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Hurricane Madge
Madonna is promoting a new album, and she's going on tour. Again.
Written by Jeffery Taylor
It happens once every couple years. It may or may not have anything to do with global warming, but things seem to heat up. There is a buzz in the air like an electrical storm brewing. There is a swirl of activity in the ether. A snippet is leaked to the public. Speculation and rumors abound. You can almost feel the bubbling and gurgling under your feet as the Earth prepares in its anticipation for this seismic release. Your heart starts to race in anticipation of what’s to come.
Madonna is promoting a new album, and she’s going on tour. Again.
You think we would get used to this. After all, it was just two short years ago that Madonna released Confessions on a Dance Floor and traveled the world on her Confessions Tour. And not too long before that, she gagged us all with her Reinvention Tour, bringing back songs from her twenty-year career and making us all feel like we were seventeen again.
But we’re not. And neither is she. As Madge nears the big five-oh, it’s even more exciting to see her still-chiseled body hop around on stage in front of thousands of die-hard fans. Defying not only time but also gravity, she can kick and she can stretch and she can kick. And though I may feel like her Number One fan, there are countless others who feel like they deserve that coveted spot. And they’ll do almost anything to see their true American idol.
And so, when word started to spread that Madonna was going to perform at Roseland Ballroom in New York City the day after the release of her latest CD, Hard Candy, my friends and I planned a strategy. We wanted to make sure we were front and center.
Now, I’ll admit that I’ve taken my obsession to almost embarrassing levels. I remember back in 1990 when one of my friends from college came to visit me at my family’s home in Pennsylvania to find every inch of my bedroom walls covered in pictures of Madonna, floor to ceiling. Although I didn’t think anything unusual of it, I remember his reaction making me feel somewhat like a stalker. “I guess you like Madonna, huh?” he quipped, his uncomfortableness almost palpable in my childhood room.
Since then, I have toned down my Madonna décor to an artistic rendering of her Ray of Light cover tastefully framed and a vintage find of her debut album displayed modestly in the living room. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t buy every magazine with her on the cover-and of course she is at the top of my TiVo wish list so that anything and everything concerning Madonna is captured (including every showing of The Next Best Thing, which, to be honest, wasn’t).
Madonna Through the Ages-Hers & Ours
My friends’ affections, however, make mine seem almost tame. My friend Dan makes videos under an alter ego named Madanna, and my friend Rami is so obsessed that he sent me a text last year on April 13 that read, “Twas April 13th 1990 that I saw the first blonde ambition concert at chilba marine stadium outside Tokyo. Good Friday and Friday the 13th. Indeed.” These are the things that occupy our minds.
And it’s not just the thirtysomething-nearing-forty-year-olds of my group of friends who follow the every move of our timeless icon. At the tender age of twenty-two, Jeff, the newest member of our clan, makes the rest of us look like neophytes. There’s something to be said for those of us who grew up with the Material Girl, but it’s even more impressive when those who didn’t, get it. And Jeff gets it. Which is why I called him first to discuss our strategy for getting into the coveted promo concert at Roseland.
We knew we would have to camp out for tickets. That was a given. We heard that 800 wristbands would be given out at 6 AM on Wednesday morning, April 30, to her most devoted fans. Luckily, the rain that had accompanied the first bands of gale force winds preceding Hurricane Madge’s touchdown had stopped and the streets upon which we would be sleeping had dried.
Our plan was to meet around 11 PM the night before and get in line. It would be like camping out, only on pavement. What better way to spend a night than in the wild of the concrete jungle? I mean, staying up until 6 in the morning wouldn’t be that hard. Most of us have been out at clubs at least that late, and many of us have stayed awake much longer. Although we weren’t planning on using any “artificial sweeteners” to get us through the night, I was sure the adrenaline alone would be enough fuel to help us reach our destination.
Both of our boyfriends were hesitant to commit to an overnight, mine because of his job and Jeff’s because of their newly adopted puppy. Sometimes responsibility trumps irrationality. But Jeff and I were committed to the task at hand.
A Long Day’s Journey Into Night & Day Again
The day before, we started to hear reports that people had already begun to line up - at 9 AM! Are you kidding me? Who were these freaks? How dare they throw a wrench into our plans? I mean, camping out overnight for tickets is one thing. But to line up almost 24 hours in advance borders on the ridiculous.
Our friend Wess, resident DJ at D.C.’s newest and fiercest club Town, hopped on a bus, making his way to the city to meet Rami in line in front of Roseland. He arrived at around 5 PM and we maintained cell phone contact from the time he got off the bus until he beelined his way to 52nd and Broadway. He reported that there were already about 150 people in line, and he and Rami settled in for their twelve-hour wait.
Jeff and I conferred and decided that, since there was no way to get out of our work commitments that night, we would go ahead with our original plans and line up later that evening. If we got there and there were more than 800 people in line, we would just go home and resign ourselves to the fact that it wasn’t meant to be. (Yeah, right.)
When I got home from teaching my yoga class, I checked in with Wess who told me that only about 100-150 people had lined up behind him and Rami, and that if I got in line, I would definitely get a wristband. I turned to my boyfriend Steven, my eyes glazed over in delight. “Baby!” I exclaimed. “We have to go!” He looked at me as I foamed at the mouth, and I saw in his eyes a little of the same fear as my college buddy almost eighteen years before.
“I have to work, baby,” he hesitantly explained. Steven had just started a new job and wasn’t comfortable calling in “sick.” You see, although he adores Madonna, Steven had not drunk the Kool-Aid, if you know what I mean.
