Archive for in performance

in performance: robert earl keen

robert earl keen.

robert earl keen.

The peculiarity of a songwriter long associated with the musical ways and means of Texas approaching the string music traditions of bluegrass in a Central Kentucky concert hall was not lost on Robert Earl Keen.

“What we do is Ray Price,” he said last night at the Lyric Theatre, referencing to the late Lone Star-born country giant. “So to be doing Bill Monroe up here is a little strange.” With that admission behind him, Keen and his six man band slid into the Monroe classic Footprints in the Snow, one of the cross-generational bluegrass standards featured on his recent Happy Prisoners album. Sure, the show was advertised as a bluegrass event. Yes, the record the concert was promoting was a scrapbook of string music standards spanning multiple decades. But to paraphrase an overworked saying, you can take the bluegrasser out of the Texan, but not the other way around. In other words, Keen’s usual plethora of Lone Star inspirations – the sweeping country melodies, the bittersweet narratives, the suggestions of swing – were all still very much in evidence.

That hardly proved detrimental to the performance, however. In fact, it was refreshing to hear exclusively acoustic instrumentation frame Keen’s songs. Pedal steel guitarist Marty Muse played dobro all evening, guitarist Rich Brotherton and bassist Bill Whitbeck reverted to the unplugged cousins of their usually electric instruments and drummer Tom Van Schaik (“You probably can’t find bluegrass drums in a Kentucky dictionary,” Keen remarked) cooled the percussion artillery to just a single snare and the train-style rhythms it triggered when brushes were applied. Mandolinist Kym Warner and fiddler Brian Beken nicely augmented the troupe.

But the Texas accents were far too pronounced– from Keen’s raconteur-like stage manner to the emotive leap frogging his songs took – for this performance to pass as bluegrass. Luckily, that proved to also be one of the show’s great charms. Keen has always possessed a knack for flipping, often abruptly, the sentiments of his songs with remarkable ease. Last night, his take on Jesse Fuller’s 99 Years (and One Dark Day) transformed the often-covered murder/prison ballad into a surprising chipper acoustic romp capped by an especially spry bass solo from Whitbeck. But the Keen original Not a Drop of Rain was so rich in melancholy, resignation and ghostly ambience that it could have been a product of the Dust Bowl era. Of course, Keen couldn’t help but preface the song with a whimsical reflection of his childhood in the Texas holler known as Bandera (“where any male over the age of 15 had no visible means of support”).

Keen’s most popular works similarly danced along the generous borders the performance established between bluegrass and Texas Americana music, as was the case with Copenhagen (an ode not to the city but to the chewing tobacco) and the woozily dysfunctional sing-a-long Merry Christmas from the Family.

The performance took the red eye back to Lone Star country for the show-closing encore of The Front Porch Song, a tune that still reveled in extended yarn-spinning between verses. With bluegrass now fully at bay, Keen was free to champion the high times and lasting friendships of his college years. Not surprisingly, it was all delivered with the almost romantic candor of an elder song stylist and the honest cheer of a scribe still proudly young at heart.

in performance: the robert cray band

robert cray.

robert cray.

Robert Cray isn’t much of a talker onstage. Last night at the Lyric Theatre, he packed 17 songs from 13 different albums into a very businesslike 100 minute performance that left little room for chat. The concert’s framework didn’t vary much from his other regional outings through the years, either. The guitar tone was spotless, the singing sounded remarkably unblemished by age and the overall sound remained a vital hybrid of blues and Memphis flavored R&B. In short, it was business as usual – which with Cray, was just fine.

Still, Cray slipped a curve ball into his encore with a work titled What Would You Say. It was an original composition from his 2014 album In My Soul (a record dominated by vintage R&B covers) that spoke directly to the here and now. Cray didn’t elaborate on its inclusion in the setlist, but it was difficult not to view the tune as a prayer for peace in light of the Friday terrorist killings in Paris.

“What would you say if we quit waging war and children felt safe?” Cray sang the verse with the soulful delicacy of Otis Redding in one of his more reflective moods. Redding’s spirit popped up several times last night. You heard it in the dub-like drive of Poor Johnny, the Otis Rush-style blues cool of the show-opening I Shiver and the solemnly paced soul affirmation of I Can’t Fail. But on What Would You Say, Cray’s singing was especially comforting. It serviced a moment of pause and reflection that was almost medicinal considering the events of the day. That the song was given such an inconspicuous presence in the performance made it even more powerful.

