Tay Tay proves she’s well worth the hard slog up to Bris-Ve­gas for a fam­ily night of mu­si­cal mem­o­ries

Weekend Gold Coast Bulletin - - NEWS - ANN WASON MOORE ann.wa­son­moore@news.com.au

YOU never for­get your first.

I was 12 when I joined the club, thanks to Julian Len­non.

And this week, at ages nine and 11, my own chil­dren came of mu­sic age with their first big gig – thank you, Tay­lor Swift.

It was ac­tu­ally a fam­ily first. While my hus­band and I have been to plenty of rock gigs, I don’t think we’ve ever been in the au­di­ence for such a pure pop ex­pe­ri­ence. Iron­i­cally, it rocked.

We are all Tay Tay trag­ics, al­though my son won’t ac­tu­ally ad­mit it. As for my hus­band, I’ve caught him googling her nu­mer­ous times, al­though strangely with the sound off.

It’s the first time I’ve been to a con­cert in years, pri­mar­ily be­cause I just can’t be both­ered to make the ef­fort of trav­el­ling up to Bris-Ve­gas and back. And yes, it was a huge ef­fort, es­pe­cially on a school night, but one that was well worth it.

While I’m cer­tain my daugh­ter will look back on this night with grit­ted teeth thanks to my su­per loud singing and awe­some mum moves, it’s a mem­ory I know I’ll trea­sure un­til she’s old as me – and hope­fully we’re both em­bar­rass­ing her own daugh­ters.

Sure there were times dur­ing the night when she was try­ing – and fail­ing – to phys­i­cally re­strain me (my daggy danc­ing can­not be stopped), but in be­tween we par­tied like we were both teenagers. We sang the lyrics to each other, stood on our chairs danc­ing un­til se­cu­rity made us get down (and then climbed right back up again, much to my rule-abid­ing daugh­ter’s dis­plea­sure), bought match­ing mer­chan­dise and screamed our­selves hoarse.

When her lit­tle legs tired, I held her on my back and lis­tened to her now-soft voice singing in my ear. I sipped (and spilled) a red wine, she had her first Coca-Cola. It was bliss.

The beauty of this pop star is that she’s one both mums and daugh­ters can wish upon.

When Tay­lor spoke to the crowd about “real con­nec­tions” and “real re­la­tion­ships”, I prayed my lit­tle girl was lis­ten­ing just as in­tently. False friend­ships are a dan­ger, whether you’re a su­per­star or a mere mor­tal.

While she spoke nei­ther of the po­lit­i­cal machi­na­tions in the US (she’s fi­nally come out as a Demo­crat sup­porter, in the mid-term elec­tions at least), nor of her role in fight­ing the #metoo bat­tle (she ap­peared on the cover of Time for her sex­ual as­sault suit against a ra­dio DJ), the fact that this is part of her nar­ra­tive is rea­son enough for me to be­come a fan.

It may be easy for me to love Tay­lor – her songs are catchy, her mes­sages are pos­i­tive – but I’m de­ter­mined not to be left be­hind as a wall­flower when my chil­dren be­gin their dance with the world of pop cul­ture.

I won’t al­ways love their mu­sic, I won’t al­ways like their clothes, I cer­tainly won’t un­der­stand their lan­guage, but I prom­ise to lis­ten, with­hold neg­a­tive com­ments and ask for ex­pla­na­tions and trans­la­tions.

I won’t dis­miss it be­cause I

Tay­lor Swift rocked in Bris­bane this week, and it was a mem­o­rable ‘first’ for a fam­ily of four from the Gold Coast.

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