Plenty of singers with comparable record sales still can't touch Madonna when it comes to concerts. On one hand, most of her songs are made for live performance. On the other, the Queen of Pop puts in the work when it comes to planning and rehearsals.
And then there was one more thing. To keep her body strong enough for the punishing pace of a world tour, Madonna trained like a maniac, practically turning herself into a muscle Barbie. Most stars at her level could never match that.
So really, no one's success comes easily.
Once the show officially began, even though many people tonight were here for Simon, they were still swept up by the heat of the arena, screaming and cheering along with the explosive songs and dancing.
A full half hour passed like that. Madonna finished "Holiday" and, instead of launching straight into the next song, the lights dimmed.
Inside the arena, outside the arena, and in front of countless televisions, the audience instantly realized what it meant.
Simon Westeros was about to come on.
Sure enough.
In the surrounding darkness, a figure rose slowly from beneath the stage. He seemed to be dressed in black. The silhouette was hazy, but the shape of a striking double-neck guitar could be made out.
Madonna reappeared at the edge of the stage. A spotlight pinned her in place as she lifted the mic and shouted, "All right, who's coming out next?"
Amid cries of "Simon" and "Westeros," there was even more than that.
Just screaming.
Tens of thousands of people.
A wall of screaming loud enough to split your skull.
Madonna waited until it eased a little, then pointed toward the stage with a grin that carried a hint of mystery. "Look. Fire."
A single chord tore through the air.
And fire burst out.
For a second, some people honestly thought they were hallucinating.
Then their attention snapped onto the center of the stage like it had been yanked by a hook.
A second chord.
A third.
With those sounds, lights fell onto the figure at center stage. Not dazzling, but bright enough for everyone to see him clearly.
A jet-black outfit with hard punk energy.
And a guitar that had never been seen on any stage before, obviously larger than a normal electric. The body was white, built in a steampunk style. The twin necks were orange. A metal tube ran through the center of the body, rising past the headstock. At the very end, the silver outlet looked like a motorcycle exhaust, or the edge of a long, sharp blade.
If there were another time-traveler in the crowd, someone who had watched George Miller's Mad Max: Fury Road, they would have recognized that flamboyant flame guitar at a glance.
Of course, there wasn't.
But that didn't matter. The moment countless people saw it, they were stunned anyway.
Onstage.
After the third crack, the strings began to hum.
Urgent, low, ferocious.
Like a swarm circling, but it wasn't the "Flight of the Bumblebee" people had been expecting.
It felt more like something else.
Like invasion.
Like spread.
And more people remembered Madonna's last line. She hadn't said the usual, "Welcome Simon Westeros."
She'd said, "Look. Fire."
And it really was fire.
It was fire.
An entrance mattered. That teasing line was, in truth, a hard rule. Michael Jackson, Madonna, and so many other superstars lived by it.
If he was going to step onto a stage, Simon wasn't about to do it half-heartedly either.
Ever since that meeting before Madonna's tour began in April, he'd been thinking about this, talking it over with her team again and again.
At some point, he remembered Mad Max: Fury Road, the way that flame guitar had electrified film fans and filmmakers alike. So he brought together some of Hollywood's best prop masters and professional guitar craftsmen to see if it could be done.
When cost wasn't an issue, it turned out it could.
Then came the opening solo.
"Flight of the Bumblebee" was the first thing they considered, but after trying it, the stage effect wasn't actually that good.
Simon also tried improvising.
All his half-remembered experience told him the same thing. A fast, blazing intro could lock an audience in place.
But inspired by the flame guitar, and sharpened by practice, he ended up writing a complete piece.
"Fire."
Onstage, the melody carried a fierce aggression, sometimes frantic, sometimes violent, sometimes buzzing, sometimes exploding, until more and more people felt heat spreading through their own chests, like flame crawling outward.
And then.
Whenever the music hit its sharpest peak, that metal tube above the double-neck really did spit fire again.
So it wasn't an illusion earlier.
There really was fire.
And with that, the atmosphere ignited. The arena erupted into screaming all over again.
At the backstage entrance, Janet watched the man onstage throwing himself into the performance, her eyes full of worship. Of course she wouldn't miss her beloved husband's concert.
Down on the floor, Lisa Collins screamed as wildly as everyone else, her emotions bare. But she kept glancing at the petite girl beside her, the one named Jennifer, terrified that the flushed, shaking girl clutching a sign might faint at any second.
Outside Brendan Byrne Arena, staring up at the giant screen, more than a hundred thousand people roared and screamed as well.
In living rooms everywhere, feeling the concert's heat through the television, countless people regretted they hadn't flown to New York no matter the cost.
The guitar solo "Fire" lasted only two minutes and twenty seconds, but after tonight, it was destined to become a must-learn classic for guitar lovers everywhere.
