True Colors Tour

Kip and I went to see the gayest show on earth last night--the True Colors Tour at Radio City Music Hall. Interestingly, the show actually felt less gay than the Dolly Parton show we attended only a month ago at the same venue. The lineup was stellar: The Cliks, Indigo Girls, Regina Spektor, The B-52s, and Cyndi Lauper. Between-set banter was provided by Carson Kressley, Rosie O'Donnell, Kate Clinton and Margaret Cho. Also a special appearance by John Cameron Mitchell. How the stars collide!

Unfortunately, the show all felt a bit lame to me. With so many artists on the bill, and from such wildly different musical spheres, everyone around us felt compelled to blab to their neighbor through the whole show. And since no one felt the need to experience everything each artist had to offer, the aisles were a constant flow of people, everyone getting up to get another drink, squeezing through the rows of seats, texting their top five, or whatever. All the short sets gave the impression that the show never really began. Everyone was distracted.

The Indigo Girls, whom I have been loyal and loving fans of ever since I can remember--the first CD I ever bought was one of theirs--seemed a bit crammed into their too-short set, maybe 30 minutes or so. Most of the people in the audience were not hardcore Indigo fans, and to my dismay and utter heartbreak, during the song Kid Fears, when any other Indigo audience would be singing their hearts out during the Michael Stipe part, there was barely a peep from the crowd of 6,000.

Rosie O'Donnell--whatever her off-stage personality--was rather extraordinary, managing to harness the energy of the whole room during her short talk about her mother and her family, and, hilariously and poignantly, the first time she met Madonna. Perhaps I'm a curmudgeon--okay, I am a curmudgeon--but I don't think that gay marriage is the most important thing in the universe. I'm disinterested in the assimilationist leanings of the Human Rights Campaign, who is the major sponsor of the tour. Their track record of transgendered issues is simply repugnant.

When the B-52s finally hit the stage, everyone seemed a bit exhausted, though we all rallied and sang along. I'm glad Cindy Wilson has returned--her energy is amazing, and balances Kate Pierson's looseness nicely. When she hollered out "Tin roof, rusted!" everybody went bat shit. Cyndi Lauper is flawless, an exploding flash of joy and talent and love, all extremely heartfelt and genuine. We saw her a couple of years ago in the miserable production of Threepenny Opera, and she was the only redeeming note. A few times she ran out into the crowd, leaping onto the seats and singing from the audience. I understood what she was going for.