Why a 20-something single man with no kids went to the Wiggles
I spent the better part of Tuesday night at a downtown concert venue observing other people’s children. Nearly all of them were younger than 5, many of them wearing yellow bow ties or monochrome jumpsuits, and they numbered in the hundreds. Their screams and giggles, combined with the sharp hushes and stern commands of their parents, filled the room like water in a pool, spilling over the voices of the entertainers they were there to see.
In the back of the stage was a giant inflatable curtain. Designed with the color and grandiosity of a bounce house, it sported big purple and green clouds on top and two rainbows at the bottom, which served as entryways from which the entertainers emerged. Perched on top of the rainbows were big, cartoonish heads, two on each rainbow, with curvy hairlines, beady eyes and the same emojilike mouth. The center of the backdrop proclaimed the names of the figures: “The Wiggles.”
The Wiggles is one of the most successful entertainment phenomena — in any genre — to emerge from Australia, and perhaps the most storied children’s music group in modern history. It’s difficult to say exactly why I — a childless, unmarried 29-year-old man — wanted so badly to see them when they stopped by Houston’s Revention Center this week. Though the Wiggles, who formed in 1991, are of my era, I did not grow up watching them on TV nor listening to their records. My younger self preferred the rollicking, folksy compositions of Raffi, whom I considered a Woody Guthrie for elementary school kids.
But the best concerts, of any kind, are a practice in the transcendence of self. Call me a closeted Brony (adult male fans of “My Little Pony”) or plain weirdo, but the Wiggles helped me connect with a room full of kids I didn’t know. Wow, do they know how to put on a show for preschoolers.
The show was less about playing music than keeping the attention of several hundred 4-year-olds, which meant a constant shifting of the focus. The Wiggles first burst out dancing and shouting out their names. One Wiggle comes out with his eyes closed and shoulders slumped. The children are asked to wake him up. Then they’re quizzed on the favorite colors of each bandmate, which I figured out right away, based on observing in which color they were dressed.
Emma, the yellow one, has bright long red hair, a soft voice and sounds the most Australian. The onstage drum set is designed to look like the yellowand-black bow she wears. Simon, in red, is a former opera singer who can do a great “air trombone,” which ends in him playing a final low note while sticking out his behind — adorable! Anthony is the sole original Wiggle, in blue. When Simon and Anthony stand next to each other, they look a lot like Spock and Captain Kirk, respectively, wearing the same skin-tight monochrome uniform with black pants.
My favorite was the purple Wiggle, Lachy, who has the same curly hair, round face and deep-set eyes as Ramsay Bolton from “Game of Thrones.” Lachy is delightfully self-effacing, a fact epitomized by the moment in which the concert is interrupted so he can showcase his average-at-best cheerleading skills. This is a key two minutes of the show that teaches children to value unusual hobbies and embrace the fluidity of masculinity. Lachy, sporting a cowboy hat and golden pompoms, makes up a cheer for Emma before she bursts out of the rainbow to dance ballet, an inversion of the heteronormative aspects of football. “He’s a
cheerleader,” a parent said to her children.
Though the Wiggles has an old-school entertainment style in the vein of “Blue’s Clues” and “Barney” — large colorful animals, cheery hosts and physical and mental interactivity — the concert also showcases a subtle awareness of modern parenting. All children are invited to dance ballet with Emma. A few songs teach listeners American Sign Language.
And the international appeal of the Wiggles is apparent: They performed the Australian folk tune “The Country Garden.” There was an Irish step-dancing number with bagpipes. The band invited a Mexican-American guitarist, with whom they were friends, to improvise over “The ABC Song” (also performed in ASL).
The atmosphere was such that I was not afraid to do as I was told. “Shake your sillies out,” the Wiggles commanded. I did, and then I clapped my crazies out and nodded my nodsies out, which I interpreted as conscientiously releasing stress through physical activity — yoga for toddlers.
When the concert ended, I felt so amped up I was almost emotionally prepared to try to interview some children. Simply being around other people’s kids was enough, I decided, without having to crouch down and solicit conversation from them. Perhaps I could have asked whether the attendees preferred Dorothy the Dinosaur or Wags the Dog, or if they liked rubbing their belly and shouting “scrrrrrrrrrrr-umptious!”
There was, I suppose, one person I could “talk” to, someone who just woke up from a long, long nap — my inner child.