Outside of that, the show’s emotive highlights centered on Cray’s way with blues ballads. He usually delivers one mammoth ballad per show. Last night, he served up three – I’m Done Cryin’ (where pain was centered not in romantic betrayal but in less glamorous, real life losses of a job and home), The Last Time I Get Burned Like This (a 1985 gem that shoveled betrayal by the bucketload) and Time Makes Two (a smoldering epic for voice and guitar).

Dependable as ever, Cray didn’t disappoint. While a few of the decimated hearts populating his songs were dealing with a more worldly pain last night, Cray’s musical comfort proved as resolute and effective as ever.

in performance : storm large

storm large.

storm large.

After quickly professing her love for the Bluegrass, Storm Large greeted a Kentucky Theatre crowd last night by purposely pinching a nerve.

“Hear you have a new governor,” she said cheerfully. “How’s that going for you?”

When a collective audience groan greeted her query, the singer snapped to attention and made clear who was in charge for evening.

“Hey! There will no booing at the beginning of the show.”

Thus was set in motion a cabaret style performance of broadly re-imagined pop covers, acerbic yet reflective original tunes and a level of bawdy humor that often seemed traditional in a speakeasy kind of way. But most of all, there were the vocals – an arsenal of rich, robustly clear singing munitions that were alternately serene, romantic and rocking. Large’s voice was exactly that – huge and commanding with a range she glided up and down from with natural ease and a sense of dramatic flair that was theatrical in design but always emotively honest in delivery.

Large opened with a musical warning of sorts – a slice of unapologetic and strangely affirmative reflection titled Call Me Crazy. “Call me psycho,” she stated with jazz like intimacy. “Because I am.”

In a wild streak that typlified the program’s rollercoaster pace, Large followed with a pair of Cole Porter gems retooled for the modern age. I’ve Got You Under My Skin was goosed with an earthy defiance as well as a generous nod to Large’s rock ‘n’ roll roots while It’s Alright With Me became a jubilant bit of tambourine shaking fun with a vocal charge as animated as it was strikingly clear.

The song selection navigated through numerous stylistic waters throughout the rest of the 95 minute program from a decidedly non-diminutive version of the Grease classic Hopelessly Devoted to You (or, as the singer tagged it, “Grease meets Carrie”) to the after hours cocktail arrangement of the country murder ballad Long Black Veil to the wonderfully torchy treatment to the 1967 Jacques Brel by-way-of Dusty Springfield hit If You Go Away (Ne Me Quitte Pas).

Of course, Large was as much a raconteur as a powerhouse vocalist. A self-described “sailor mouthed” humorist, she offered ruminations on true romance (“If the cops weren’t called, you weren’t really into each other”) and the taboos of modern language. The latter helped set up 8 Miles Wide, a tune of anatomical pride “in the pants area” that countered any possibility of offense with operatic vocal blasts that made the humor all the more wicked.

in performance: chris thile

chris thile. photo by danny-clinch.

chris thile. photo by danny-clinch.

On record, Chris Thile is an instrumental scholar whose mindblowing technique is matched only by his stylistic restlessness. Onstage, such a balance manifests in an exuberant, inexhaustible and likely well caffeinated manner that offsets his virtuosic turns with combustible vigor. Imagine Neil Patrick Harris – from the wiry body frame to the boundless physicality – but with bluegrass leanings and you have a respectable portrait of Thile in performance.

Usually Thile plays in a rotating number of duo and ensemble settings. Last night, however, he bounded onstage at Asbury University’s Hughes Auditorium in Wilmore with just his longstanding musical weapon of choice, the mandolin, as a sidekick. Exhibiting dizzying string runs on some tunes and remarkable technical clarity on others, Thile offered an intimate view of the classical, pop and improvisational regions his bluegrass-bred playing leads to. Additionally, the 100 minute concert was designed as a career overview that boasted works by the two bands he is most readily associated with – Nickel Creek (Jealous of the Moon) and Punch Brothers (My Oh My). There was also music from recordings cut by the all-star Goat Rodeo Sessions (Here and Heaven) and his underrated duo project with guitarist Michael Daves (Rabbit in the Log).

