Pop Tarts: The Review

It's a good thing The Child didn't have classes yesterday because it gave her the entire day to indulge in pre-concert preparations and speculaltion about the show to come. She had planned her outfit well in advance (a Cheetah print peasant blouse in pink and brown over her brown tiered boho skirt) and offered some suggestions as to what I should wear (which I semi-heeded). I let her wear a pair of my earrings.

We went to Geraldine's for dinner first, an arrangement that made The Child nervous because she's only ever seen the huge lines for breakfast. But we walked right in. She had meatloaf (which she said was better than mine but it wasn't) and I had ravioli. The Child dutifully ate, because I said she had to. I told her the story of my first concert ever and she wondered what she would do if "Hannah Montana and the Cheetah Girls came in here right now".

The arena is completely across town from us but traffic was fine until we got to the main thoroughfare leading into the venue. This could have been a problem but I am wicked clever at maneuvering via side streets and not only did I get around the traffic jam, we found event parking within 2 blocks of the venue for $4. Hello? I said, $4. I so rock.

We got to the Arena with about 15 minutes to spare, which is good because this is a fracking post-9/11 world so all the soccer moms and teeny boppers had to be searched before entering. (And I suppose such measures theoretically make us safer but it made me a little emotional to think about it. This is the world we're giving our children. Kinda bummed me out for a minute).

Our seats weren't terrible. We were to the side, directly to the right of the stage but close enough to see well. The crowd was overwhelmingly female, sprinkled with a few brave dads and brothers. But it was mostly girls, many of them, like The Child, sporting something cheetahlicious. Many, many little girls, way, way younger than The Child. So many little girls that I wondered judgementally to myself, "What are these parents going to do for an encore?" The Child's age group did represent, however.

So we sat in our seats and there was a palpable buzz in the joint and I was just sitting there taking it all in. There was a spontaneous burst of cheering that swept the room, so shrill and high pitched that dogs in Greenland heard it. I looked at the mom next to me and she said, "We'll be deaf by morning".

And then, the lights went down, the cheering increased and my ears started to bleed. We were treated to a short set by a band called "Everlife", which pretty much rocked. Like, for real. 3 sisters, 2 of whom play pretty smokin' guitars + some dude on drums. They had a pop-grunge thing going on that I very much enjoyed. And in some ways, they were my favorite part of the show because they were actually playing instruments. Turns out the other two acts work to recorded tracks. Which I suppose is rather done these days but it kinda bugged me.

In the concerts of my youth, said the old fart, artists didn't sing a song exactly as it was recorded on the album. Guitar strings broke. There were ubiquitous and obnoxious drum solos. That's what concerts were about. All this studio-perfect music with pre-recorded back-up singers had me wondering if these little pop tarts were actually singing or just Ashlee Simpson-ing. And I'm still not sure although I think that at least some of them were, mostly.

It turns out that this was the first show of the tour and it was being filmed for the Disney Channel. Which meant there were cameras everywhere and about a 15 minute interlude between Hannah and the Cheetahs during which the crowd was being manipulated into standing and cheering so as to film the obligatory crowd shots. And yes, it left me feeling like a complete tool. I paid $37.50/ticket to be an extra in a fracking Disney show.

But this is, in the end, not about cynical old mama and her struggles with the Disney machine. It was about thousands of little girls hearing songs, whether live or Memorex, about standing up for yourself, living your dreams and the power of friendship...wholesome, empowering messages that, as a mom, I cannot complain about.

It was about the chubby, sweet-faced girl 2 rows down who was rhythmically challenged but stood and sang along like she was the only one in the room.

It was about the older girl next to us, obviously too cool to be there, forced to go along on this "family outing" with her little brother (lame) and her mom (lamer), who sat sullen and quiet until the Cheetahs came out and then stood, singing along, through the whole show.

And it was, ultimately, about The Child, who danced and sang and waved her arms and sometimes just stood, mezmerized, watching these people she's only seen on screen now in real life, dancing and singing and waving in her general direction. And it was about sometimes dancing and singing with her because I know 'way more of the lyrics to those songs than I thought I did. It was about her rapturously throwing her arms around me and about her bumping with me to one song. It was about her begging for a souvenir and carefully pinning her Cheetah Girls poster above her bed when we got home.

It was about her snuggling up to me when we got home and saying, "I am never going to forget this night. Thank you, Mama".