Juicy J at Myth, 3/28/14
Photo by Erik Hess
Friday, March 28, 2014
At 10 p.m. on Friday, two terrified girls were pressed against the front row railing at Myth. Behind them, a wave of disoriented faces swelled and lurched forward. The bodies in the front retaliated by pushing back. Men cried. Young girls in booty shorts threatened to kill each other. The wave swelled again. A girl pulled from the crowd by security slipped in a puddle and fell, revealing her bare crotch to the Molly-fueled room.
These people were hungry. Faceless hands reached out to grab the nearest genitalia. Men grinded against women they'd never met, non-consensually inching their fingers up skirts. A kid dancing with his girlfriend turned around to scream, "Bitch stop grabbing my balls." The girl smiled and moved on to another man. The pit pushed forward. The front row screamed and pushed back. A gargantuan security guard with an ACE garden mister sprayed water into the mouths of panting fans. Blunts were smoked. Fights broke out. It took all the restraint the crowd could muster to refrain from having public sex. And this was all during the opening DJ's set.
Welcome to Juicy J's Never Sober tour -- the show where everyone was fucked up and laws didn't matter. Let's get turnt up.
Slideshow: Juicy J turns it up at Myth
The six hour hip hop marathon kicked off with a two hour DJ set by Audio Perm, who played a mix of top 40 hits and throwbacks. The DJ, donning yellow shorts and a puffy yellow coat, kept his cool while his cohort jumped around the stage, attempting to hype the audience up with lines like, "Go apeshit bananas like you just found out a family member died or something!" Beyond that, they were fine -- but we weren't at the Myth for hip-hop dance night. We wanted Juicy.
A security guard (who thought my notebook was an autograph book and demanded to sign it) informed me that Juicy J wouldn't be coming on until a quarter to one. Audio Perm finished at 10 and I didn't have the heart to tell my neighbors -- who had begun chanting "Juicy, Juicy, Juicy" -- that they had another three hours to wait.
Photos by Erik Hess
Chicago MC Show You Suck was up next. His hype man stole the show, winning the award for best outfit of the night with his Brand New shirt, high tops, and fleece puzzle-piece patterned harem pants. Sadly, he later slipped on some cords and fell off the stage, which he played off as an intentional front row meet-and-greet.
Midway through his set, Show You Suck announced, "I got a rap song about boobs. Do you wanna hear a rap song about boobs?" The crowd screamed. A girl on the opposite side of the stage got festive and pulled up her shirt. The hype man yelled, "There's titties out!" Then she did it again. And again. And again. Finally, a security guard ran to the side of the stage and told her to stop. No one else seemed to mind.
At that point, the crowd was in a state of total disarray. Cat fights were breaking out left and right, hoards of kids were being pulled from the crowd, and a disgruntled guy behind me hissed, "Fucking A, you're at a fucking concert. Chill out or leave," to no one in particular.
Photos by Erik Hess
Project Pat sauntered onto the stage 30 minutes later. A girl next to me squealed, "Juicy J!!" No one corrected her. On the right side of the stage, a gaggle of girls in booty shorts attempted to twerk -- emphasis on attempted. A tiny girl in a body suit who begged her way on stage gave an unknown person affiliated with Project Pat a lap dance, complete with interpretive fellatio moves and full-on humping. He remained straight-faced, nonchalantly drinking pink drank from a plastic bottle. Project Pat appeared to be completely oblivious to what was happening behind him.
Pat's was the least impressive performance of the night. He came across as more of a hype man than a rapper, barking out select phrases over polished pre-recorded vocals. Maybe he's just bitter about being his little brother's opening act.
Travi$ Scott stole the show, despite addressing Minneapolis as "Minnianapolis." The 21-year-old Houston native climbed a shaking set of speakers, precariously tiptoed across railings, laid on the ground and sang in a security guard's face, and fearlessly leaped from the stage into the crowd on two separate occasions. During the set, Allan Kingdom appeared from behind the backstage curtain and spent the rest of the night showing off his signature dance moves. People actually seemed to recognize Scott, which was relieving after witnessing the audience's reaction to Project Pat.
Juicy J finally came on just after 1 a.m., kicking off his set with crowd pleasers like "Stop It" and "Smokin', Rollin." He looked genuinely happy to be on stage. Five songs in, he addressed the crowd with a series of questions: "What kind of weed you smokin'? What are we doin' after the party? Where are we going to get high? I love to get fucked up with fans." Juicy grabbed a bottle of champagne from the DJ booth, popped the top, and started looking for 21+ wristbands. No one had them. He searched up and down the front row, finally yelling out in desperation, "Who's old enough to drink, goddammit?!" A friend of the girl who showed her boobs during Show You Suck revealed an orange wristband and Juicy encouraged her to chug the remaining half of the bottle. She succeeded. "That girl can drink! Got some nice titties too," Juicy said.
Photos by Erik Hess
After playing through "Dark Horse," "Bandz a Make Her Dance," "Scholarship," and "Talkin' Bout," Juicy went on a long rant about how people assume he's a new artist and are oblivious to the fact that he's won an Academy Award, started Three 6 Mafia, etc, as if the crowd needed more reasons to worship him. Do you have some self-esteem issues, Juicy?
The night progressed as expected. More girls were invited on stage to twerk, Juicy took selfies with three screaming fans, and another bottle of champagne was served. My main complaint is that Juicy, like Pat, rapped sporadically, primarily relying on the vocals in the backing tracks.
By the nights end, the venue looked like a frat house after homecoming. The floor was covered in a thick layer of alcohol. Stacks of solo cups were strewn about the complex. Couples grinded in not-so-secret corners. Drug dealers lurked around the perimeter. The only difference was parents, rather than taxis, lined the street outside the venue, ready to lecture their large-pupiled children on the ride home.
Crowd: 18-21 year old girls in high-waisted booty shorts and crop tops, dudes with gold chains, and the occasional disoriented hippie.
Overheard: "You're talking about putting a fish up to your ballsack."
Girl to stranger in line: "Can I wear your jacket until we go in?"
Guy: "Yeah, as long as I get it back. I've got Starbursts in there."
Critic's bias: Blue Dream and Lean is one of my all-time favorite albums. That said, I no longer drink/do drugs, so there was a big disconnect for me in the "stay trippy" realm.
Notebook dump: Don't fuck with the Mike Tyson-esque bartender like the dude with ripped pants did. He will give you the death stare, lead you to the front door, and scream at you to never come back. And you'll never want to.
All I Blow Is Loud
So Much Money
Bandz a Make Her Dance
Poppin' My Collar
Slob on my Knob
Zip and a Double Cup
Smoke a Nigga
Clappers (Wale cover)
Still in this Bitch
Who Da Neighbors
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