I’m a Swifty. Please keep reading. Don’t delete me from your Contacts. If you’re a subscriber, please don’t drop me. Give me a chance to explain. And, no, I’m not talking about Hollywood super-agent, Swifty Lazar.
We got the Disney Channel when Get Back, the Beatles three-part documentary by Peter Jackson came out. I was captivated. I transformed myself into a fly on the wall, observing the Fab Four create new music. Yoko seemed so innocent; certainly not the ogre that many blamed for breaking up the band. Linda McCartney was motherly, nurturing and charming.
It took me back to 1960’s San Francisco when I wanted to be a mod rocker. I walked around in a peacoat and denim bells. I was in a band. I was so groovy. In the 70’s I wore a pair of red cords and a red jeans jacket framing my red, white, and blue American flag tight t-shirt along with shoulder length hair. Of course, being about 30 pounds lighter than I am now, I cut a much better figure.
I was void of sartorial compunctions. Having spent four years at a boy’s Catholic high school, I was forced to adhere to a strict dress code. In college, I dressed like the hippie I knew I was inside. Cowboy shirts and Earth shoes. An Army jacket and patched-up jeans. Collarless chambray shirts and hip-hugging flares. But then came disco. I’d rather not even try to remember what I was wearing back then, although the “Jordache” comes to mind..
As a kid, I found myself at the Fillmore Auditorium, the Avalon Ballroom, or Winterland every weekend. I saw Hendrix, the Who, the Stones, Crosby Stills and Nash, Jefferson Airplane, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Big Brother and the Holding Company with Janis Joplin, Blood Sweat and Tears, The Yardbirds and countless others all during 1967-69 while I was still in high school.
This is all to say that I know a good concert when I see one. The Taylor Swift Eras Tour is the most impressive expression of live music I believe I have ever seen. The expertly filmed concert on Disney+ brings it all to you in the comfort of your own home.
Technologically, it’s tremendously impressive. It all took place at SoFi Stadium in L.A. and the stage was stretched to half the size of a football field. Projections transformed it into a city, a forest, an ocean, and more. 3D effects included a mega-serpent that wrapped around the runway. Risers moved electronically up and down producing dancers and back-up singers. The sound was impeccable.
Then there was Ms. Swift. For over three hours she cranked out hit after hit while her legion of fans sang along. She marched and cavorted over every inch of the massive stage, nailing every choreographed move. On key. No lip synching, she’s a pro. Everyone hit their marks. The synchronicity of the staging was poetic.
She slowed things down with an acoustic set that showed off her musicianship then ramped right back up again with another anthem, a dozen dancers and singers running alongside. She is an athlete, slamming home runs, throwing touchdowns, swishing half-court shots, and cracking slapshots into the net. The crowd never stopped cheering all night long.
The camera shots of faces in the crowd were striking. Pre-teen girls crying, incredulous they were there in their hero’s presence. Girls with girlfriends, boys with boyfriends, moms and dads beaming from ear to ear. This had to be the best family outing ever.
I heard a ticket had cost more than the average monthly mortgage payment. I previously ridiculed anyone paying so much, but I have to say the value was there. Big arena shows are more elaborate than ever and personally I like a more intimate setting. However, this show is unequalled in its spectacle. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event. Unforgettable.
In 2001 I was hired to perform as a presenter for a technology company on the trade show floor of the Javitz Center in New York City. It was to take place three weeks after Mel Brooks’ The Producers premiered on Broadway, starring Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. I snatched a single ticket and couldn’t wait for that evening to come. Two weeks before I was to leave for the gig, I received a phone call from my agent. The company had decided to pull out of the convention. I received a modest cancellation fee but that hardly made up for not seeing what promised to be the funniest show ever on a Broadway stage.
I sadly stared at my ticket. I had tried to see the show in previews when I was working in Chicago but was disappointed to see it was sold out. Suddenly an absurd thought blossomed in my brain. “Wait. I can still go. I’ve got frequent flier miles!”
I took a red-eye and got in the morning of the show. I checked into a $66 room at the YMCA (Thank you, Village People), took a nap, showered, then took a subway to the show. I remember riding the A-train, tickled that I was about to be in the theatre and that I had allowed myself to follow through on this fanciful plan.
What I saw was a raucous, creative, brilliant, hilarious comedy masterpiece. The script was funny. The music was funny. The actors were funny. The dancing was funny. The sets were funny. The sound was funny. Mel Brooks, at 75, was at the top of his game, a game in which few were qualified to play. During intermission audience members were all smiles, laughing as they shared their favorite scenes. I can honestly predict I will never see anything funnier than the original production of The Producers. I am honored to have witnessed it. My goofy idea was one of the best I’d ever had. I took the A train to JFK and flew back home the next day.
I guarantee many young girls and boys felt that same delight as they made their way home after Taylor Swift’s magical triumph.
It really is.
The Swift Eras Tour is impressive!