Katy Perry may be the archetypal teenage dream, but judging by the ecstatic crowd at the Air Canada Centre, she's also in the reveries of tiny Dora the Explorer fans, soccer moms, grandmothers, gay males and – this one really threw me – the four hormonal adolescent dudes behind me with letters spelling K-A-T-Y emblazoned on their naked chests.
Perry is also the dream employer of an army of choreographers, graphic designers, wardrobe consultants, videographers and special-effects artists who adorn her shows in a rainbow of candy-coloured bling. To this proud member of the Brotherhood of Old Farts, she has always seemed like the only tolerable pop diva currently assaulting the sensibilities of today's impressionable youth.
It was therefore with some relief that I heard my eight-year-old daughter Hadleigh tell me recently that Katy Perry was "epic." It was her first serious pop-music crush, and thus – when Perry's Toronto concert dates were announced – a suitable venue to introduce her to the transformational wonders of the live gig.
Taking one's child to their first concert is a key milestone in the life of a parent; what I hoped to see etched on Hadleigh's face was the first experience of the pure, no-strings-attached joy of pop. Passing the torch of music appreciation is not hard, but don't expect them to keep it burning according to the same hard-core rules you applied in your misspent youth.
It took barely two minutes to realize how perfect a Katy Perry concert was for this momentous occasion. Her music is kid-friendly, yet packed to the gills with the same tropes that stirred all of us parents in the audience (and there were many) to gaze lovingly at those 45s spinning on turntables a generation ago: emphatic hooks, countless euphemisms for sex and, of course, instant danceability.
In my early days, I would get my fix from the likes of Marc Bolan, Robert Plant and Joey Ramone, but in many ways (cue howls of outrage from the purists) Katy Perry is cut from the same cloth. True, the spontaneity and energy our old heroes had are now choreographed and scripted out of most of today's hit artists; replaced, in the Perry show, by an Osmond-esque devotion to Vegas-style showbiz perfection. But in great pop songs like California Gurls (her rousing encore number), Perry displays the T.Rex/Ramones talent for subverting the genre with humour and irony – albeit with enough costume changes (including a dozen in one song alone) to send Lady Gaga bawling back to that giant egg of hers.
Perry's show was a two-hour frenzy of DayGlo excitement: part Folies Bergères, part Teletoon, part John Waters. She's as comfortable singing skankily about kissing a girl and liking it as she is balancing on a pink cloud above the audience or dancing on stage with a line of goofy gingerbread men. And the visual effects were topnotch; after seeing her perform E.T. to a stunning backdrop of lasers and video graphics, I reckon Pink Floyd should be on Craigslist inviting someone to cart off their old sets for free.
There was also a soupçon of hubby Russell Brand in her act, judging by the witty one-liners and audience banter sprinkled liberally through the show.
She has a remarkable ability to appeal to young children without alienating teenagers. A touching moment came near the finale, when, clad in a cute, sequined, polka-dot swimsuit, Perry did a jaunty cover of Whitney Houston's I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me); while this dad's feet were moving in best old-man-at-the-club fashion, Perry filled the stage with young kids from the audience and handed out hugs and photo-ops as if she truly meant it. Why Sesame Street once deemed her too hot to handle is a mystery.
Hadleigh doesn't dance in public; she's either too cool or too reserved for that just yet. Instead, she glazed intently at the spectacle, barely blinking, absorbing the myriad sights, sounds and smells (dry ice and cotton candy) of her first visit to the altar of pop.
I suspect she will remember the event with fondness when she's old enough to worry about the influence of popular culture on her own children. But for now, I'll have to make do with the curt "really good" when I asked for her verdict during the ride home. Showing her age, she added, "I'm really tired," and fell asleep in the back of the car.
Honestly. That's today's youth for you.
Katy Perry plays Montreal's Bell Centre on Saturday and Ottawa's Scotiabank Place on Sunday. Other Canadian dates are Regina on July 13, Winnipeg July 14, Calgary July 16, Edmonton July 17 and Vancouver July 19.
Katy Perry
- At the Air Canada Centre
- In Toronto on Wednesday