A funny thing happened 24 hours before the Rihanna concert began. CTV's photographer, the one who took the photos you're looking at now, was instructed to sign a contract promising that before these shots were posted, he would send them to Rihanna's tour management, presumably so they could check that she looks OK in all of them.
To the casual (or even rigorous) observer, it seems ludicrous to suggest that there could be an angle that could make Rihanna appear anything other than sensational. But then again, as the recent beef/misunderstanding between Lady Gaga, her management and Weird Al Yankovic showed, it's doubtful that this level of paranoia has anything to do with Rihanna herself.
The fascinating thing is, we'll probably never know. Because while every aspect of Lady Gaga's existence is plastered over Twitter and every media outlet that follows it, there's an element of mystery surrounding Rihanna, the only other true contender for the title of this decade's Queen of Pop. Is she humble and down to earth? Is she a colossal control-freak diva?
There's no way of telling. We only know two things. One, she has a cracking back catalogue of hits behind her. And two, this girl knows how to put on a pop concert.
The technology alone is mind melting. Four enormous trashcan lids (seriously, that's what they look like) descend from the ceiling and rotate to reveal enormous screens bursting with HD awesomeness. They whirl throughout the show, as platforms and trap doors reveal dancers, cars, pianos and confetti blasts powerful enough to mess up girls' hair across the entire arena.
The choreography is never less than spectacular. Four male and four female dancers accompany the majority of the songs blasted from the stage. Highlights include ‘Shut Up and Drive', where two of the girls take baseball bats to one poor lad dressed as a crash test dummy, a patented ‘sexy pillow fight' during ‘I May Be Bad' and an astonishing S&M/Sapphic-centric piece of poll-dancing through an inspired cover of Prince's ever-filthy ‘Darling Nikki'. Depending on your standpoint on this type of behaviour, you'd be perfectly within your rights to view this as either wholly inappropriate for a show with kids present, or the apex of human achievement so far.
Beefed up by a terrific band, including 1980s soft-rock heartthrob Nuno Bettencourt (ask your Mum), this is pop music with breadth and ambition. Reggae-tinged ‘Man Down' contains a sense of menace it couldn't capture on record. ‘California King Bed' is the kind of power ballad Bon Jovi once used to conquer the world. R-rated sex jam ‘Skin' effortlessly overtook Ryan Kesler's topless shots as Rogers Arena's hottest ever moment.
Despite the flash and thunder across the stage, the focus never wavered from Rihanna, her terrific vocals and, let's not mince words, her jaw-dropping legs and tush. Whether a ‘serious' artist should rely on their sex appeal this much is open to debate, but Rihanna's got it. And flaunts it.
It's all about her. As it should be. When she enters the crowd to play a nifty percussion solo in the centre of the floor, she's permanently surrounded by six of the chunkiest security men in the business. Even for a concert of this size, there's minimal interaction between superstar and audience.
That's no bad thing. The Rihanna revealed during the inevitable grand finale of ‘Umbrella' is an ultra-pop star, untouchable and unknowable on her pedestal, literally suspended above the stage. That's what she's going for. That's what she's achieved.
It's one of the greatest concerts ever to visit Vancouver. Anyone going tonight will have the time of their life. Rihanna the superstar lives up to her billing. Rihanna the person will have to remain a mystery.
