Thirty minutes into Troye Sivan’s euphoric show on the Sydney Opera House forecourt, he yelled out into the audience: “Are there any gay people here?”
Thousands of proud, ecstatic teenagers screamed with joy – a triumphant roar echoing out across the warm, rain-splattered harbour. I screamed too, despite being tragically, incurably hetero. Whichever world Troye occupies, every person in his orbit wants to be part of it.
The 29-year old artist’s first Sydney show was performance 27 of his Something To Give Each Other tour – a journey that’s seen him perform at some of Europe and Australia's biggest venues with a staggeringly high-energy set list. Before he returned to the stage for his knockout finale, he told us – the adoring audience gathered on the steps of the Opera House – that this was “his favourite show, maybe ever.”
I’m sure he says that to every audience, and I’m sure that every time it changes someone’s life – the person who arrived with cracks in the idea of their identity, and left with those uncertainties welded together like kintsugi gold. Despite his superstar status, Sivan manages to foster a sense of togetherness. He’s otherworldly, and yet he’s one of us.
The show itself was a theatrical masterpiece – sexy and sweaty and spectacular. Supported by a group of absurdly attractive dancers, Sivan brought each of his songs to life with a routine that matched the energy, each uniquely confident and seductive and wistful and poetic.
Live cameras brought Sivan into close-up high definition on the big screens that framed the stage, presenting new, intimate angles with cinematic dynamism. The show was, in short, the most wholly impressive live performance I’ve ever seen: flirty and profound, joyful and transcendent. But it was the collective effervescence more than the show itself that struck me the most.
As a Gen Z/Millennial cusp with luddite tendencies, I often find myself despairing about the world that people younger than me have to grow up in. To me, the idea of having your constantly-evolving teenage self bound to a network of online judgement and comparison feels like a dystopian nightmare, and I can’t help but think the people younger than me have it tough. But then I see Sivan on stage – an icon for the younger generation who credits the online queer community with giving him the courage to be true to himself – and it gives me hope for the future. In a world rife with division, gathering with a group of strangers to scream elating pop songs about sex and love and growing up reminds you of the magic of being human. If it takes the internet to make that happen, I guess the internet has a place.
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