Gig review: Madonna, Murrayfield, Edinburgh IN THE end, the controversy regarding the Edinburgh leg of Madonna's MDNA tour was not about exposing nipples or pinning swastikas on right wing politicians or even about waving a gun around onstage the day after the Denver shootings - self-censorship has never been an option for Madonna, so why would her debut live appearance in Scotland be any different? Instead, the burning question on the night was: did the show deliver enough bang for your considerable bucks? The case for the prosecution: Madonna arrived onstage 45 minutes later than advertised. The case for the defence: pop superstar prerogative. The concert was still delivered as conceived, even if this meant an overabundance of loveless material from the formulaic and largely tune-free MDNA album. These lesser numbers were often accompanied by dramatised routines that telescoped Madonna's key visual and thematic signatures over the past 30 years - religion (the crucifix and the confessional) and sex (aggressive and sado-masochistic) came together in the opening medley, which also included a quick leavening burst of Papa Don't Preach and Hung Up. In this early part of the show, state-of-the-art choreography and audacious art direction won out over the music. But a cutesy baton-twirling version of Express Yourself redressed the balance and finally played to the masses. In contrast to the elaborate set pieces, a number of solo spots demonstrated that Madonna could still effortlessly command a stage without all the background production - although it was also clear that rapping and guitar playing are not her strong suits (her riposte was in the song title: I Don't Give A ****) and that she had missed a trick by favouring forgettable new material over any of the fine ballads in her back catalogue. Basque vocal trio Kalakan played a prominent role in proceedings, but really came into their own on a percussive reworking of Open Your Heart, which incorporated their own song Sagara Jo. Refreshing and intriguing though this was, it was something of a relief to witness Vogue in its familiar pose-striking glory. The classy Like A Prayer required no greater embellishment than a gospel choir but, rather than go out on this devotional high, Madonna returned for one final footnote, the strictly minor Celebration, jollied up with an infectious dance routine. Anyone hoping for a greatest hits extravaganza from Her Ladyship would have been disappointed; instead, this was a bloody-minded display of cutting-edge pop theatre.