Review: Confessions of a Blue Man Virgin.

Live music, comedy distilled to its elemental parts, strange characters performing alien rituals, complete lack of plot or the fourth wall, brilliant multimedia commentary on modern art and technology, and lights, crazy lights and colors everywhere… If the Blue Man Group were starving Seattle dancer/actor/musicians performing at On the Boards, we’d call what they do great performance art and the Stranger would give them a Genius Award. Alas these poor blue bastards weren’t that lucky. Instead, they are stuck touring around the world and doing their regular gig in Vegas. If that wasn’t bad enough, their shows, utterly unpretentious, can be enjoyed by anyone and everyone, and not just other starving performance artists. That means [GASP!] there are all kinds of people at their shows. And this is in Seattle! I shudder to think what their Vegas audiences are like (probably all obese and Republican). After watching the Blue Men spray-paint with their mouths, play Lady Gaga on a nest of pipes right out of H.R.Giger, do a glow-in-the-dark dance with giant phone apps, I left the theater inspired, my senses overwhelmed, my shoulder sore (because my partner was so giddy during the show he was squeezing me the whole time). For the rest of the night I even forgot about missing Angelica Liddell at OTB. To think that instead of having all this mindless fun, I could be challenged by a real artist self-mutilating, drinking herself into oblivion and shooting a bb gun on stage.
This is Blue Man Group’s last weekend in Seattle at The Paramount. You can buy tickets here. You should.