The crowd in unison held their cameras up to capture the moment for posterity, and from above, it looked like fireflies had descended. She relied on just a piano and acoustic guitar for the closer, the fittingly reflective and melodious Landslide. It would be at least another hour before Nicks and her eight-piece band answered that request, with the wild, one-two punch of Gold Dust Woman and the still-electrifying Edge of Seventeen, followed by Rhiannon in the encore. “Come on Stevie, play some normal songs,” she screamed.
At least one person grew restless in her seat. An emphatic fan nearby, in a fit of positive reinforcement, was moved to reply: “YES!”Īfter her rollicking Tom Petty collaboration Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around (with Hynde in the place of Petty) and Fleetwood Mac’s classic Gypsy, Nicks settled into a groove of less familiar but personal tracks. Even generic platitudes inspired rousing ovations, like when Nicks reminded us to “follow your dreams”. Others – like how she taught Prince to start ruching his pants – could barely be classified as trivia, yet the audience received them happily. Many of the personal stories were delightful. She ended by thanking Perth for helping her through the first show since the passing of her dear friend Tom. For almost each tune, she provided an airy, long-winded, ultimately enchanting tale of origin, detailing failed relationships and fortuitous collaborations with Prince and Tom Petty.
Nicks emerged to perform the solo songs from her “dark trunk” in a voice untarnished by age. Imagine The Craft, as furnished by Pottery Barn. Lord knows what would have happened if she’d been toting a camera phone.Ĭlosing with Hynde’s signature final cry from Brass in Pocket, the Pretenders exited, allowing the stage to be reset in the style of a seance, complete with teardrop light globes and rustic chandeliers. Hynde took it in stride, cheerfully handing the woman a coveted guitar pick. Sitting behind them, you start to see where Hynde is coming from.Īs the set wore on, her fans grew more excitable a lone woman rushed the stage and began gyrating against the barricade, while a security guard could only impotently squat beside her and beg her to stop. Meanwhile, from the safety of the stalls, a man and woman struggled with the flash function of their iPhone camera as they tried to capture – in focus – themselves, their beers and the Jumbotron. During just their second song, Hynde began yelling out to the front rows, “Put your camera away,” which may not have been the “exclusive” interaction those guests had hoped for when they shelled out $500 for the Gold VIP package. It was the band’s first gig since Hynde angrily stormed off stage in Dubai last week, calling the audience “cunts” after they declined to put away their phones. Hynde walked out wearing her own merch – for the Pretenders, naturally – and delivered a rousing rockabilly set, with only one tender singalong in Hymn to Her. It was like an impromptu Ren Faire hosted in Mad Max’s Bartertown. Of course, the colliding fandoms of Nicks and Hynde made for interesting cohabitation, with scores of women in black peasant blouses and top hats passing men in tattered Suzi Quatro tees.
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