The CIRCUS
I know none of you knew me back in my early teens/early highschool time, but from about 5th grade until Britney started to fall down the tubes, I was downright obsessed with Britney Spears. At first, I refused to listen to ANYTHING other than Britney Spears all day every day (this was back when only Baby One More Time and Oops I did it Again were out) and had my walls covered---COVERED--with what might have been several hundred to a thousand Britney pictures. It was sad, obsessive, pathetic, but Britney Spears was my hero when I was an awkward, ugly duckling, friendless little pre-teen and teenager on Long Island. She was joyful, defiant, pushed peoples buttons (often the wrong ones, and if you know me, you know I love people who do that!), and made no apologies for sexuality. When her huge, public, downward spiral began, my obsession (thankfully) went with it, and I moved onto more sophisticated, intelligent, meaningful arts, and--since my love for her theatricality led me to the theatre--decided to pursue a career in acting rather than being the next Britney, since acting was more where my talents lay. Still, when she set off on the Onyx Hotel tour in 2004, as my affections were beginning to switch, my curiosity got the best of me and I bought tickets to see her at Jones Beach, only to discover weeks later that she had injured herself and would cancel her tour. She then proceeded into her infamous spiral of insanity (which I almost entirely ignored), and I hardly had a thought about Ms. Spears. Another teen idol fallen, and her fan base gone with her. I was pretty sure we'd never hear from Briney again, unless it was to report that pictures of her snorting coke or dropping her baby on the ground would show up.
But then, Circus came out. And Britney looking like Britney again. And I listened to her new music and danced around my room like a stupid teenage, and listened to Blackout (which I all but ignored when it came out) and realized what I was missing. So, some old love for a silly childhood hero was reignited. I listened to the old stuff and remembered all the joy I felt back when I was young(er), and missed that feeling, often lamented about how things were when they were more innocent, and I didn't have to worry about my dying grandparents, my parents separating, my family's near financial ruin, where I'll be living next month, how I will ever make enough money to pay rent and hundred of thousands in college loans, how I'll survive after graduating. Then she announced her world tour, which would hit the United Stated while I was in London and then going to London for a solid two weeks not long after I arrived back in the US. I was missing the big comeback.
Cut to tonight. When Britney Spears was lowered to the stage from the ceiling (after being shown on the video screen shooting Perez Hilton with a spear-gun to the thunderous applause and cheers of the audience) in Madison Square Garden to night-as much as it embarrasses me to say so-I cried. No, not in that fangirly “OhmyGOD, I’m actually in her presence” obsessive crying I surely did when I was 10 or 11, but because I felt that same pang of joy one feels when seeing their first concert, their first Broadway show, their first glimpse into true magic; only this time, I was 21, had seen dozens of concerts, hundred of shows, and had experienced a great deal in my young life that’s hardened me from thinking I could ever feel that kind of innocent joy again. And an hour and forty minutes later, after she performed “…Baby One More Time” and the audience went wild with anticipation knowing she couldn’t POSSIBLY leave us there, having performed all that and not doing “Womanizer,” I cried again, because I realized that for the last hour and 40 minutes, I had forgotten about the pain a lot of my family is going through, and the rude awakenings of adulthood and the struggles of trying to be an actor, and that I felt pure, youthful joy-the awe, wonder, and abandonment of being in presence of magic. I’m sure it’s a feeling so many of you can relate to-not because of Britney, but because of that show-whether it was Wicked, Company, Thoroughly Modern Millie, Rent --that you saw and went back to so many times wanting to feel that way you did that first time you saw it, though it never really happened again. Or the very first time you discovered the magic of theatre or live shows when you were 9 or 10, and then eventually you descended into intellectual criticism, “knowing better”: seeing flaw rather than magic, self-indulgence instead of joy, critiquing instead of being on for the ride. But to actually feel that joy again, knowing better now that life can be hard, and hell-seeing that this girl up there doing it and been THROUGH it and back again-gave me hope. I’d say it’s silly and maybe a little sad, but I think it’s much more silly and sad to pass childhood and to never allow yourself to feel that joy again. It’s one of the saddest things about adulthood--which only grows more and more difficult to deal with as time passes. And it gave me hope about entertainment and art in general because my idealistic hope for the world and why I think arts are important is that I think if we can put something on stage, on screen, on someone’s speakers that reminds them of that joy, the reason the struggle and being alive is worth it, then we were treat others better. And if that comes a great performance of "If U Seek Amy," then FINE. I walked out of the theatre and gave change to every homeless person and street musician I passed before I arrived back at my apartment, wanted to give almost everyone I saw a big hug, and probably had a big dopey smile stuck on my face that I couldn’t help but share with people I passed by. Something good was ignited in me for that little bit, and I’m not complaining about it yet.