In its more purposely reckless moments, Thile seemed to delight in creating train wrecks, as was the case in what he tagged “the ill-advised mash-up” of Josh Ritter’s Another New World and the Nickel Creek favorite The Lighthouse’s Tale. What resulted devilishly shifted mood as much as style as Thile went back and forth from the arctic chill surrounding the former to the comparative folk comfort bolstering the latter.

But when Thile chose musical order, the results were stunning. During a 20 minute reassembly of Bach’s Sonata No. 2 in A Minor, the novel lute-like precision of the playing (and, for that matter, the arrangement) all but reinvented the piece with all its alternating delicacy and fury intact.

Where else did the performance go? Well, Thile jumped head first into bluegrass with a suitably warp speed reading of Bill Monroe’s Mollie and Tenbrooks, served up a fun but self-effacing bit of grandstanding on the original Too Many Notes and even fashioned an impromptu ode early in the program to Wilmore that referenced the Ichthus festival, his teen years in Murray and a curious sense of bluegrass duality: “In Kentucky, two bluegrasses grow; one makes thoroughbreds, one was made by Monroe.”

The mad mandolin music dispensed throughout this performance may well have constituted a third variant.

in performance: dave rempis and tim daisy

tim daisy and dave rempis. photo by andrej chudy

tim daisy and dave rempis. photo by andrej chudy.

It was easily the most inconspicuous performance taking place on an afternoon/evening when Lexington was volcanically active.

Tucked away at the Farish Theatre of the Lexington Public Library, removed from American Pharoah’s historic Breeders’ Cup win (which took place moments earlier), its accompanying outdoor festival down the block at the Stephens Courthouse Plaza (which ran concurrently) and the Kentucky-Tennessee football smackdown at Commonwealth Stadium (with kickoff time a mere hour away), Chicago jazz innovators/improvisers Dave Rempis and Tim Daisy engaged in a continually arresting saxophone/percussion performance. Shoot, even the library had already closed for the day. You thought you were part of a secret society upon entering.

But while the hour long Outside the Spotlight performance may have worked well outside conventional bounds of harmony and melody, it was in no way exclusive in its presentation. Rempis and Daisy have been bandmates for close to two decades and have collaborated in numerous ensemble settings, so this duo outing simply heightened a longstanding musical dialogue.

Much of the music packed into a pair of lengthy duet improvisations began with minimal foundations. The first piece had Daisy constructing a drum outline on mallets with Rempis’ turns on tenor saxophone flushing out almost circular musical patterns with a strong compositional feel.

From there, it was tough to differentiate who was leading. It appeared to be Rempis for much of the evening, but Daisy’s responses on percussion – whether they were through an assemblage of scattered grooves, passages that had him tapping a small gong like a hand drum to give the musical a brief Eastern slant or bursts of interference created by tossing various bowls and percussion devices to the stage floor – regularly placed him in the driver’s seat.

Rempis largely dictated the concert’s pace, however. At times, he met Daisy’s playing head on to create a restless musical dialogue. That was especially evident during tradeoffs on alto sax with the drummer’s militaristic rolls on snare near the conclusion of the half-hour improv that began the performance to send the music through a discreet but pronounced blues detour.

In other instances, Rempis simmered the show’s overall drive and opened the music up, as in the way his baritone sax leads peppered the alternating groove – and its quick disassembly – during the evening’s second improv.

Best of all was a sense of musical communication so keen that (during the first improv) the music would halt in place for a beat before picking up again. At one point, it stopped for several seconds, leaving the audience – and perhaps even the duo itself – guessing as to whether the music would resume. To everyone’s good fortune, it did.

in performance: the count basie orchestra featuring diane schuur

diane schuur.

diane schuur.

Having already scaled the heights of soul, sass and swing during a 45 minute set with the Count Basie Orchestra, Diane Schuur turned the show’s cheer meter way, way up by serving a slice of sterling gospel last night at Danville’s Norton Center for the Arts. The tune was Climbing Higher Mountains, a spiritual recast for then-modern times in 1972 by Aretha Franklin. Schuur’s own history with the tune is similarly extensive, having recorded it with the Basie Orchestra in 1987 on an album that won Grammys for both acts.

Last night’s version played out on Schuur’s own terms, though, with vocals full of jubilant clarity that reflected the singer’s still-potent range, decisive phrasing and innate ability to fashion any song or style into a session of jazz and blues.

