Roseland Is is possible to crush a rib cage

madonnalicious reader Steve sent in his experience of Madonna at Roseland:

It is 8:15pm and my date is a totally hot football player on crutches. No, I'm not kidding. His name is on some VIP list at the front door. And they are being very nice to him. And to me, because I am with him. But they are not being very nice to anyone else. Teams of Roseland security and NYPD are making sad attempts at controlling the crowd, who stopped cooperating about an hour ago. After all, Madonna is unveiling the Next Madonna inside tonight.
Virtually every person who plans to enter Roseland (and many who will not) have filled 52nd St. and all are focused on a teeny hole that leads into the Roseland Ballroom. Fans lined up for days - only to get wristbands that allow them to get a REAL wristband to gain entry. (Once inside, I stood next to someone who was wearing three - one for the sidewalk, one for the line, one for entry).
My date, with me physically attached to his arm, and I are escorted past the front door. My wristband is cutting off my circulation (but I'm still wearing it the next day. I'll just lose some weight to let some blood back into my hand). We enter the arena - and the instant I get a glimpse of the stage, I LEAP away from my poor date and sprint towards it. (Don't worry about him - they found him a seat in the VIP area, a chair, a cocktail waitress, and cute boys - and girls - to smother him.)
I have rushed to a position a few feet from the stage. I am quickly surrounded by a very amped up crowd, quickly dismissing my thoughts of grabbing a drink or using the restroom. I pop a Listermint instead and prepare to remain there for the next two hours. A DJ wearing rhinestone headphones takes the stage and gets the crowd moving with retro hits like 'Raspberry Beret,' 'Don't You Want Me Baby' and 'Billie Jean,' alerting the crowd that the REAL Queen of Pop is in the house. You could almost breathe easily until about ten minutes before Madonna took the stage.
It is 9:59 p.m., and you know something important is about to happen when the DJ stops smiling and an assistant creep onto the stage with a chilled Poland Springs water and a towel. I see the band crawl onstage - tour veteran Monte Pittman has shaved his head but this is otherwise a new crew.
The lights went black. The room shakes. The screen, previously a gigantic banner for Hard Candy, begins to melt into black licorice and the entire stage turns into an ingenious video screen - even the floor.
Two cameras on cranes are now circling overhead, swooping into the crowd. I could have touched it at one point if I'd wanted to. I flashed it a Peace sign. I think that this is being used as the MSN webcast intro (it IS 10:01 after all) and we are all extras in Madonna's movie. We take the cue - we scream, we wave.

Candy Shop
Madonna stuck her finger in the socket at about 10:02 p.m. The DJ booth rotates around and there she is: sitting on a throne, wearing a black tuxedo with rhinestone Adidas stripes, holding a cane, wearing black fingerless gloves.
This moment is like a terror ride at Disneyland gone wrong. I am only catching glimpses of her through the waving arms, pogo-ing fans, and cellphone cameras. I myself thank my trainer and do a few demanding jumps just to get a good look at her.
She descends the stairs, tosses her cane, and gives us a taste of her new candy - 'Candy Shop.' This moment is saturated with love for those of us who are WELL aware that Her Eternal Hotness has left New York. There is nothing like makeup sex, right? The number zips by in an instant.

Miles Away
Madonna wastes no time losing her jacket and grabbing a guitar. Now in a black, see-through top, she cries to the crowd. 'Are you ready?!' Welcome to my Candy Shop.' Madonna performs 'Miles Away,' the second song from the new album "Hard Candy." Her mike is breaking up a bit. She glances over to Rosie O'Donnell, standing nearby, and shoots her a 'Do you believe this?' look. The video is outstanding - a plane takes off and turns into a Google satellite map of the Earth.
I am wondering, 'Is is possible to crush a rib cage? If you did, how would you know it?' Well, I'll deal with it later, because I'm looking at something truly important at the moment: the single bead of sweat that is forming at Madonna's brow. Her hair is golden glamour, with a hint of her trademark roots. Her no-makeup look almost looks like wax - flawless cream skin, pencil-thin eyebrows, charcoal eyes, peach lips, rose lip liner. She is wearing nothing but an amazing manicure and a Kaballah string.

