When Pink played the Oracle Arena here for two sold out dates of her Beautiful Trauma tour earlier this month, management came up with an ingenious idea: They converted several men’ rooms into womens’ bathrooms. OK, “converted” may be too strong; Oracle simply taped a women’s sign over the men’s sign. Efficacy was therefore limited (urinals continued to outnumber stalls), but the move at least demonstrated an awareness of the demographics of Pink’s fan base. I’d estimate 80 percent of the assembled were women.
As befits a rock star of remarkable longevity—she had her first solo hit in early 2000—Pink has a fan base that has aged along with her. Given that she still pumps out massive hits—this year’s “What About Us” was one of her biggest ever—I came to this show expecting the screaming teenyboppers who keep Top 40 radio alive. Instead the crowd was largely middle aged, with a few families thrown in. Pink remains incredibly popular: Her two dates here sold out within minutes, and I was relegated to the nosebleeds with tickets that I secured, exorbitantly expensively, on the “secondary market.”
Pink is a chameleon. When she first emerged on the scene, she was plainly something manufactured, an R & B and pop singer more in the mold of Christina Aguilera or early Beyonce than the ersatz Liz Phair that she really wanted to be. Pink as hip hopper was not a good fit—she’s a rocker at heart. And by 2002, she had released an album bemoaning what the pop industry had tried to do to her. (“Tired of being compared to damn Britney Spears . . . that just ain’t me.”) At her highly choreographed concert here, she played nothing from her ill-considered first incarnation. In fact, chameleon may be the wrong way to put it. She’s more a caterpillar who emerged as a butterfly, trading one identity for another.
At Oracle, Pink provided an exhilarating tour through her catalog of hits from 2002 to today, including, happily, her two best songs, “Just Like a Pill” and “Who Knew.” Pink has had so many smashes that some were invariably left on the cutting room floor: Regrettably, “Please Don’t Leave Me,” “Sober,” and “Don’t Let Me Get Me” were among those that were missed.
The Beautiful Trauma tour is a feast for the senses; a friend likened it to Cirque de Soleil. Gorgeous, ever-shifting sets, trippy animations, giant puppets (seriously), and amazing acrobatics comprised the evening. But what makes a Pink show remarkable is that, despite the bells and whistles, the music still matters. There are no backing tracks; everything is played by her cracking band. And through it all (or most of it), she’s actually singing. This became obvious the couple of times that Pink forgot the lyrics to a song, or when it became painfully apparent that she can no longer hit the low notes.
The rock era is in its twilight. U2 is having a hard time selling out arenas on its current tour. Paul Simon and Elton John are on respective farewell tours. Donald Fagen is touring as Steely Dan—but without Walter Becker, who died last year. Fleetwood Mac is about to hit the road without Lindsey Buckingham. The Rolling Stones roll on, but they’re currently touring the UK in what feels like a valedictory final lap.
Pink, as one of the few current stars that still plays rock music—her current tour includes a blistering cover of” Smells Like Teen Spirit”—is helping to keep a dying and worthy tradition alive. And if rock concerts have to become Cirque-de-Soleil-cum-Broadway musicals for the genre to survive—well, so what?
