Y’all don’t need me to tell you to go to Phantom of the Opera.

(Don’t you love how I used the word y’all?  It’s like I’m from Georgia or something.)

When Phantom comes to town, my whole community of friends starts a-buzzing about how thrilled they are to see–get this–musical theater.  I’m not just talking about my girls and gays; I mean everyone.  Random coworkers dragging their boyfriends.  Old elementary school buddies posting about it on Facebook.  Even my husband considered going (but didn’t).  Phantom of the Opera crosses genders, income levels, sexual orientations, and backgrounds.  It’s just one of those things you have to see.

Which is why I’m so ashamed that this was my first time.

That’s right; skew me, I was a Phantom virgin.  I’d not been slayed by Michael Crawford (although I did see Dance of the Vampires… seven times), Christine was not my alter-ego, and I hadn’t swooned to “Music of the Night.”  It’s almost as embarrassing as saying I’ve never seen Star Wars (which I haven’t), Lord of the Rings (which I haven’t), or all the Harry Potter movies (ditto).  It’s like I’m consciously turning away from the mainstream; some sort of showtune rebel.  (Christ, people, I’ve seen Mamma Mia! twice – I’ve suffered enough.)

But I haven’t consciously ignored the resounding call of the classic, and I went to Phantom.  It was everything I hoped it would be: a big crash of a chandelier, super-80’s synthesizers, melodrama, absolutely astounding talent, and Andrew Lloyd Weber’s music at its best.  And frankly, if you don’t check out the show while it’s in Atlanta for the last time, you’ll be the nerd of the loop.

And if you care to see a free show, stand outside the Fox at around 10:45 on any given Phantom night – you’ll see the most excited stage-door’ers this side of the Mason Dixon.  I saw folks with fangs and people crying (crying!) after this show, and that’s just a spectacle you can’t miss.

Listen to the music of the night, peeps.  See Phantom before it’s too late.