It was a surprise turn only because so many continue to view Schuur strictly as a modern incarnation of Dinah Washington, an estimation underscored early in the performance by a version of the 1961 Washington hit I Just Found Out About Love, complete with the Basie band’s incomparable sense of swing, and a regally lush reading of Johnny Mercer’s Travelin’ Light (popularized by, among others, Billie Holiday). Both tunes also showcased Schuur’s three-and-a-half octave reach which sent the songs into the vocal stratosphere.

There were a few moments where Schuur’s otherwise assured pitch wavered and the vocal sheen that had adorned many of her recordings (particularly her ‘80s and ‘90s albums for the GRP label) sounded slightly diminished. Mostly, though, Schuur came across a vocal fireball that easily scaled the narrative demands of Iola Brubeck’s Travelin’ Blues and the swing-savvy heights within an encore version of Morgan Ames’ Deedles’ Blues.

The Basie band provided effortless and authoritative swing throughout the performance, but was able to showcase its own extensive history (the orchestra is celebrating its 80th anniversary this year) and internal musical dynamics during a fine opening set of its own.

There were several players that nicely replicated sounds and accents of key members from the orchestra’s golden era – specifically, the way Will Matthews echoed the brittle, rhythmic style of the groundbreaking swing guitarist Freddie Green and Bobby Floyd’s mastering of the light, giddy play designed by Count Basie himself. But tenor saxophonist Doug Lawrence, whose solos explored the spacious Kansas City-style swing within Hey Jim and especially Moten Swing, made the Basie Orchestra more a platform for vibrant platform for orchestral jazz music’s still-vital possibilities more than a representation or recreation of its storied past.

in performance: the travelin’ mccourys/town mountain

ronnie mccoury and alan bartram of the travelin' mccourys. herald-leader staff photos by rich copley.

ronnie mccoury and alan bartram of the travelin’ mccourys. herald-leader staff photos by rich copley.

“Downtown – that’s where it’s happening,” remarked Ronnie McCoury as a different Bluegrass environment for bluegrass music settled in last night for the Breeders’ Cup Festival.

Instead of the usual summer string band setting of rural concert landscapes and rampant humidity, last night’s double-header featuring The Travelin’ McCourys and Town Mountain brought sterling bluegrass to the Robert F. Stephens Courthouse Plaza smack in the middle of downtown. Gone also was a 36 hour soaking that forced Tuesday night’s Breeders’ Cup Festival set by The Suffers indoors. In its place was a brilliant fall evening.

Not that the McCourys didn’t temp fate a little. A realigned version of the heralded Del McCoury Band with the progressively minded guitarist Cody Kilby taking father Del’s place and sons Ronnie and Rob McCoury (on mandolin and banjo, respectively) upholding the family name, the ensemble opened with Walk Out in the Rain. Luckily, this Bob Dylan rarity popularized by Eric Clapton in the late ‘70s wasn’t a case of art imitating climate. But it did put The Travelin’ McCourys’ understated but virtuosic playing, along with crisp three part harmonies delivered by Ronnie, bassist Alan Bartram and Ashland-born fiddler Jason Carter on proud display.

As is the case when they play with patriarch Del, the McCourys are bluegrass Rembrandts. Last night, the musicianship was confidently exact, colorful and daring with a gorgeous tone established by each of the five players. But where the Del McCoury Band favors bluegrass tradition, The Travelin’ McCourys open the sound up. Last night’s performance sported tunes penned or popularized by Bill Monroe, Jerry Garcia (in and out of the Grateful Dead), Waylon Jennings, John Hartford and a pair of fine originals co-written by Bartram (including the aptly titled road anthem encore tune, Travelin’).

Particularly intriguing was a David Grisman-derived jam that shifted the focus to jazz phrasing with a Bartram bass line that would have sounded right at home on an early ‘70s Santana record, and a two-song Hartford medley (Natural to Be Gone and Back in the Goodle Days) that nicely recalled the composer’s animated yet restlessly rustic musical spirit.

adam chaffins and robert greer of town mountain.

adam chaffins and robert greer of town mountain.

The preceding set by Town Mountain operated from another stylistic base altogether. The bulk of the fine 75 minute performance drew on tradition. But instead of the usual bluegrass displays of warp speed solos, the band’s distinction was rooted in ensemble rhythm with echoes of early rock ‘n’ roll, swing and, of course, Appalachian inspiration.

