Best of Both Worlds Tour

I went to the Hannah Montana concert last evening with my younger daughter and three of her friends. I have a few things upon which I would like to comment.

Hannah Montana is another of those phenomena with which I am completely unfamiliar, but which my children (and apparently not a few other children) know quite familiarly. When I originally tried to purchase tickets, one week after they went on sale, I discovered that the concert was sold out! We managed to get some seats nonetheless through the wonderful graces of a family friend.

Well, not just any seats, actually. I regret to say that after a life time of concert attendance, I have finally had the privilege of sitting in almost the first row. All those years of sitting in the back of the arena to hear Bob Dylan, the Grateful Dead, my word, so many and all of them, and here I was close enough to reach out and touch the stage! And I was at the Hannah Montana Concert!! I couldn’t have cared less!

The show was a wonderful spectacle, full of lights, color, pyrotechnics, movement, and myriad costume changes. My daughter and her friends all stood in their seats—and took out their cameras and camera phones and began to photograph the show. It was my choice not to disturb anything they were doing, but I wondered why they would prefer to save the show for another time on a remarkably inferior medium when they could experience the show in the here and now. It is as if because it is spectacle, it need to be photographed, it was there not to be enjoyed, but to be preserved.

Finally the quality of the reproduction on these devices is terrible, and the girls ended up seeing too much of the show through the camera/phone viewfinders and the very large TV screens which sat atop the stage.

The music was thoroughly uninteresting. In fact, sometimes I didn’t like it. However, this audience adored her and the music. This concert had nothing to do with me or my kind, which would be defined as anyone over the age of fifteen years. This concert was for young girls—those fifteen and under. This concert was for my daughter and her friends. The songs spoke of growing up, of being a girl, of having fun, of dancing. When Hannah Montana (or Miley Cyrus, I can’t remember which) screamed out, “Are there any girls who are going to party tonight?” she was not referring to real parties, or engagement in drinking or drug or sexual activity. She was talking about girls dancing at parties, often with other girls, because the boys are such geeks and creeps.

Hannah/Miley is certainly not talking about sex. This was a thoroughly asexual show. Not that it didn’t celebrate girls and their bodies, but that there was a modesty to the costumes which is rare, rare, rare in the world of female popular culture. There were no low-cut dresses, no sexual innuendo in movement or talk, no emphasis on breast size or shape, and certainly no suggestive gesture or display. This show had nothing to do with sex. There was absolutely no sexual tension in the room. This show celebrated being a young girl and having fun. This show was about liking to go to school, about liking to dance, about hanging out with girl friends and not thinking about boys. This show was about the joys of young girls. Hannah/Miley kept asking, “Are you having fun, Minneapolis,” and thousands of young girls screamed their approval. It was screechingly loud, almost painful. It was . . . warmly sweet. And whether this environmental sans sex was created or occured naturally, it was comfortable for me to sit in absolute confidence that nothing inappropriate would occur—or even rise into consciousness.

Miley Cyrus is herself fifteen years old!

Indeed, the audience was comprised almost wholly of young girls below the age of fifteen. In front of me was a Hannah Montana fan not more than four or five years of age wearing protective ear guards to protect her from the music. She danced nonetheless. Behind me sat a row of girls whose ages added did not equal mine! They stood and danced and swung their souvenir glow-sticks, brushing my graying head and apologizing for bothering me. It was no bother.

Even the Jonas Brothers, the opening act, and one of the few male presences other than us Dads and the Security Guards (who were hardly necessary), were sweet, good natured boys, who dressed stylishly, and handled their guitars with ease, but from whom exuded absolutely no sexuality. I’m not sure they even considered the matter themselves, they were so busy playing music and having fun.

I seem to remember a time when Walt Disney wouldn’t allow Rock n’ roll into his Disneylands. Now, the Walt Disney Corporation sponsors, at least, High School Musical I & 2, Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers. Walt Disney controls the Rock scene for the sub-fifteen set.

Rock on, Girls!