Pax Vobiscum, pilgrims!
I’ve just returned from the Rick Ross gig at the Indigo2 where I couldn’t figure out where the first ‘song’ ended and the second ‘track’ began. It didn’t really matter; before I realised it, all of the photographers were chased out of the pit, as is customary.
As hard as I’m trying not to reinforce the stereotype to the obvious, there was the obligatory plethora of wholesome choice swearing & showboating chest-thumping at such ‘hip-hop’ gathering: young whipper-snappers strutting around with a £7.50 beverage and making sure that the drink lasts; DJs’ & MCs’ screaming at the crowd to “make some noise”; you get the picture . That didn’t bother me because I have come to expect this form of subcultured tribalism (yes, I studied a semester of Sociology at Uni!) within this genre of music at concerts.
No, what really made me mad was that I missed an approved date (sanctioned by the missus, may I add!!) with Ms Halle Berry. I’d been informed that Rick Ross would be coming on stage at 9.10. With that information, I gathered that I could catch Halle in her film ‘The Call‘ showing just around the corner within the o2 Arena. My idea was to book the 9.15 screening of film, probably miss the ads and trailers but will definitely be ready for the start. I was an idjit to believe Rick Ross, like any of the current generation of hip-hop artists, would come on stage at his given time slot. 9.15 my a**e (Hashtag: #takingtherick)! He finally made an appearance at 10. 10pm, thus crushing any hope to see Halle for some time to come. Oh well…
And as for 5 minutes I spent at the gig? Meh:
I will say, though, that this dude has no scruples in showing off his rotund belly and red pants! I’ll give the show a C+ For showmanship!!
Thought of the day:
Bí a bá yin ìrèké tó dùn, ó yẹ ká yin etí odò tó ti hù.
In other words: If we praise the sugarcane for its sweetness, so we should the riverbank as well.