Everyone is dressed for one of the best evenings of make-believe in pop music â one where kids can pantomime rebellion in a safe space. Nobody here is actually going to do the things Ke$ha sings about. Like an amusement park roller coaster, whatâs about to happen will provide the illusion of danger at very high volumes, and with lots of screaming.  Ke$ha strides onto the stage, looking like she fished her leotard out of a comic book, kicking her legs, grabbing herself, yapping about sex, liquor and the intersection of the two. But when she declares, âWe are the crazy people,â during the refrain of her latest single, âCrazy Kids,â it feels a bit desperate.  Thatâs because this summer, everything Ke$ha has ever brought to the table of American pop music seems to have been repossessed. Nasal raps are the dominion of Nicki Minaj. Affirmation anthems will be sung by Katy Perry and Lady Gaga. The uncomfortable appropriation of hip-hop by inelegant white girls is being handled by Miley Cyrus.  But Ke$ha stays the course. She raps about Diddy. She name drops Iggy Pop. Her dancers thrust around in eyeball helmets similar to those worn by outsider rock troupe the Residents. The rest of the time, sheâs She-Ra fronting Jemâs Holograms for thousands of shrieky kiddos who werenât even alive when those cartoon characters inspired â80s babies to write songs and ride unicorns.  It isnât really working. âBlowâ has an illicit thunder appropriate for strip clubs, soccer arenas, Michael Bay movies and Wolf Trap. Yet, somehow, Ke$haâs presentation manages to feel as contrived and hammy as a bad Broadway routine. Her lyrics celebrate the reckless indulgence of impulses, but this show has been choreographed too tightly, all the way down to the fake-spontaneous crotch grabs. Spewing beer and flipping birds, Ke$ha hits all of her marks.
The girl near the gate flashes a Ziploc baggie filled with powder. âHey!â she says. âWant some glitter?â Itâs Monday night at Wolf Trap and thousands of teens are pouring in to see Ke$ha,...