As the melody surged toward its final crescendo, the flames stopped coming in bursts and poured out without pause, lashing upward like they wanted to burn through the sky.
The lighting and backing track grew more frantic, more blinding.
And then, when everything was at its peak, it fell away into darkness.
Two minutes and twenty seconds.
It was like God snapped His fingers. Everything cut off at once, and the stage went black again.
"Simon!"
"Simon!"
The screaming only grew more insane. Fans stared into the darkness, shouting a single name.
The blackness lasted a full three minutes.
The chanting lasted a full three minutes.
Some people had secretly worried. Would their idol be overshadowed by Madonna, the star of the night? Would he fall short of the version in their heads? Was he, like some gossip rags claimed, all show and no substance?
Now every doubt, every fear, every hesitation, vanished into smoke.
That figure just now was their god.
Their savior.
Tonight, even if all they got was those two minutes and twenty seconds, it was worth the trip.
Down by the stage, Lisa was the first to come back to herself, shaken by the sobbing of the petite girl beside her. She wanted to comfort her, but in the end she didn't move.
She only made a decision.
Soon, she had to find another chance to see him.
She wanted to touch him again so badly.
When the lights came back up, the steampunk darkness was gone, replaced by a brighter palette.
The backing track started. Madonna fans immediately recognized her Latin-flavored dance song, "La Isla Bonita." Then Simon and Madonna appeared onstage together.
Simon had changed out of the black outfit into a relaxed white suit, and the guitar in his hands was now an acoustic.
Madonna wore a vivid, fringed dress.
When Madonna began to sing, Simon wasn't just playing guitar. He was also moving with her, a second presence onstage.
Effortless. Perfectly in sync. It was impossible to connect this man to the idea of a multi-billion-dollar tycoon. He looked like he belonged here, like he was meant to be the guitarist, the partner, the one who could steal the spotlight from the lead without even trying.
When the song ended, it wasn't as jaw-dropping as "Fire," but the applause and cheering were still fierce.
After Simon left the stage, the next half hour returned to being Madonna's show.
The applause continued. The cheering continued.
But everyone in the arena couldn't help waiting for that figure to appear again.
Madonna had already considered the possibility of this happening, but she didn't mind.
Simon Westeros's presence tonight was always going to be a bonus. Even if that "bonus" stole some of the shine from the "main event," it was still decoration.
And no matter what, Simon wasn't going to steal her career.
After tonight, she still had tour dates in the southern states and then Europe. Madonna believed that because of this night, attendance for the rest of the tour would exceed expectations by a wide margin.
The concert ran 120 minutes.
Simon would appear three times, arranged at the 30-minute mark, the 60-minute mark, and the 90-minute mark.
And of course, during the final curtain call, he would be dragged out to greet the audience too. Counting "Fire," the Queen had effectively pulled him onstage five times.
From Simon's first appearance at the 30-minute mark, the crowd could already sense the rhythm of his entrances.
Sure enough, at the one-hour point, Simon Westeros returned.
The opening sound was an unfamiliar ticking clock.
Everyone remembered. There were supposed to be two new songs tonight.
Or if you counted "Fire," then clearly three.
Onstage, this time it was a Madonna song that was also perfect for guitar, called "Hung Up."
Simon and Madonna stood on opposite sides of the stage, left and right, each holding an electric guitar.
And as they played, their eyes met across the distance, exchanging little sparks with the music. It drove countless people into a frenzy, and made plenty of fans and moviegoers feel a sting of possessiveness.
Hey, Westeros, Madonna is mine.
Some people even started guessing whether something had happened between them.
In the occasional close-up, the ring on Simon Westeros's left ring finger was unmistakable.
And everyone knew Madonna was dating Warren Beatty right now. To help promote Beatty's new film Dick Tracy, Madonna had even sung its theme song.
Still.
Even with those rumors in their minds, besides the most fiercely possessive diehards, a lot of the audience felt an uneasy, secret thrill at the idea of something happening between them.
When "Hung Up" ended, there was another half hour of waiting.
Ninety minutes.
Simon came on again, and this time he and Madonna sat together on two high stools near the front of the stage.
Madonna held a mic. Simon wore a headset mic, and the guitar in his hands was a different acoustic.
Catching those details, a lot of fans suddenly understood what was coming, and the arena quickly quieted down.
Madonna didn't disappoint. She didn't sing right away. Instead, she lifted the mic and asked the man beside her, "Simon, how does tonight feel?"
Simon smiled and nodded gently. "It's great."
His first spoken words of the night, just a casual sentence, triggered another wave of shrieks.
Madonna waited a moment, then made a showy little face. "Seeing this many people here, are you jealous?"
