I don’t care what everybody else says about you, I think you’re alright.
I could give zero fucks about online bashing—I scrupulously avoid it—but it came to my attention before the show that Perry has been the object of considerable derision.
The haters will have their say, but in my book Perry was more than alright during her two-hour extravaganza in Tampa. And the nearly 14,000 people in attendance—from moms with preteen girls to twinks to grandpas—joined me with their full-throated (and high-pitched) agreement.
Disclosure: I’m a Boomer. I’m a grizzled veteran of rock criticism. I wore a Fela T-shirt to the concert. I can’t recall the last full-spectacle pop show I’ve been to—unless you count Prince. It’s been decades. Perry’s production was the most elaborate I’ve ever seen—times 10.
The concert had a muddled narrative structure—something about butterflies, the source of all energy, being absconded by an evil male figure called Mainframe, with Katy as a kind of superhero. All of this played out on a giant video board as a means for set and costume changes, and splashes of social commentary: about woman power, and the power of love, about environmentalism, and—I think I can say this—inclusiveness.
What Perry lacked in dance moves she made up for as an aerialist. Several segments found her flying on cables. Most impressive was during “Roar,” when she sat on a winged-creature and floated around to each part of the audience. She was also a gymnast, singing upside down and in various poses. She was also a runner, at one point sprinting around the figure-eight stage that stretched far onto the arena floor.
There was music, too. I know and like several Perry’s major hits, and don’t know several others, which means I recognized less than a third of the 27 songs. That put me at something of a disadvantage, but I’ll tell you this: Katy Perry can sing. Her voice has limited range but plenty of power, and that enabled her to cut through the barrage of background music. I didn’t hear an off note all night. The background vocals were piped in, but I was convinced that Perry did not resort to lip-syncing.
My favorite segment came in the first half, which featured, in succession, “California Gurls,” “Teenage Dream,” “Hot N Cold,” “Last Friday Night,” and “I Kissed a Girl.” Perry dedicated the latter, her breakthrough hit, to the gay community, which brought a wave of shrill cheers. (I momentarily wished that our governor had been cloaked in Rhonda Santis drag and forced into attendance.)
Pre-show, I was mildly concerned that I’d get bored after the initial burst of pageantry. I did not. Credit the show’s pacing. And credit Perry’s charisma. At one point, she invited four kids on stage, ranging from a blue-wigged woman who’d just finished college to an eight-year-old named Lucas who looked younger than his years.
She introduced herself to each of her guests, asked them questions, landed funny quips. This type of interlude can easily become a lead balloon, killing the energy. Not so in this case. It was a mid-show bundle of cuteness in which Perry managed to be mom and girlfriend at the same time. The kids helped out on “The One That Got Away.”
Perhaps most importantly, Katy Perry looked for all the world like she was having a blast up there. And that was infectious.
Her show was catchy, campy, occasionally cringey, at turns bloated, intimate and funny.
All told, I’d call it entertaining.
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This article appears in Aug 21-27, 2025.