with Waka Flocka Flame, Wooh Da Kid, and Haitian Fresh
Revolution Live, Ft. Lauderdale
We arrived to find a fairly expansive onstage hype crew -- DJ, MC/host/default main hype man, a superfluous live drummer, three to seven people holding cameras, and dudes just standing there -- yelling all sorts of hype crew gibberish at the 18-plus audience in between dense and deafening blasts of a Top 40 pop rap megamix laced with select deep cuts from the Brick Squad Monopoly recording vaults.
The crowd at first was fairly timid, especially compared to the rabid blunt-smoking party savages native to the rap concerts at the Fillmore on Miami Beach. We imagine this was due to most of the audience being under the drinking age, which, BTW, we didn't expect. Not that there was any demographic expectation, really, but this group was notably young and suburban.
Flocka paced back and forth down in the pit between the stage and the audience like the frontman of an '80s hardcore band. For much of the show he straddled the barricade like an East Berliner fistpumping during the demolition of the Berlin Wall, as the portion of his body exposed to the audience was clawed at, tugged upon, and groped by fans that could be accurately described as "ferocious." His other half was supported by a security guard who took on the rapper's Shaq-like girth with a spiritual dedication not unlike Simon of Cyrene helping Jesús carry his cross.
Waka ripped through song after song with the enthusiasm equal to that of the freaks he was whipping into a frenzy. Although he was clearly the center of attention, the life of the party, and within the precise crosshairs of most people in the room's attention and/or adoration, he was still ultimately a participant. His toothy shark's grin framed by a waterfall of perspiration confirmed this.
The night's peak came when a man dressed in a chicken suit was brought onstage for "Rooster in My Rari." He proceeded to go the fuck off, like he was the hip-hop equivalent of the guy who danced for the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. His unbridled, righteously goofy enthusiasm was the absolute embodiment of Waka Flocka's ethos and aesthetic.
The Crowd: Three bros for every ho, high school kids, white people, suburban-y mall norms, squares, various delegates from punk, rock, and/or related etc contingents, Outmoded Broward "scene kids," a few thugs, and a beautiful nerd in a chicken suit.
From The Crowd: Hysterical, language-less cries of party rockin' ecstasy. Imagine people so thoroughly entertained that they flail and holler like a circus clown that has accidentally set itself on fire.
From The Stage: "Why you shakin'...[eyes widen with cartoonish omniscience], like you on dem mollies?" - Waka to his DJ
Personal Bias: We used to prefer getting icy with Gucci. But we've been converted to the Waka Flocka Church of Lampshades.
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