The last time I went to a rap performance involved a white guy with a chainsaw on stage going My name is (what?). My name is (who?), making the already rowdy crowd even wilder. An giant inflatable penis surfed above the moshers, some of whom were wearing newly-purchased merch that had Britney SUCKS emblazoned on them; others had Christina SWALLOWS. That was back in 2001. I'm not exactly proud I starved for a month to purchase those tickets - rap, hip hop and r 'n' b are definitely not on my current favourite playlists.
But I believe that part of making music is being loved by an audience, especially during live performances. The Muse boys are music gods but front row conditions were like rabbits trapped in headlights, and I felt they weren't friendly towards us. No interaction whatsoever. It was like they performed simply because their plane had to stopover Singapore to refuel. Which was why eventhough I dig Time is running out more than Intergalactic (where were you nini when they played this?), it was these jewish boys that got me jumping and dancing - real pure fun.
Unpredictable stage antics, genuine interaction with fans ("We've been waiting for the longest time to play here in Singapore!" - one mc hollered out.") and come on, who wasn't fazed at how solely through the power of rap turned an avid fan into thinking he's Cicakman (Go to this blog for a picture).
So for those poor souls who either (a) couldn't get the early birds or (b) didn't know the doorbitch dispensed entry wristbands as if they were supermarket samples or (c) couldn't afford to bribe the bhangra guards by the other entrance or (d) lacked the ability to saunter through the absence of security then gosh, you plainly didn't try hard enough to get in, shame on you! G-reat major loss!
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