Pink: Live Last Night
By Chris Klimek
Never break up with Pink! She'll make an album about it, it'll go platinum, and pretty soon she'll be in the middle of 10,000 people at the Patriot Center, just like she was for two lusty hours Monday night, telling God and everyone how much she doesn't miss you.
The 30-year-old starlet reportedly reconciled with her husband this year, but that hasn't stopped her from riding the success of her heartbreak album -- last year's "Funhouse" -- into arenas. As a meditation on love eroding, the album isn't exactly "Blood on the Tracks." But as fuel for a high-energy, high-ambition spectacle -- part Cirque du Soleil, part Moulin Rouge, and part stool-settin' guitar pull -- it more than works.
(Read the review after the jump.)
In concert at least, Pink, aka Alecia Moore, is a more exciting pop mistress than Beyonce -- her only worthy rival -- for the same reason Daniel Craig is a more exciting 007 than Pierce Brosnan: She sweats. She swears. And the stunts seem more real. The spectacular trapeze-suspended derring-do offers a rush of physical jeopardy to match the emotional risks its star is taking every night. Yes, it's really her doing the singing, and the risk-taking.
If you caught Pink's performance at the MTV Video Music Awards two weeks ago, you know she usually does her own aerial work, too. She was nursing an injured shoulder Monday, so while her vocals soared on "Sober," her feet remained Earthbound. (One of her dancers stood in on the trapeze.)
The show didn't upstage the music. "Bohemian Rhapsody" and Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" both fit the evening's Alice in Wonderland vibe, even if the latter has been covered 947 times already. Led Zeppelin's "Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You" smoked, though it seemed to leave Pink Nation more dazed and confused than enthralled.
But everyone agreed on her cover of the Divinyls' "I Touch Myself." Reclining in lingerie on a scarlet daybed to exhale the 1991 hit, the star ran her hands over her body. Then the couch sprouted additional hands to assist. It was as freaky as the show got, a perfect blend of sex and surrealism. Though Pink's costumes got even skimpier as the night progressed, the goal seemed less to titillate than to show off of her battle-ready physique.
Despite the evening's one false note, the expired polemic "Dear Mr. President," (its accompanying video made clear it's about POTUS 43, not the new guy) we'll go ahead and say it: Mission accomplished.
By David Malitz |
September 29, 2009; 4:31 PM ET
Live Last Night
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