A giant inflatable lobster convulses menacingly behind Dua Lipa. Sitting on the edge of an ersatz pool, back turned, she is singing about ending a mismatched relationship, oblivious to the threat.
“We’re not meant to be, like sleeping and cocaine,” Lipa muses as the lobster writhes, its absurdity magnified by the fact that it is dry humping the stage rather than moving in for the kill. We’re in the middle of We’re Good, a minor single from the more recent deluxe edition of her pandemic-era hit LP Future Nostalgia, the silly peak of a slick arena show foregrounding witty kiss-offs to bad boyfriends and disco as embodied therapy. Lipa is 40 gigs into a massive, delayed world tour; one that, more than most, marks a return to some kind of normal. “I used to spend so many nights on my own,” goes her song Love Again. “I never knew I had it in me to dance any more.” Turns out, it’s like riding a bicycle.