“Can’t you just be tired tomorrow?” I selfishly asked. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I added. She’s going to be performing at an intimate venue mere blocks from where we live. How could we pass this up? After several minutes of pleading and persuasion, he decided that he would never forgive himself if he didn’t go.
So we packed our bags. We pulled out a big duffle bag from the closet and started stuffing it with a quilt and some blankets. We filled water bottles, stockpiled snacks, and grabbed a couple of Red Bulls for what would be a long night. (Adrenaline can only take you so far.) Rushing around our apartment, you would have thought a tsunami was headed our way.
We arrived at Roseland at 10:30 PM and found Rami and Wess behind metal barriers on Broadway between 52nd and 53rd Streets, cordoned off from the sidewalk proper. Laying on the concrete around them were hundreds of Madonna fanatics, their boom boxes blaring her new CD.
We made our way to the end of the line, which was halfway between Broadway and 8th Avenue on 53rd Street, directly behind Roseland. We found Jeff and his boyfriend, Michael Taylor, at the end of the line. Jeff was jumping up and down with excitement. “What happened to Rocco?” we asked about their new puppy. (Yes, they named it after Madonna’s son. I know… we are not right.)
“He’s at home, sleeping,” Jeff replied. I guess Michael Taylor couldn’t pass up this opportunity, either.
She Appears! She Waves!
So Jeff and I hopped up and down like two little kids for the next twenty minutes until we heard screams from down the street at the stage door. We ran like crazy people in the direction of the commotion to find Madonna leaving the back of Roseland and climbing into an SUV. Although I didn’t get to see her, I did see the back window roll down and a hand wave. The SUV pulled off. Rehearsals were over for the night.
A few minutes later, we heard screams down the street in the other direction as the SUV drove down Broadway. Rami came back to our spot in line later to tell us the SUV passed by them and that Madonna was hanging out the window, waving to all the fans in line. Was this really happening?
Our friend Troy joined us a little later and we all hunkered down for our night together as the line continued to grow behind us. We set our quilt on the pavement and pulled out the blankets. Troy brought out the pillows he had packed. We made friends with the group of people behind us. I’ve never camped out for tickets before, so I found the whole experience very exciting.
There are worse places to hang out all night than in the middle of Times Square. (You heard me correctly.) A McDonald’s around the corner provided needed sustenance, and the bars in Hell’s Kitchen provided a place to relieve our bladders-and grab a cocktail, if you were Michael Taylor.
Steven and I got under the blankets, and Troy and Jeff snuggled next to us, and we caught a few hours of patchy rest while Michael Taylor talked to our new neighbors. Steven needed the most sleep since he was going straight to work after we got our wristbands. The pavement was surprisingly not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. I looked up at the skyscrapers all around me, surrounded by my best friends, and thought how lucky I was and how grateful as well.
Before we knew it, hours had passed and the line started to move, but so slowly as there was only one guy handing out wristbands. We got ours, with the words “This is not a ticket” imprinted on them, at 7:30 AM and were told that the doors opened at 8 PM that night, and that we could start lining up again at 6 PM. We would get another wristband at that time that would let us into the venue. Jeff and I were smug in the fact that it hadn’t been necessary to get in line at 9 AM the day before like those other crazies. We are true blue professionals.
Steven went to work, and I caught a couple hours of sleep back at our apartment. At around 5:30 PM, Steven and I met Michael Taylor and Jeff in approximately the same spot that Wess and Rami had occupied the night before. Ironically enough, Rami and Wess got there a little later and ended up pretty much where we had been on 53rd.
This Is a Capital “E” Event
As it got closer to 8, camera crews started swirling around. Inside Edition interviewed these British people who were in line next to us, and the four of us craned our heads behind them, trying to get our mugs on camera. We would later see ourselves for a split second in an online clip.
At 8 o’clock, the line started moving and the adrenaline started pumping. You could almost hear the wind howl in your ears. The excitement continued to build as we moved forward. When we got to the front of the line, they added a blue wristband to our arms labeled, “MADONNA - HARD CANDY PROMO TOUR” - our ticket into this wild ride. I knew then and there that I wouldn’t be removing either wristband ever again.
We rushed into the venue, surprised that the dance floor was only about halfway full. Of course, there were hundreds of people in line behind us. Before long, the place would be packed. We sidled up to the bar and ordered two Red Bull and vodkas each, poured both into a large cup, and made our way onto the dance floor. A few minutes later, Rami, Wess, and Troy met up with us.
I’m not sure what happened after that. It all became a blur as soon as Madonna took the stage. I know that I screamed at the top of my lungs the whole time and jumped up and down like a madman. I remember Madonna looked amazing and that I could see the muscles of her arms clearly from where I was standing. Steven and I looked at each other in astonishment and glee, not believing what was going on around us, as Justin Timberlake joined Madge onstage for “4 Minutes.”
When the concert ended, thirty-eight minutes after it started, the lights came on and they blared “Beat Goes On” through the speakers. Soaked in sweat, I danced with my boyfriend and all of my best friends. I remember thinking how much I love my life.
Tickets just went on sale for her “Sticky and Sweet” tour, and Steven and I just shelled out over $750 for tickets that are nowhere near as close as we had been at Roseland. But you can’t not go. She’s almost fifty. How many more concerts does she have in her?
Wess and I joked that she’ll still be going at 75, and so will we (and Cher!). We’ll probably all need walkers by then - except Madonna, of course. Tickets will probably be $2,500. “Who do I make the check out to?” Wess joked. “Just kidding,” he added.
We’re not kidding.
