Jennifer Lopez, live at the O2

It’s been said before, I’m sure, that pop music isn’t rocket science, but artists like Jennifer Lopez prove just how simple it really is. It all comes down to one moveable principle; some performers give a shit, and some don’t.
I couldn’t even begin to list all the deluded pop stars I’ve watched mechanically drag their toned asses around the O2 stage over the years, with nothing but marshmallow in their limbs and vitreous gel behind their eyes. Tragically, I’ve come to expect apathy and drear from all but a handful of the supersized pop divas and divos who regularly head out on 100-plus date tours. Tonight, it takes the hair-flicking, booty-popping, Swarovski-embellished genius of Jennifer Lopez’s Dance Again show to remind me that not all mainstream front women are spacey sexbots, permanently set to default.
At 43, Puerto Rican demigoddess Jennifer is as beautiful and glowing as she’s ever been, and possibly as beautiful and glowing as any woman has ever been. Flitting effortlessly between Botticelli-esque maiden, Vegas showgirl, classic screen siren and stoop-dwelling hoodlum, Lopez easily lives up to her triple-threat status; the mother-of-two dances astonishingly hard and her breezy vocals, which rarely earn her any fanfare, don’t falter, no matter how many lunges and thrusts she pulls off.
And while movies like The Wedding Planner hardly made her out to be this generation’s Bette Davis, Ms. Lo’s acting chops come in handy on Singin’ In The Rain-aping numbers like ‘Hold It, Don’t Drop It’, when she briefly convinces at least half of the audience that she’s suffering through a physical breakdown. Having pulled a theatrical sickie, Lopez violently wriggles out of the grasp of a trio of sequin tuxedo-clad dancers, sprints to the end of the stage in her three-inch heels and crashes spectacularly to her knees for the flashiest of big finishes. For those who can’t visualise it, I’ll be frank; there are absolutely no short cuts in this show.
As well as eclipsing almost every other pop star with her boundless energy, Lopez earns brownie points for being one of the only artists to take the phrase Greatest Hits literally. She’s left the duds (and there are several) on the shelf, opting instead to perform the two-dozen-or-so party-starting floor-fillers that have managed to keep her relevant across three decades.
Clearly, every element of the Dance Again tour, from the blinding laser show to the equally blinding costumes, has been chosen by someone with outrageous taste, but it’s hard to knock the wind machine-aided fabulousness when it’s sustained over 90 goose-pimply minutes. Even the ‘tween-song vignettes are gorgeous; one shows Lopez performing some tender choreography with real-life tomboy Casper Smart and remarkably, it comes off as cute, not nauseating.
So no, J-Lo’s Dance Again tour is not rocket science; there’s no provocative political subtext or boundary-pushing displays of female sexuality; just a superficial indulgence of the highest calibre.