SPICE GIRLS: The Cheese That Did Not Mold

I travelled eastbound to Toronto this past weekend. Why? Here it is – point blank – I went to see the Spice Girls.

The weeks leading up to the show, I would tell people half-excited/half-embarrassed that I was planning on travelling 1382.77 miles to see this show (here, I deliberately choose the word ‘show’). Disclaimer #1: I’m from Toronto, so I went technically went home.

For two hours on February 3rd at the Air Canada Centre, I was transformed. As the lights dimmed, my semi-embarrassment quickly dissipated and my 14 year-old self came to life. Alongside me, an arena full of 16 year-old screaming girls also became 14 years-old and together, we danced. Disclaimer #2: I did not pay for the tickets.

Here’s the thing: the Spice Girls have never claimed to be the best singers, the most inspiring dancers or the most innovative artists; but what they are, is enthusiastic (I make no speculations on their motive). The show was infused with head-stirring light shows, eye-popping Roberto Cavalli outfits and heart-thumping beats.

Beats.

Every song was updated, to what one may consider as ‘hip,’ and the result was cheesiness that would make even Cher (circa Believe) blush. So ‘hip,’ in fact, they open and closed the show with the same song. The difference is in the closing sequence, Spice Up Your Life, had a greater message. It unified cultures and ethnicities with blinged out dancers, images of flags splashed across the screen, beats, beats and more beats.

No joke, the Spice Girls performance was fantastic. It was reminiscent of a two hour music award performance, with the same intensity as Ricky Martin (circa Livin’ La Vida Loca at the Grammy’s). And like, Ricky Martin, I can’t fathom anybody actually liked the songs or cared about the message it tried to convey; but what I can fathom is that every single person in that arena had the best time, like, ever.

But seriously, seeing the Spice Girls live was amazing. It was like eating way too many pixie sticks, jumping on your parent’s bed and singing your heart out to M.J. (circa Bad). The same side effects apply: slight overwhelming sensations, mild dizziness and a natural high that lasts until reality rudely slaps you in the face (in this case, it was the realization that I was only one of four people in a suite of 12 others, who were legally allowed to consume alcohol).

In closing, instead of reiterating what a spectacle the show was, I would like to point out that, somewhere in the last 10 years, Posh Spice became the coolest Spice and yes, I remember that she cribbed Mr. David Beckham; but since when does the Spice Girl, who “performs” a runway walk instead of a solo, like everyone else, get to stand in the middle, ever?

The Spice Girls may not be pop music’s queen bees anymore, but at least they know which Spice is the bee’s kneez, yo.