As a result, new tunes like Ruination Line sounded like a speakeasy-era blast of string band propulsion underscored by the urgency of Robert Greer’s singing and the band’s steadfast rhythmic grind.

In similar fashion, the mid ‘80s Bruce Springsteen hit I’m on Fire, which has been part of Town Mountain’s repertoire for years, truly sounded like “a freight train rolling through the middle of my head” with the band supplying locomotive-like rhythm and fiddler Bobby Britt adding a low, wistful solo that served the proverbial train whistle roaring into the night.

What a glorious sound to hear ringing through the streets of downtown Lexington on a late October evening.

in performance: the alejandro escovedo combo

alejandro escovedo. photo by charles cherney.

alejandro escovedo. photo by charles cherney.

Before he played a single note last night at the Singletary Center for the Arts, Alejandro Escovedo spoke at length about his love for Lexington. He recalled performances – and post-show celebrations – at the long defunct Lynagh’s Music Club, recording sessions at the more recently vacated St. Claire studio and the audience support that has made this champion Texas song stylist a huge local favorite for the better part of two decades.

The crowd, which largely filled the venue’s upstairs Recital Hall (the concert was initially booked at the larger Concert Hall downstairs), took it all in and poured obvious affection back out as naturally as a hometown turnout might.

What took place in and around this reciprocal lovefest was a program that focused largely on Escovedo songs from the last 15 years and his current “Combo” band that covered both the chamber-like reflection of his more introspective music (thanks to the return of cellist Brian Standefer, a veteran of Escovedo’s first Lynagh’s show in 1996) and the more pop-savvy rock ‘n’ roll of recent albums.

Curiously, the evening began with a song of displacement called Bottom of the World inspired by the urban sprawl than has engulfed Escovedo’s former hometown of Austin (he now lives near Dallas). The music possessed a wistfulness that brought Neil Young’s Powderfinger to mind, but with a cello accent from Standefer that was both elegiac and discreetly rhythmic.

Later, on Can’t Make Me Run, Escovedo plugged the band in by switching lead and rhythm guitar duties with Billy Masters, creating an ambient squall that nicely washed over a spacious, funky but very exact groove.

This was not a night for Escovedo nostalgists. Five Hearts Breaking was the only ‘90s tune performed. Oddly enough, there wasn’t any new music, either. Bottom of the World and Can’t Make Me Run constituted two of the four songs played from his most recent album, 2012’s Big Station. But there were several appealing transformations, including a lyrical and internalized Down in the Bowery that still highlighted the song’s inherent tension (“Everybody has to dance the blues sometimes”). There was also the still-arresting cover of Ian Hunter’s I Wish I Was Your Mother performed by Escovedo without vocal amplification from the lip of the stage, as he did so many times at Lynagh’s.

Escovedo will focus on the construction a new album in 2016. For now, though, this absorbing and selectively electric overview of his more recent musical past will serve as an inviting refresher course in the emotive and stylistic depth of what has already been a brilliant career.

in performance: randall bramblett band

randall bramblett.

randall bramblett.

One the many performance virtues of the current Randall Bramblett Band – a unit now together long enough that its sense of onstage communication is as natural as it is obvious – is the ability to reassemble numerous traditional resources (blues, R&B and, at times, even jazz) into cheerfully original musical portraits.

Take, for instance, the run of five songs performed in succession from the new Devil Music album that made up the heart of a highly spirited concert last night at Headliners Music Hall in Louisville. Several employed loops and samples as catalysts for rich, organic grooves in much the same way the tunes unfold on the recording. There were roots underpinnings to all of this music, from the roaring swing of Reptile Pilot to the seedy falsetto soul of Angel Child to the heavy Southern funk thread that ran through Devil Music’s title tune. But what resulted were grooves very much of Bramblett’s own making.

Jumping (often literally) between keyboards and saxophone and utilizing conversational, soul scratched singing, Bramblett was less the leader of these back alley jams as a tour guide. The other ensemble members – drummer Seth Hendershot, bassist Michael Steele and especially the ultra tasteful guitarist Nick Johnson – proved resourceful allies in presenting the expansive Devil Music tunes (along with several older works, including a 10 minute neo-psychedelic update of 2001’s God Was in the Water that opened the show) as powerfully soulful performance pieces. Reptile Pilot, in particular, sounded like a full swing orchestra was at play even though last night (as on the album), Bramblett was the only horn player at the helm.