The concert in a sentence or two: Britney is BACK. And, BOY, does she still have it.
But then, Circus came out. And Britney looking like Britney again. And I listened to her new music and danced around my room like a stupid teenage, and listened to Blackout (which I all but ignored when it came out) and realized what I was missing. So, some old love for a silly childhood hero was reignited. I listened to the old stuff and remembered all the joy I felt back when I was young(er), and missed that feeling, often lamented about how things were when they were more innocent, and I didn't have to worry about my dying grandparents, my parents separating, my family's near financial ruin, where I'll be living next month, how I will ever make enough money to pay rent and hundred of thousands in college loans, how I'll survive after graduating. Then she announced her world tour, which would hit the United Stated while I was in London and then going to London for a solid two weeks not long after I arrived back in the US. I was missing the big comeback.
Cut to tonight. When Britney Spears was lowered to the stage from the ceiling (after being shown on the video screen shooting Perez Hilton with a spear-gun to the thunderous applause and cheers of the audience) in Madison Square Garden to night-as much as it embarrasses me to say so-I cried. No, not in that fangirly “OhmyGOD, I’m actually in her presence” obsessive crying I surely did when I was 10 or 11, but because I felt that same pang of joy one feels when seeing their first concert, their first Broadway show, their first glimpse into true magic; only this time, I was 21, had seen dozens of concerts, hundred of shows, and had experienced a great deal in my young life that’s hardened me from thinking I could ever feel that kind of innocent joy again. And an hour and forty minutes later, after she performed “…Baby One More Time” and the audience went wild with anticipation knowing she couldn’t POSSIBLY leave us there, having performed all that and not doing “Womanizer,” I cried again, because I realized that for the last hour and 40 minutes, I had forgotten about the pain a lot of my family is going through, and the rude awakenings of adulthood and the struggles of trying to be an actor, and that I felt pure, youthful joy-the awe, wonder, and abandonment of being in presence of magic. I’m sure it’s a feeling so many of you can relate to-not because of Britney, but because of that show-whether it was Wicked, Company, Thoroughly Modern Millie, Rent --that you saw and went back to so many times wanting to feel that way you did that first time you saw it, though it never really happened again. Or the very first time you discovered the magic of theatre or live shows when you were 9 or 10, and then eventually you descended into intellectual criticism, “knowing better”: seeing flaw rather than magic, self-indulgence instead of joy, critiquing instead of being on for the ride. But to actually feel that joy again, knowing better now that life can be hard, and hell-seeing that this girl up there doing it and been THROUGH it and back again-gave me hope. I’d say it’s silly and maybe a little sad, but I think it’s much more silly and sad to pass childhood and to never allow yourself to feel that joy again. It’s one of the saddest things about adulthood--which only grows more and more difficult to deal with as time passes. And it gave me hope about entertainment and art in general because my idealistic hope for the world and why I think arts are important is that I think if we can put something on stage, on screen, on someone’s speakers that reminds them of that joy, the reason the struggle and being alive is worth it, then we were treat others better. And if that comes a great performance of "If U Seek Amy," then FINE. I walked out of the theatre and gave change to every homeless person and street musician I passed before I arrived back at my apartment, wanted to give almost everyone I saw a big hug, and probably had a big dopey smile stuck on my face that I couldn’t help but share with people I passed by. Something good was ignited in me for that little bit, and I’m not complaining about it yet.
The concert in a sentence or two: Britney is BACK. And, BOY, does she still have it.