Simon's smile didn't change. "Jealous."
"Ahhhh!"
"Simon!"
"Simon, I love you!"
Another burst of screaming.
Madonna paused again and asked, "Simon, tell me. How many people are here tonight?"
Simon studied the arena seriously, his gaze drawing shouts wherever it landed. "About one hundred thousand."
Madonna pretended to be dissatisfied. "I'd love that too, but this is a forty-thousand-seat arena. How could there be one hundred thousand?"
Simon's expression stayed solemn. "It really is one hundred thousand."
"You're sure?"
Simon nodded firmly, then glanced to Madonna's other side, his tone turning matter-of-fact in a way that made it even creepier. "Because there are two standing next to you."
Madonna followed his gaze to her right.
There was nothing there, of course.
Then she realized what he meant and leaned closer to him. "Hey, Simon. Don't scare me."
Inside the arena, outside the arena, countless people finally caught up.
One hundred thousand.
So maybe, perhaps, it wasn't only people.
Everyone remembered a rumor that had floated around since last summer.
Simon Westeros was a medium.
Thinking of sixty thousands of other "audience members" besides themselves, many people, even knowing it was probably a joke, still felt chills crawl over their skin.
Onstage, Madonna knew to stop before it went too far. She straightened quickly and said, "OK, that was a joke. Next song, 'Ghosttown,' for everyone."
"Ghosttown."
Clear guitar notes rang out.
It was still a Madonna song, only one that, in another world, wouldn't be released until 2015.
Simon chose it because he'd once watched a live performance where someone accompanied Madonna in a similar setup. The way he and Madonna sat together now was almost the same scene he remembered.
The song wasn't as explosive as many of Madonna's hits, but it still carried emotion in a way that pulled the crowd along.
Before anyone realized it, the audience began clapping to the rhythm.
As the song built toward its final peak, the two of them rose from the stools and moved toward the T-shaped runway.
With the entire arena clapping along, Simon's last song of the night was about to end.
Down by the stage, Lisa Collins was thrilled, because Simon had clearly noticed her. He even nodded and smiled at her. She waved back.
She was still thinking about how to find an excuse to meet him when everything changed in an instant.
The petite girl beside her, the one named Jennifer, saw Simon so close, and somehow found a burst of strength and courage from nowhere. She climbed onto the stage and rushed straight toward him.
Fans charging the stage wasn't rare at concerts.
To prevent it, security always guarded the stage perimeter, and Madonna's concert was no exception.
In fact, over the past hour and a half, a few people had already tried. They'd all been stopped.
Lisa's section had security too. Seeing Simon and Madonna come toward them, those guards had already tightened up. But nobody expected that tiny girl, who looked like she couldn't possibly climb a stage more than a meter and a half high, would suddenly explode with that kind of force.
By the time several burly guards leapt up, the girl was already clinging tightly to Simon.
Luckily, the song had just ended. Simon and Madonna were about to head back anyway, so there wasn't the awkwardness of a performance being interrupted mid-beat.
The girl sobbed against him, crying his name. Two guards tried several times to pull her off and couldn't. They were about to get rough.
Simon raised a hand quickly to stop them.
Madonna waved as well, signaling the security men onstage to back down and focus on preventing anyone else from rushing up.
After a brief stir, the arena fell quiet, watching what would happen.
Many of Simon's fans stared at the girl wrapped around their idol with naked envy, regretting they hadn't been bolder a moment ago.
Now there was no chance.
Security around the stage was on high alert, and the other fans who tried were immediately blocked.
Onstage, Madonna quietly slipped away. Simon patted the crying girl and said softly, "Don't cry, okay? When a girl cries, I end up feeling guilty."
The girl realized no one was pulling at her anymore and finally steadied herself. She still held onto Simon tightly, nodding obediently as she sniffled. "Mm, mm… I won't cry. Simon, I like you."
"Thank you," Simon said, taking one of her hands. "Let's go over there."
The girl hesitated, then loosened her arms and let him lead her by the hand to the two high stools.
Only after sitting down, feeling countless eyes on her, did she seem to realize what she'd just done. Overwhelmed with shyness, she lowered her head and leaned slightly into the man beside her, one small hand gripping the edge of his clothing, holding on for dear life.
Simon asked gently, "What's your name?"
"Jenny."
"A very good name," Simon said with a smile, lightly brushing the strings. "Then I'll sing you a song. What do you want to hear?"
"A-anything."
Watching the warm, tender exchange onstage, people inside the arena, outside the arena, and in front of televisions felt their hearts soften until they almost melted.
Simon thought for a moment. "Then 'American Pie.' For Jenny, and for everyone. Wishing you happiness."
The guitar began.
Don Mclean "American Pie."