Apart from apple pie and shittily made cars, America a.k.a. the United States is most clichely known for its zeal for football. Because a boy isn’t really a man until he knows how to throw around “the old pigskin” (an overt allusion to the foreskin and its associated attachment to a powerful dick and all that it symbolizes). So it was already a “bold move” on the NFL’s part to select such an “ethnic” duo at a time when everything the U.S. stands for seems to be ethnic cleansing (kind of like Britain at the moment as well). And after the already super flaccid past couple of years that featured Justin Timberlake and Maroon 5 as the lead acts, one would think the NFL had ceased bothering with more diverse talent, the height of which has always seemed to extend primarily to Beyoncé (who, on a side note, couldn’t be bothered to stand during Demi Lovato’s performance of the national anthem). But on the eve of the closing arguments for Trump’s impeachment trial, it seemed as though, for once, the NFL was willing to take a risk on a performance that would make a political statement (one that didn’t involve the gesture that would cost M.I.A. a multi-million dollar fine during her 2012 performance with Madonna at the halftime show in Indianapolis).
Of course, like all effective messages, Shakira and Lopez made a slow build to their pièce de résistance, with Shakira opening the show in a blaze of firecracker-punctuated glory that continued with a red sequined costume and a bevy of backup dancers moving their bodies in tribal unison to the tune of “She Wolf.” It seemed to be a resounding establishing statement for the night, with Shakira declaring, “S.O.S, she’s in disguise/S.O.S, she’s in disguise/There’s a she wolf in disguise/Coming out, coming out, coming out” as though to warn the audience–and the many white male Trump supporters watching within it–that something is about to explode within their “good Latina girls putting on a show” fake out. Segueing into “Empire” with elements of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” blended into it (after all, they had to throw something in for the average football watcher), it is the only moment when a “slow pace” is even remotely detected.
By now, Shakira’s famous outie belly button is exposed as she puts down her guitar and picks up a rope to tie around her hands–an early indication of the theme of oppression and breaking free from it that J. Lo will later drive home. Dancing with it as though it is her toy, Shakira then playfully transitions into “Whenever, Wherever”–another song title that could be interpreted to apply to the current border control scene. This quickly switches to an homage to that OG of making Latin music mainstream, Pete Rodriguez, a master of the Latin boogaloo genre who famously got the caliente flavor of “I Like It Like That” to climb the Billboard charts in 1967. It would later be sampled by, among others, but now most recognizably, Cardi B, a fellow Bronxite. Whose collaborators on the remake, Bad Bunny and J Balvin, both show up to support Shakira and J. Lo respectively (the former on “I Like It Like That,” the latter on “Mi Gente”). Bad Bunny is the one who mentions “a new religion” and a “Latino gang” that seems to be led by these performers broadcasting the Latin mantra of empowerment through bodily and sonic expression–all broadcast to some very uppity white folk who might never have seen it were it not for the halftime show. “Chantaje” (originally featuring Maluma) follows before Shakira delivers another one of her bigger hits (more palatable to some because it is in English), “Hips Don’t Lie.” Giving a warbling tongue gesture that served as one of the most meme-able moments of the night (at least for Saint Hoax) after fearlessly crowd surfing, a decidedly ancestral, almost ritualistic dance from everyone onstage ensues. It is then that Shakira emphasizes once more the lyric, “No fighting.” This is a message of peace and unity, of calling out to the so-called leaders of America to understand that this country’s backbone is founded entirely on the blood, sweat and tears of Latinos.
About fifteen seconds after the six minute mark, Jennifer Lopez emerges holding onto, what else, a neon pole (for she didn’t do all of that training for Hustlers just to let it go to waste). Singing “Jenny From the Block” without any shame about its many dated references (for what’s to be ashamed of when you look that good at fifty? Shakira, too, turned forty-three on the day of this performance, ringing in her own new year in one of the most memorable ways possible). A few verses of “Ain’t It Funny” then transitions to an unforgettably choreographed rendition of “Get Right,” complete with canes (or is it batons?).
There is a brief moment of silence as the darkness falls over the stage for a mild set and dramatic costume change that finds J. Lo ripping off her black leather number in favor of a very sheer sequined catsuit (not unlike something Britney Spears might have worn circa 2000, as she did for her VMAs performance of “Oops…I Did It Again”). And for anyone who ever watched MTV (and, at the time, its popular show, Making the Video) when this song came out, the instant those green laser lights show up as the backdrop, you know “Waiting For Tonight” is about to go off. With the number of dancers seeming to double for the benefit of an orgiastic frenzy while J. Lo is suspended above them doing her Ramona moves on the pole, one has to briefly question whether it’s still 1999 or 2020–J. Lo just takes it back that effortlessly. And, speaking of back and taking it there, let us not forget that Lopez was the originator of making the “fat ass” chic long before any Kardashian came along. So it is that she delivers us “Booty,” a song J Balvin subs for Pitbull on before delving into his own collab with her, “Mi Gente,” which also features verses from “Love Don’t Cost A Thing” in this version (much to, one imagines, Beyoncé’s dismay).
The high-powered, rave-y vibes continue with “On the Floor” (which also originally featured Pitbull) before the mood shifts dramatically to introduce J. Lo’s daughter, Emme Maribel Muñiz, surrounded by other girls in neon cages to the front and those dressed in white sweatshirts with glittering American flags on them to the back. An overhead camera perspective then shows the Venus symbol (much to the dismay of those who despise such flagrant gender identity politics, but, hey, you can’t appeal to every demographic in one halftime show). Singing an a capella version of “Let’s Get Loud” while Shakira bombastically plays drums off to the side, Emme’s mother soon joins her onstage wearing a shag carpet-esque double-sided cape of a flag featuring the American on one side and the Puerto Rican on the other. It is at this moment that J. Lo shouts, “Come on Latinos! Let’s get loud!” Emme then heightens the one-two punch effect of the simultaneous call to action and declaration of one’s rights by interweaving Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” into the song. Ballsy as fuck in a climate as polarized as this one. Which made the message all the more powerful.
It was a pointed reminder to the exact demographic watching and relishing their “American-made” sport just whose backs the U.S. was really founded on. “Ladies let’s get loud!” J. Lo adds as Shakira takes the stage with her, singing together for the first time in unison–their pièce de résistance (pardon a French term in a Latino context) now complete. J. Lo gives the stage over to Shakira one more time to do her own thing, adding undercutting insult to the injury of football fans who have no idea that “Waka Waka,” the song Shakira concludes with, was a song she wrote specifically for the 2010 World Cup–for “fag’s football,” as one can imagine a die-hard fan of the NFL calling it. And as J. Lo dives back into singing “Let’s Get Loud” as a giant extravaganza of salsa movements ensues, one has to wonder how they managed to sneak all of this past the bigwigs, usually so fond of appeasing the fragile white male sensibility.
Or maybe, dare one say, the NFL is finally showing signs of progress. Then again, it’s more likely they had to acknowledge that Miami is not the type of place that really “vibes” to someone like, say, Katy Perry (who performed at the show back in 2015, in the prime vanilla soft serve territory that is Glendale, AZ). And as a result, maybe the U.S. is all the better for it if the very clear intent behind what J. Lo and Shakira were saying last night reaches just one person who might not have even thought about it thanks to the myopic worldview that this country somehow manages to foster so hospitably.
