So I’ve been in Germany a little over three weeks and I am a little chagrined that my first letter from Berlin—actually my first non-comment posting here at EC—is not about something appropriately continental and cutting-edge like, for example, the twentieth annual “Tanz im August” international dance festival (ending 8/31), the exhaustive Man Ray exhibition (closed 8/18) or even the local response to Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight, which opened here last week. No, dear friends, my first dispatch concerns the antics this past evening of a 50-year-old Italian-American relic of the 20th Century, whom I shelled out my hard-earned Euros to watch cavorting half-naked at the same stadium where Jesse Owens (whom I played here in a 1987 Anne Bogart-directed spectacle in honor of the city’s 750th anniversary) upset the Führer so much in 1936. And he was half-naked, too… (Jesse, of course, not Hitler.)
Yes, last night Madonna brought her “Sticky & Sweet” tour to Berlin’s Olympiastadion. Triumph of the will, indeed.
This was a trick she could not pull off in 1990, when Mrs. Ritchie’s gig at this same venue (concert capacity: ca. 50,000) was scheduled on the same evening that Germany, drunk on reunification, defeated Argentina in the World Cup. Madonna cancelled due to “technical problems,” but it was no secret that ticket sales were disappointing, to say the least.
But yesterday, the ambitious blonde led a Midwestern assault on the German capital, on the same evening that her fellow Michigan native Iggy Pop, a rock pioneer with a real Berlin chapter in his career, thrilled his own fans with a rare appearance in the city. It was Madonna’s first visit to Berlin in almost seven years—no, wait, she was here in February as a “young” filmmaker at this year’s Berlinale…
“Is Madonna still relevant?” I hate hearing that question, since it goes against all the reasons I listen to music. But it’s one that gets asked all the time, be it by trend-obsessed culture vultures, circuit party DJs, avant-garde choreographers or teenage Berliners. All I know is, the album, Hard Candy, has been out for months and I finally downloaded it two days ago, just because I wanted to be prepared for the concert. I felt no sense of urgency at all to hear the music. (But I’ll be honest: The only recent album that I have felt compelled to play at extreme volume within days of its release was the Mamma Mia! soundtrack. So maybe I’m the last person who should be discussing “relevance.”)
“Is Madonna still good?” Much better question. And the answer? In a word: fuckyeah. I haven’t enjoyed one of her albums this much since 1998’s Ray of Light. The beats are crisp, the sound is fresh and the arrangements are interesting enough to keep me listening to the songs as songs and not just as dance-pop wallpaper. And the best news: Madonna is singing again. That imperfect voice is back, clearer and more compelling than it has been since she learned “proper” intonation for the Evita soundtrack (1996). I’m actually sorry that it took me so long to give this album a listen.
And the concert? Well, after I got used to the fact that I was sitting about five blocks from the event—I needed my binoculars to look at the presumably gigantic monitors flanking the stage and they were basically glued to my eyes for the entire concert—I thoroughly enjoyed myself, along with the thousands of other fans in attendance. Madonna’s show was dominated (but not dwarfed) by state-of-the-art stage technology: a sturdy, versatile stage, with a runway/apron and lots of traps and elevators; six onstage screens that merged to become five, three or a single image and displayed cutting edge animation (the opening was reminiscent of the main title sequence from Sweeney Todd) and video interludes.
This was not just a greatest hits show—in 90 minutes Madonna played at least six tracks off the new album and passed over expected crowd pleasers from the ‘80s and ‘90s like “Holiday,” “Material Girl,” “Like a Virgin,” “Open Your Heart,” “Express Yourself” (she teased us with this one) and “Deeper and Deeper.” After over 25 years in the business, Miss Thing has a songbook and she knows how to use it.
Let me get this out of the way: Madonna’s arms bothered me. I’m told
they’re the result of clean living, all that yoga and vegetarianism,
but that hyper-skinny muscularity reminded me of Los Angeles, and not
in a good way. (Remember Angela Bassett’s arms when she played Tina
Turner?) But the woman is definitely in shape and she is still an
incredible dancer…and a terrible live singer. Which I find touching,
knowing that the technology exists to conceal this. (I just youtubed
Madonna’s performance of “Sooner or Later” at the 1991 Oscars to remind
myself of her best live vocal performance and of her arms when they
still had meat on them.)
But you don’t go to a Madonna concert for the vocals. These days you go
for the ADD experience. Where to look? At the more than three dozen
dancers and musicians (as usual, mostly Latino and black, thank you
very much)? At the video screens, featuring guest appearances by
Pharrell, Timbaland, Kanye West, Justin Timberlake, Britney Spears and
the artwork of Keith Haring?
You look at Madonna, mostly. She seemed to have the most fun in the role of rock goddess, playing more guitar (acoustic, electric) per minute than any superstar front person besides Prince. Mercifully, she spared us an attempt at a Hendrix-like solo. Highlight: a heavy metal version of 1983’s “Borderline” with the AARP’s newest (eligible) member on lead guitar.
“She’s Not Me” (my favorite track on Hard Candy) was accompanied by the now obligatory “medley of myself,” in which the diva glorifies/repudiates her own iconography: a photo/video montage of the many faces of Madonna and, in case you missed the point, four dancers onstage costumed as versions of the most famous ones. This has already done in various formats and with more (or less) wit by Annie Lennox, Kylie Minogue, Diana Ross and Barbra Streisand. But it was fun to reminisce.
While she was not scared to stand alone on the stage, she was also content to take a back seat to her employees—and not just during costume changes. Unfortunately, this was my least favorite part of the evening, what I call “La Isla Folklorica/You Must Love Mariachi”—just a little too much of the gypsy in Madonna’s soul for my taste. Flamenco dancers, acoustic guitar trios, violins, sitting on stools, you get the idea.
But the night ended, appropriately and predictably, with controversy and beats. You’ve probably heard about the video montage aligning McCain with Hitler and Obama with Gandhi (yawn). What you haven’t heard about is the seamless segue from heavy metal to rave that followed it, as Madonna outdid herself on guitar and in busting a move. The encores were built into the setlist, leaving no room for discussion. And then: “Game Over,” as the monitors instructed us. She Who Must Be Obeyed was gone and we were dismissed. Our exit music: the Sex Pistols’ “God Save The Queen.”
Coming to your town in October.
