The first concert of Taylor Swift of the two scheduled in Madrid will have enthused its very numerous fans but Informalia was at the Bernabéu and the conclusion is that the artist’s live performance is overrated. The expectations, the noise in the media, the precedents, the figures and other media condiments are excessive unless you are a fan or have not seen in action monsters of the stature of Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, ACDC, Bruce Springsteen, U2, Rolling , Dire Straits, Michael Jackson, Pink Floyd, Tina Turner, Police, Pretenders, Queen, Frank Sinatra, Los Secretos or Elton John, but also Miley Cyrus, Dua Lipa or Shakira. Among many others.
It will be generational but even comparing these shows that I mention with that of the fashionable singer makes no sense. It’s another league. Taylor’s is a rosary of clichés, magnificently executed by the undeniable skill of the protagonist, but I am not moved by her music, nor am I subjugated by her scenery or her admirable visual, lighting or pyrotechnic effects. Taylor Swift may be the most popular artist on the planet in 2024 if we take into account the colossal figures that elevate her, but I doubt that in 40 years it will happen to this woman like ACDC, capable of filling stadiums 40 years later, as did the Australians when Taylor didn’t exist.
This Wednesday we attended the Bernabéu to make this (unpopular) chronicle of his return to Spain in the new stadium that Florentino Pérez has rented for the event, to the chagrin of some neighbors who are much less angry when football is responsible for their misfortunes.
Taylor Swift returned to Spain after 13 years and with a marathon of 45 songs, but the real spectacle was the public, delivered with that goddess who is the living totem of a very populous ‘swiftie’ nation to which the utmost respect is owed even when I find your more than enthusiastic faith in Taylor incomprehensible. There are plenty of preteens, teenagers, twenty-somethings, there are quite a few thirty-somethings. All those people capable of getting excited and vibrating turned the white stadium this Wednesday into a party of selfies, postures, dances and other enjoyments, all often adorned with very thoughtful and worked clothing as part of their militancy.
That enthusiastic nation is more responsible than Taylor Swift herself for the fact that this Wednesday the white stadium suffered a distressing metamorphosis. I, who have seen Sinatra, the Rolling Stones, U2 or the Pretenders there, do not remember that those attending a concert at the Real Madrid stadium spent three hours with the enthusiasm shown by the tens of thousands of fans who danced, sang and even They illuminated the evening almost in unison. By the way, a bracelet that they put on you when you enter decides for you if you light up (and in what color) the current song. All in all, the three and a quarter hours of music, covered almost at all times with the audience’s choirs, will be a joy for the many fans, but there is a minority for whom it seemed too long. Very long.
Exaltation of friendship, glitter and sequin hugs, compulsive applause and contagious euphoria flooded the groups while Taylor Swift earned her extraordinary salary and harangued her Madrid clientele: “It’s been a magical experience playing here,” she said while a large part of the audience he thought he was the big number. But maybe, while I was in love with her art, one of the more than 70,000 souls besides me realized, thanks to the giant screen, that Taylor was losing her mind while she said it.
It was full of people but we saw gaps: the tickets were not sold out despite everything. Or if they were sold out there were buyers who did not go to the stadium. I didn’t think it was a memorable concert, but it was very worked and rehearsed, technically almost perfect. Even the ambient temperature was allied with the organization, as it dropped from the more than 30 degrees that lit up the Paseo de la Castellana when it arrived around 6:30 p.m. to a pleasant 26 or 27: the great revelry, the effervescence and the generous stage with giant walkway compensated for the improvable acoustics, when ten minutes late (at 8 p.m.) we saw the Puerta del Sol clock counting down, illustrating the general madness before Taylor’s exit onto the track.
The start was so loud that the singer could be heard terribly. Taylor Swift chained ‘Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince, Cruel Summer’ and ‘The Man’ and the Bernabéu went crazy. The empress, enthroned on a raised hydraulic platform in the center of the stadium, brought out her brilli-brilli, her boots, her image, and from that moment on her court of dancers escorted her to the rest of the evening.
Taylor is not just a composing and playing machine: she knows when to put on her nice face, her bad face, and her funny face. ‘You Need to Calm Down’, ‘Lover’ and ‘Fearless’ inoculated even more collective good vibes and at 34 years old it seems that the young blonde has been learning to spread optimism for centuries. Or so it seemed in each of the 45 songs, perfectly performed and structured but soulless.
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