‘Cheetah Mama’ Shows Her Spots

Friday, January 13, 2006

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

‘Cheetah Mama’ Shows Her Spots

By J’AMY PACHECO

When it comes to modern music, I’m about as out of touch as a relatively conscious human being can get.

Once my daughter reached the age of music awareness, she took control of our musical entertainment. If the back seat booster in my car is occupied, you can bet notes from one of two things are coming out of the speakers: a three-CD set of Disneyland music compiled for the park’s 50th anniversary, or songs recorded by the latest Radio Disney stars.

Ask me what I know about Nickelback, D4L or Fall Out Boy, and I’ll look at you like I don’t what you’re talking about. (Because I won’t.) Ask me to name a song by the Black Eyed Peas or the Foo Fighters, and I won’t. (Because I can’t.)

But I sure know who the Cheetah Girls are.

I became aware of the Cheetah Girls when I saw their movie on the Disney Channel two years ago. I watched with my daughter because it starred one of our favorite actresses, Raven, and because I’m as passive about television as I am music to drive by.

The movie caused quite a buzz around here, and for a while, a group of my daughter’s friends went around calling themselves the Cheetah Girls and vowing to start a band.

It never happened, and the Cheetah Girls disappeared from our radar screen. Until November, that is, when my daughter reported the actresses from the movie had formed a real band and would do a holiday tour. She begged to be allowed to go. Yikes.

Now, we are not exactly concert people. We like music, but not enough to shell out a lot of money for tickets, drive to an enormous, crowded amphitheater and watch our favorites performers through telescopes. We’re just not that dedicated — and CDs are so easy to get.

In fact, the last concert I attended that starred anybody not a student at my daughter’s elementary school was sometime in the 1980s, I think, when the Universal Amphitheater was still so named — and before it had a roof.

But my little girl really wanted to go. So when I discovered the Cheetah Girls would play Los Angeles, I called to buy tickets. Unfortunately, there were none to be had, unless I was willing to put a ticket broker’s kids through college. My daughter was devastated.

In what can only be described as a Christmas miracle, I was given the opportunity to buy last minute tickets at the regular box office price — so I did.

We ended up arriving early and killing time at CityWalk in Universal City. The place was filled with obvious concert-goers — little girls dressed (like mine) in animal prints. They were everywhere, and I found myself getting as excited about the concert as my little Cheetah girl. By the time we started up the hill to the Gibson Amphitheater, we were ready.

Good thing, because we soon found ourselves in seats separated from the stage by only the orchestra pit. I told my daughter, “You will never again see a concert from seats this good, so enjoy yourself.” I don’t think she truly recognized her good fortune until I pointed out that Raven herself was in the audience — and that we had better seats.

It was easy to get into the concert mood when the opening act — Aly & AJ — took the stage. By the time the Cheetah Girls came out, we were among those in the audience waving our glowing light sticks and singing along.

The Cheetah Girls didn’t just sing — they danced with an energy I haven’t had in a long time. But they also delivered a wholesome message certain to make the mommies in the audience happy — a message of “girl power.” I wish I could find a written version of the narrative they used in which they advised their ‘tween fans to do things like spend more time on homework than on their hair and makeup.

At first, I laughed when they called us “Cheetah Mamas” that night. I don’t own a single animal print garment, and when it comes to style, I’m about as interesting as a glazed donut.

But after watching my daughter wave her glow stick while singing about not wanting to be like Cinderella (“sitting in a dark, cold dusty cellar, waiting for somebody to come and set me free…”), I decided the Cheetah Girls were okay. In fact, I’m downright happy to get to be a Cheetah Mama.

I mistakenly believed cameras weren’t allowed, so uncharacteristically, we have no photographs of that memorable night. But we have two used tickets, a burnt out light stick, a couple t-shirts, and one heck of a memory. And that, to shamelessly borrow from a commercial, is priceless.