Massive stadium shows by massive stadium-filling pop stars tend to
come with a concept. When fans are paying upwards of £60 a ticket, it
pays to put in some effort and go all out on spectacle.
Beyoncé, Lady Gaga and Madonna festoon their shows with fireworks,
crazy hydraulics, “meaningful” am-dram narratives and a vast supporting
cast of choirs, dancers and circus performers. Rihanna, who has had more
No 1 singles than Beyoncé and Gaga combined, does none of this.
Rihanna’s concept is her vagina.
Given that the mega-selling
Barbadian pop star spends a large proportion of her leisure time
tweeting close-ups of her arse cheeks to her 30 million followers,
perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised that her crotch gets top billing here.
She
strokes it, she thrusts it, she jiggles it, she spanks it and then she
strokes it some more. The Diamonds tour is essentially one long
celebration of Rihanna’s lady-parts.
Rumour has it that, at the end of
this tour, her vagina will launch a solo career. It would be churlish at
this stage not to wish it well.
And the music? Seven albums in
seven years has ensured that a Rihanna set isn’t short of hits, even if
some of them are lost in the sticky sludge of trashy Euro-techno/R&B
fusion.
Her set is divided into five acts, broken up with costume
changes and apparently reflecting the various facets of her career (who
knew?). It opens in muted fashion with the singer kneeling in a black
cape, studded thigh-high boots and hotpants in front of a female statue
on a video screen while singing “Mother Mary”.
It’s a rare moment of
calm in the relentless and ultimately wearying bump ‘n’ grind- fest to
come, which reaches its apogee in “Rude Boy” (“Come here rude boy, is
you big enough?”) and “Jump" ("Ride it my pony/My saddle is waitin").
Throughout all this Rihanna’s face remains impassive and inscrutable.
There
are moments, however, when she lets the sex-bomb mask slip. For the
stomping, Nineties-style raveathon “We Found Love” she emerges in a
sequin-encrusted, dollar bill-smothered puffa jacket and matching
trainers that EastEnders’ Bianca Jackson would deem too tacky,
punching the air and bouncing into the crowd to commune with fans.
It’s
here that the show finally comes alive. Rihanna breaks into a smile and
her nether regions take a well-earned break.
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