Not 'sorry aboot it!': Taylor Swift wows in electric Toronto debut
CBC
She landed in the city with more excitement than a world leader. She effectively shut down a highway, drew over 500,000 people to see her in Toronto, and had everyone from the prime minister to police horses — the latter decked out in super sized Eras Tour friendship bracelets — ready for her arrival.
And still, she lived up to the hype.
Taylor Swift's long awaited return to Canada, more than six years after her last time in the country, hit like a hurricane. And that's despite the lack of novelty: the more than three-hour Eras Tour show, already well documented by superfans in any of the five continents she's reached since beginning the show in March of last year, hit all the expected songs, outfits and high notes.
Granted, there was the surprise acoustic mashups of My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys and This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, along with False God mixed with 'Tis the Damn Season. But really, the only truly unique thing about the closing leg of her tour was a bit of pandering to the cold North.
Swift started the show with a call-out to the country, calling its residents "the most generous, encouraging, welcoming, passionate, excitable fans." She went on to include the observation: "Doesn't it seem like the entire Folklore era just belongs in Canada?," then made the declaration that "This is why everyone loves Canadians" after a particularly long and ecstatic chanting of her name. There was even a triumphant "Sorry aboot it!" from dancer Kameron Saunders for his iconic moment in We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.
For any other self-respecting nation, those would be cringe-worthy indulgences. But for a country so desperate for acknowledgement it (jokingly) threatened legal action after being left out of the tour's original stops, those references were a clever scene-setting tribute.
That pandering also managed to distract from the lack of surprise guests (no Travis Kelce, Shawn Mendes or Kendrick Lamar sightings as some had hoped for), or album announcements (no Taylor's Version announcement to match the Toronto and Vancouver stops — yet).
The buttering up did work to support what is Swift's greatest talent, the thing she wields with skill unlike any other modern performer. It lies in her ability to make every fan from the floor to the nosebleeds feel as if they are personally connected to her.
Carefully rehearsed and redone moments — a hat gifted to an overjoyed little boy during 22, or Swift's ostensibly surprised and humble reaction to rapturous applause during the introduction to The Man — feel as if they are happening for the first time, in a 50-seat basement venue instead of a 50,000 seat arena.
It's not to say Swift doesn't have the talents of a pop star — she has all of them. On Thursday night, she showed off her power as a vocalist while belting through Shake it Off, and seemed more comfortable with choreography than ever in Vigilante Shit's chair dance.
It's also true that she has never been the world's best in either of those fields — a fact that's easy to miss beneath pyrotechnics so hot you can feel them on your face throughout an 800,000-square-foot venue. At the same time, it's a confusing fact that the "Queen of Pop" may not actually be the best at the things pop stars are supposed to be good at. But it's hard to miss the evidence when you watch for it.
For one, there's how some of her idea-heavy skits come off as less Beyoncé, more theatre-kid — obviously working better onscreen than in-person. And at the same time, opener Gracie Abrams probably showcased greater vocal command of the space with her final song Close To You than Swift managed all night.
But Swift is able to headline a show that inspires fans to pay $30 for drinks and, occasionally, $33,000 for tickets for a reason. Few other stars would be able to put on what is essentially a reunion tour while still in their prime, while infusing each set with as much excitement as if it was a new lead single released just that night.
That excitement translates in person in a way that is hard to communicate. The almost unbelievable hours-long marathon of spectacle, athleticism and radio hits makes the show feel more like a practiced Las Vegas residency than a moveable feat of engineering.