4 Minutes
The room goes really, REALLY black. Blacker than ever. Suddenly, the opening shots of Timbaland in '4 Minutes' is on the stage video. Justin Timberlake appears out of nowhere. My feet elevate off the floor and my body moves forward another two feet. I think this is when I went deaf in one ear - the crowd easily drowned out the music. Decked out in a white jacket with black scarf, JT seems sort of overwhelmed, passes on this opportunity bask in the spotlight. Sort of dazed and clearly nervous, he grabs his crotch for the shrieking front rows, but backs off. He is NOT gay for pay, unfortunately.
Madonna strips off her blouse, now revealing a black leotard top. The two of them mount giant pillars that look like speakers, and they do a very clever dance routine atop them that does a great job of recreating the video. But JT's mike is having problems, and Madonna smiles at him. 'Deal with it, baby.' This is no CGI effect - these two mega-talents lock eyes and present their duet for the first and possibly only time live.

Hung Up
Gulping about half a bottle of champagne and stepping up to the mike, Madonna thanks Justin and says, 'I've made what seems like 100 records. And every time I do, it feels like the first time. And the best time. I was so lucky to work with Justin, Timbaland, Pharrell. The best.'
Now in a rhinestone Cannabis guitar strap, she bangs out the opening chords of 'Satisfaction' - just as Britney Spears did on the MTV Awards! 'Is this a Rolling Stones concert? Fuck that. I live in the present. But wait, [dramatic pause]....this is for you guys who slept on the sidewalk. I want you to sing along.' Then comes one of the single most bizarre performances ever - heavy metal 'Hung Up.'
It's close to working, but Madonna seems to be struggling and at one point, they all lose it. Madonna turns and looks at the keyboard and drummer, and they virtually have to go 'one, two, three' just to get the song started again. No worries, the front row is a lump of the devoted, hands in the air, shouting 'Every little thing that you say or do....' She turns, ascends the stairs, and lands on her derriere. She laughs, gives the finger to the crowd, and yells FUCK OFF!

Give it 2 Me
Madonna has not appeared in New York since she adopted her child or worked for Malawi. At the brink of becoming a political figure herself, she is here tonight to dance. Now sporting a black hoodie with HARD on the front and CANDY on the back, Madonna performs 'Give it 2 Me,' the next video and the fourth and final track from the album, with the help of some old faces (Jason, her dance partner since the Reinvention Tour) and the guys from 4 Minutes. She dances like mad - she no doubt works harder every morning.

Music
Grabbing her water and mike, Madonna twirls to the edge of the stage and squats down, inches from the rabid crowd. My right arm is permanently fixed above my head, and my right leg has been swallowed by the surrounding mob. Madonna wraps up the night with a dense, thuddy street-wise 'Music' with her troupe of dancers. Now that she basically hasn't lived in New York for over ten years, her vision of it is sort of in a bubble.
It was very Keith Haring World, right down to the music the DJ played in the pre-show. Madonna ascends the stairs, where her troupe is waiting, strikes a pose, and slowly closes the show in her trademark fade-out.

Those of us who have been smashed together separate ourselves from one another, our clothing virtually attached by sweat. While many of the crowd choose to remain in the Ballroom and schmooze with the likes of Rosie, Fran Drescher, Dolce & Gabanna, and the Heatherette designers, those of us who preferred some oxygen left the room only to be assaulted by the awaiting media. 'Did you see the show?' People who seemed to be sweating were yanked aside for commentary.
At the Verizon bus, my date was waiting for me, reclining in the recording bus where the Verizon livecast was being mixed, and we watched a video of Timbaland's birthday party. After grabbing a poster, I gave my football player hero a huge hug and shoved him into a cab. Some H20 took priority. And now the burning question: When should I remove my wristband?