Katy Perry w/Capital Cities at Bridgestone Arena, 6/27/14



There is so much to say about Friday night's Katy Perry concert at Bridgestone Arena. A singing poo Emoji! Tap-dancing cats! Cover Girl commercials! And the infamously potentially racially insensitive mummies! But before Ms. Perry and her bajillion different costumes took the triangular Illuminati beacon of a stage — and hours before she made her post-show cameo at local bar No. 308 — there was also that time when The Spin got scolded for cursing in front of a 5-year-old. What the fuck, man?

Sure, yeah, we get it — arena shows attract all kinds of people, even little baby people who’ve never heard the word "fuck" before. It’s a “family environment.” But listen, lady: You just brought your kid to a concert starring a woman who sprays whipped cream out of her boobs and sings about giving boys a taste of her sweet cake while wearing a sequined birthday cake patch over her crotch, so maybe chill out on the aggressive parenting lessons for one night, K?

Anyway. Back to the show!

Recent Scene cover girl Kacey Musgraves had been opening for Perry on some of her recent Prismatic Tour dates, which is awesome because that “Follow Your Arrow” song is a hell of a jam. But Friday night’s audience wasn’t so lucky. Instead of Musgraves, we got Capital Cities, a generic dance-pop band that sounds like they write songs specifically to be used in Apple commercials. They’re part ’80s nostalgia (some songs sound remarkably like the Culture Club) and part Chromeo, and for some reason they covered “Stayin’ Alive.” Mark our words: Capital Cities is the band that will be playing in the background of the beach-house party in Hollywood’s inevitable remake of Weekend at Bernie’s, starring Zac Efron. Boring.

Once Capital Cities and their overused trumpet got off the stage, it was time for KATY MOTHER (cover your kids’ eyes) FUCKING PERRY.

Perry delivered the kind of show every pop star should — it was, delightfully, filled with equal parts impressive production and sheer ridiculousness. The two-hour performance was broken up into about a half-dozen different segments, each with its own theme and costume change. As Perry roared (heh) through her arsenal of hits — “Roar,” “Dark Horse,” “Teenage Dream,” a speakeasy-esque version of “Hot N Cold” and a quick nod to Madonna’s “Vogue” — the crowd (which was filled with rainbow-wig-wearing tweens, 20-somethings celebrating bachelorette parties, cool moms on summer vacay and 5-year-olds who’ve never heard the word “fuck” before) ecstatically screamed through every second of it.

There were two-story-high singing poo Emojis, animated montages of cats getting their hair done at the “spaw,” alien abductions, flying guitar players and neon-mohawked dudes running around with glow-in-the-dark spears like some kind of The Gods Must Be Crazy-Tron mash-up. At one point, after prowling around the stage in a glittery pink cat costume, Perry recreated the famous scene in Flashdance by pulling a rope that dumped a giant bowl of white, glittery “milk” all over herself because of course. Are we making it sound surreal enough for you? Because it was all very surreal.

Then came the “intimate” portion of the show, where Perry stopped acting like a cartoon and told anecdotes about coming to Nashville and playing the Bluebird Cafe. She profusely thanked her fans for helping her make her dreams come true, talked about how much she loves America, gave a couple little girls a pepperoni pizza, played a very sparkly acoustic guitar and sang her more heartfelt songs, like “By the Grace of God” and “Unconditionally.” Butterflies were involved and women were dressed like sunflowers. At one point Perry hit herself in the face with her microphone and laughed at how she just shattered the flawless pop star illusion. It was hard to tell if the lip smash happened every night in a well-choreographed attempt to further humanize herself or if she really did just have a moment of clumsiness. Either way, we'll give her adorable points for it.

After everyone caught their breath, we were dumped back into Perry’s sugar-high fever dream where she walked through the air while hanging from a big blue cloud, gyrated on top of a birthday cake, sat in a bright green blow-up convertible that drove her and her ’90s-pop-loving BFFs all over the stage and flew from the rafters as thousands and thousands of balloons fell from the ceiling. Fans grabbed at the balloons as though Perry herself filled each one with precious air molecules from her very own lungs.

By the time Perry closed with her feel-good empowerment anthem “Firework,” everyone was hypnotized. Our hearts were screaming out, "Yes, Katy Perry, we have also felt like a plastic bag." Real-life fireworks went off all around Perry as a giant fan dramatically blew her hair back and the entire arena sparkled with hundreds of thousands of glittery little spots of lights and BOOM, the instant the song ended the house lights went on, the dream was over, and everyone was rushed out of the arena as quickly as possible. The crew had a shit-ton of confetti to clean up. Sorry, we mean to say a poop-ton. There were kids there, after all.

Comments (3)

Showing 1-3 of 3

Add a comment

Add a comment