Of course, the true ingenuity behind Bramblett’s songs is the fact they are as arresting thematically and lyrically as they are musically. Devil Music’s title tune, in particular, tapped into the very real rebuff of blues giant Howlin Wolf by his mother (“You can’t change a sanctified mind, but the need of a mother’s love can’t be denied”) while the sexual tension within Reptile Pilot exploded with a sense of scatterbrained ambiguity that mirrored the melody’s boppish celebration (“I’m smart as whip, I’ve got my degree; I’m dumb as a brick, I can’t easily see”).

Such is the fun that ensues when that ol’ devil music is unleashed.

in performance: taylor swift/vance joy


taylor swift literally lights up a sold out crowd of 18,000 last night at rupp arena. staff photograph by rich copley.

taylor swift literally lights up a sold out crowd of 18,000 last night at rupp arena. staff photograph by rich Copley.

At the half point of a sold out dance-pop blitzkrieg last night at Rupp Arena that encouraged everyone to party like it was 1989, Taylor Swift addressed a crowd of 18,000 as only a true pop mogul could – from atop a platform runaway that rose and tipped upward like the bow of a ship so the singer could address the upper decks eye-to-eye.

It was a moment that was visually quite arresting, regardless of how one viewed the often formulaic music that dominated the nearly two hour show surrounding it. Here was a former teen sensation whose stardom and bankability should have dwindled years ago. But last night, at age 25, she was a bigger deal than ever, a performer with a shrewd business sense that reached into every crevice of the production, making her arguably the most popular and image savvy female performer to rule the pop marketplace since Madonna.

The ballyhoo about Swift’s current tour is that it, like her quadruple platinum album 1989 (a reference to her birth year; it was actually released in 2014), jettisons the country-pop formulas that first brought her to stardom. Truth to tell, the country accents have been gone for years. Last night’s show simply underscored the transformation by ditching the bulk of her back catalogue. With the exception of perhaps four songs, the entire program was devoted to music from 1989 – from the show-opening parade of Welcome to New York (a curious intro when you’re expecting a greeting in Lexington) to the pop celebration of the mega-hit Shake It Off, which was saved for the end of the night.

Unlike her previous three Rupp outings, which treated then-current songs like re-enactments of music videos, Swift streamlined her current show into a more dance-friendly setting to suit the groove of the 1989 music.

There was some choreographed sexual tension at times, like when a pack of shirtless male dancers backed Swift’s chanteuse posing during I Knew You Were Trouble (one of the few older songs that made the cut for the setlist) and the singer’s curious brandishing of a golf club like a riding crop during Blank Space. This was still pretty tame stuff, though, especially when contrasted to live displays by contemporaries like Miley Cyrus or even Katy Perry. Last night’s audience was heavily female and loaded with kids, which shifted any suggestion of sexual politics to good old fashioned romantic confession.

Throughout the evening, Swift would sing one or two tunes, pop down through a trap door in the stage to change costumes and let video screens come to life with pre-recorded chat from star gal pals like Lena Dunham and Selena Gomez to fill the transition time.

Some of the songs were undeniably infectious, as displayed by the massive pop hooks that fortified Style. Others seemed a little lead-footed in the groove department (I Wish You Would) and came off as generic backdrops for the dancing. Two of the non-1989 tunes – Love Story and We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together – even received sonic facelifts to make them more welcoming to the show’s party environment.

The half-hour opening set by Aussie pop-folk star Vance Joy was, in contrast, a lesson in simplicity – a sampler of seven songs with acoustic leanings, cleverly syncopated grooves and earnest though unremarkable singing. The efficiently melodic Fire and the Flood was the highlight with a cover of the Sam Smith hit Stay With Me serving as an unimaginative bid for a level of pop familiarity his own songs refreshingly lacked.

But the night clearly belonged to CEO Swift, whose command of the proceedings extended to one of the show’s most novel props – wrist bracelets given to audience patrons that would light up with various colors and blink in dramatic accordance with the music. But the bracelets’ effects were triggered by the tech crew, allowing the gadgetry to glow in unison.

It was a clever but somewhat creepy idea, when you think about it. The audience was encouraged to let loose and join the dance party around them. But it was ultimately Swift who would control when her fans would, quite literally, lighten up.

(Click here for a full gallery of Rich Copley’s photos from the concert.)

« Previous entries

Terms of Service | Privacy Policy | About Our Ads | Copyright