At 47, still queen of the dance floor
On reaching their mid-forties, many pop stars are beginning to slow down, ease off, move into a more contemplative phase. Not Madonna.
At 47, she has just released the most relentlessly up-beat album in her career of 20-plus years: Confessions On A Dance Floor.
Packed with samples from 70s disco acts such as Abba and Donna Summer, it is a collection of songs guaranteed to get people on their feet and moving.
And to announce its release, the woman who is still probably the world’s most famous female pop star, last night played a brief set at what was for her a tiny venue, the 1,500-capacity Koko, to a crowd of celebrities, music business representatives and competition winners.
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Outside, the streets were scattered with sparkly disco dust and star-spotters thronged the entrance to the venue. Inside, a giant glitter-ball twirled and a DJ whipped the crowd into a frenzy.
A video screen at the back of the stage opened up to reveal Madonna in velvet culottes, leather jacket, leather boots, Farrah Fawcett curls, singing Hung Up, her new number one single. The place erupted.
She sang just five songs and spent less than half an hour on stage, but made a lasting impression. This was dance music, pure, uncomplicated, loud, and fun.
A surprise choice was I Love New York, which denigrates London. It turned out to be musically the night’s best moment. A guitar riff hammered out, strobe lighting flashed, Madonna slumped on to the floor and tossed her head.
The crowd cheered throughout the show and Madonna paid tribute to fans who had camped outside overnight to ensure a good position. She smiled a lot, and talked a lot. “I’m out of shape,” she said at one point, breathless. “I don’t like falling off a horse.”
Her appearance – it was, frankly, too short to be called a show – ended with a performance of a song that she sang at this same venue in 1983: Everybody, for which Madonna held nothing back.
Twenty-two years on, she’s still doing what she does best: making music to dance to.
Review by David Cheal, The Telegraph