I’d ever stay in, and a destination I’d recommend. (Note: I don’t feel right going through every detail of the establishment because my boss owns it so anything positive I say could be considered compromised. But suffice it to say it is a “wow” operation and I was very grateful for having had the chance to be there, let alone for its grand opening.)

Rather than go through each moment of my Vegas stay—as I’m usually wont to do!—I’m uploading some videos that document things as follow:

The first video shows our arrival at ph (as it’s called), our exploration of the strip and a chance encounter with a Pete Rose signing...we apparently fell into a time warp:

The next video shows our experiences at the 11/15/07 VIP evening (with an indoor red carpet leading to a Jon Stewart performance that saw arrivals by Holly Robinson Peete, Roger Clemons, Charlie Sheen, Miss Universe, Sylvester Stallone, Joey Fatone, Tom Arnold and Luke Perry, among others) and a peek at the afterparty with a VIP area shot of Amaury Nolasco and a performance by Bruce Willis:

Video three shows us getting ready for the Barbra Streisand concert (which is excluded from this video), then going to Planet’s Grand Opening party (just before which Luke Perry nearly got on our elevator and we did ride an elevator with Seth Rogen/Leslie Mann/Judd Apatow...I’m including iPhone snaps of Seth), our entrance to the party proper via a colorful hall as Madonna's "Don't Tell Me" plays, us chatting as Tom Arnold and Sugar Ray Leonard enter, shots of the fairly open V.I.P. area (sectioned off with palms) and general party atmosphere, the competitive buffet, a close-as-in-nearby- encounter with KISS rocker Gene Simmons and a laughing fan as another fan waits for a photo op, footage of the band Sugar Ray (with frontman/Extra host Mark McGrath) playing all their hits, general crowd scenes, brief VIP snippets of Chris Kirkpatrick from *NSYNC and Criss Angel, us leaving the party, next day shots of our send-off buffet, us walking to New York New York, invasive snaps of Bernadette Peters on our flight and in our airport (invasive only in theory as she was not interrupted...apologies, but she looked unbelievable not just for 59 and 10 months, but for any age) and a ta-da finale shot of a souvenir T-shirt on an adorable duck:

Finally, there is some footage of the Barbra Streisand gig, at which she was hilarious and so relaxed in spite of a bad cold that gave her pipes some uncharacteristic (and not always unpleasant) raspiness. I am not a Barbra fan—and I say that not to disparage her and her fans, but because my knowledge of and appreciation for her oeuvre are not worthy of that designation—so I was unsure of what to expect, and mainly hoped she’d say something befitting her rep as a liberal firebrand. Imagine my surprise when I was really blown away being in the same (7,000-seat) theater with her and when I found her completely engaged and engaging. She hysterically paused to admonish “get in those seats, girls!” with good humor and joked about her love of low-stakes blackjack.

Streisand’s set was “The Way We Were,” “Come Rain Or Come Shine,” “Evergreen,” “Smile,” “Funny Girl,” “The Music That Makes Me Dance,” “My Man,” “Don’t Rain On My Parade” and she didn’t let me down, ending with the Democrats’ unofficial anthem “Happy Days Are Here Again,” which she offered as “a prayer for our country.”

Amen, sister!

Barbra Streisand after the jump, Papa.