HIGH EYEBROW ARCH – ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Kylie Minogue, dressed in a red jumpsuit adorned with sequins, pauses between songs and gazes across the audience, a sexy smile on her red lips.
She spots a sign but is confused by its message.
“What does that mean?” she asks whilst pointing. “Have we met before? Or are we meeting now?”
Still smiling, but still baffled, Kylie invites the man up onto the stage to explain himself.
From my vantage point, nearby, I see the man overwhelmed by emotion. He scrambles past other screaming Kylie devotees before he finds some sanctuary in the aisle.
But his knees are weak and he stumbles. He almost falls to the ground. Yet the man somehow makes his way up the steps and onto the stage under his own power.
He’s a tall man and he towers over the diminutive pop starlet. He’s wearing a black singlet and gold hot pants which are so fitting they leave no doubt about his gender.
Still overcome, the man is fighting back tears as he tries to communicate with his idol. But his lips are failing him. Kylie opens her arms, rises as high as she can on her tiptoes and offers her super fan a gracious hug.
The man is openly weeping now. He bends at his knees and embraces the pop icon.
The man finally manages to explain that he’s from Brazil and that it was Kylie’s songs which inspired him to migrate to Australia.
The crowd erupts in joyous cheering and catcalling, some motivated by love of Kylie, others by love of country.
The Brazilian waves both hands to the crowd, at shoulder level, and leaves the stage. His legs, however, finally give way and he falls to the ground. He lies on his back, in the aisle, with his hands over his face, blubbering like a baby. Several minutes pass before he finally finds the strength to rise to his feet and rejoin his friends in the crowd.
My wife and I are in the thick of it. Around us we see married couples, boyfriends and girlfriends, boyfriends and boyfriends, girlfriends and girlfriends. Some befuddled grandparents with their overjoyed grandchildren. The odd single person, with a lonely, but optimistic, heart.
There are boys covered in glitter and girls squeezing into muscle shirts. And every brilliant colour of the rainbow in between.
Most of all, there is joy. Sheer joy!
I bump into somebody, because I’ve strayed into their dancing zone, and they say sorry. It’s that kind of crowd. Everybody is happy. Just living in the joy of the moment which Kylie has created.
Meanwhile, I stand with my arms crossed and I clap my right hand against my left bicep in approximate time to the music. My right foot is tapping. But I suspect to a different beat.
My wife is dancing next to me and doing a much better job of it.
Kylie and I were born in the same year. She’s been in my consciousness since at least the age of 18. That’s the year I began Law School and she released Locomotion.
Now she’s striding down the centre stage with smouldering intensity in her sultry eyes. She pauses dramatically before belting out the next lyrics of the hit song she’s singing. She twirls. She pirouettes. She strides some more. She shimmies. And she skips.
We may be the same age, but I lack Kylie’s youthful energy. Is that what spreading joy does to a person?
If you asked me before the concert how many Kylie songs I knew, I would have nominated three. Maybe four. It turns out I knew more than that. It also turns out that I know more now and have added them to the Modern Dance playlist on my iPhone.
Seeing Kylie live was an inspiration. Her talent is palpable. Her stage presence is the stuff of awe.
But, most of all, I’m inspired by the unadulterated love her admirers have for her.
As exemplified by a migrant from Brazil who, I suspect, is still yet to recover from meeting his Aussie idol in front of 20,000 somewhat jealous, but mostly joyous, fans.
For more information on Kylie’s World Tension Tour 2025:
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