The New Kids on the Block perform before a packed house of mostly women at the Colosseum Saturday, June 12, 2010.
Photograph by: Scott Webster, The Windsor Star
I suppose I realized the true power of New Kids On the Block when a woman elbowed me in the head.
It was during the climax of their song Tonight. The five boys from Boston had entered the audience area to stand on platforms and get personal with their fans. Less than five feet away from my seat was Jordan Knight -- the dapper one with the flawless falsetto, looking enviably trim and vigorous at 40 years old.
The women were a swarm of shrieking voices and outstretched arms. Cameras and cellphones were thrust high like weapons. I didn't stand a chance. Even the security detail looked nervous.
When Knight reached out to slap five with the many-handed mob, the screams reached a crescendo pitch.
It occurred to me that if he pointed me out and ordered them to tear me apart, they would do so without question.
The CIA called their mind control experiments MKULTRA. But I fear nothing, for I have witnessed a more revealing piece of history: NKOTB.
There were warning signs. The capacity crowd at Caesars Windsor's Colosseum on Saturday night was screaming before the show began. They were screaming at the countdown to the show, displayed over the stage in giant red digits.
Many in the overwhelmingly female throng displayed their loyalty in the form of homemade T-shirt slogans: I Heart NKOTB ... Mrs. Donnie Wahl-berg ... D-Dub Love. Others showed adoration in another manner -- heaving cleavage.
And for their faith, they were rewarded. More than two decades since Hangin' Tough, the quintet is in phenomenal shape, possessed of greater fitness than their youth. No middle-aged paunchiness. As Donnie Wahlberg said so many years ago, the NKOTB are indeed "too strong."
Not even an obvious curtain error at the start could keep the hormones from flowing. The audience responded to every choreographed lady-pleasing move: the opening of jackets, the grabbing of crotches, the pumping of hips.
Just as much of a revelation was the strength of NKOTB's voices. An acoustic ballad medley showcasing Jordan Knight and Joey McIntyre proved that their vocal cords have suffered no diminishment over the past 22 years.
Nor have they lost any showmanship: After a particularly long note in Please Don't Go Girl, McIntyre dropped to his knees and wiped away a tear. The audience's appreciation was ear-splitting.
By the time McIntyre strutted the stage in a half-naked solo performance incorporating the Eurythmics hit Sweet Dreams, grown women were in paroxysms of pubescent lust. Or late-80s nostalgia.
But Donnie -- despite having the weakest singing voice of the group -- remained the crowd favourite. The multitude was at his command, replying to his every call for yeahs, ohs, whoas, etc. His butt-swivelling nearly brought the house down.
At one point, he merely struck a pose and beckoned for louder and louder screams.
He was not disappointed.
It was during the climax of their song Tonight. The five boys from Boston had entered the audience area to stand on platforms and get personal with their fans. Less than five feet away from my seat was Jordan Knight -- the dapper one with the flawless falsetto, looking enviably trim and vigorous at 40 years old.
The women were a swarm of shrieking voices and outstretched arms. Cameras and cellphones were thrust high like weapons. I didn't stand a chance. Even the security detail looked nervous.
When Knight reached out to slap five with the many-handed mob, the screams reached a crescendo pitch.
It occurred to me that if he pointed me out and ordered them to tear me apart, they would do so without question.
The CIA called their mind control experiments MKULTRA. But I fear nothing, for I have witnessed a more revealing piece of history: NKOTB.
There were warning signs. The capacity crowd at Caesars Windsor's Colosseum on Saturday night was screaming before the show began. They were screaming at the countdown to the show, displayed over the stage in giant red digits.
Many in the overwhelmingly female throng displayed their loyalty in the form of homemade T-shirt slogans: I Heart NKOTB ... Mrs. Donnie Wahl-berg ... D-Dub Love. Others showed adoration in another manner -- heaving cleavage.
And for their faith, they were rewarded. More than two decades since Hangin' Tough, the quintet is in phenomenal shape, possessed of greater fitness than their youth. No middle-aged paunchiness. As Donnie Wahlberg said so many years ago, the NKOTB are indeed "too strong."
Not even an obvious curtain error at the start could keep the hormones from flowing. The audience responded to every choreographed lady-pleasing move: the opening of jackets, the grabbing of crotches, the pumping of hips.
Just as much of a revelation was the strength of NKOTB's voices. An acoustic ballad medley showcasing Jordan Knight and Joey McIntyre proved that their vocal cords have suffered no diminishment over the past 22 years.
Nor have they lost any showmanship: After a particularly long note in Please Don't Go Girl, McIntyre dropped to his knees and wiped away a tear. The audience's appreciation was ear-splitting.
By the time McIntyre strutted the stage in a half-naked solo performance incorporating the Eurythmics hit Sweet Dreams, grown women were in paroxysms of pubescent lust. Or late-80s nostalgia.
But Donnie -- despite having the weakest singing voice of the group -- remained the crowd favourite. The multitude was at his command, replying to his every call for yeahs, ohs, whoas, etc. His butt-swivelling nearly brought the house down.
At one point, he merely struck a pose and beckoned for louder and louder screams.
He was not disappointed.
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