The Dizzee show was as fun and crazy as I hoped it would be. The place was fucking packed to the gills. The crowd was awfully uniform. It's like an NYU dorm was giving away free tickets or something. DJ Wonder threw down some jungle in the preshow and you could almost see the collective "duh...how do we dance to that?" Dizzee started out in the dark with "Sittin Here" and I smirk-smiled all "isn't he all Mr. Fancypants Performer?!" I couldn't note the setlist as I would've wanted because things were slightly dramatic in the crowd between the folks I was with (The Brit, his brother, the brother's girl, and their friend) and this pack of punks, so much so that the show was halted momentarily for a kid to get carted away by security. He rocked "Jus A Rascal," "Everywhere," "Learn," "Respect Me," "Knock Knock," "Graftin," "Jezebel," "Dream" into "Juicy," and the two encores were "Fix Up, Look Sharp" and "Stand Up Tall." (I keep thinking "Showtime," "Vexed," and "Do It" also but that might be from listening to them to death at home.) The Brit grumbled that the newer stuff was lame because it was too Americanized and I grumbled to myself that I would've given money to have heard "Wot U On" (or did I hear it? I really don't know. I was distracted). The kids surrounding us varied between crazy spazz dancing and standing like stone. Get out the front if you're just gonna stand doing nothing, fuckers. Every single white girl in the front left section was having hormone fits over the hype man. He was no my husband Tyrese or anything, just alright looking in an average black dude on my block sort of way. But they were totally frenzied and I was amused.
I noticed this guy standing a few people over looking at me during the show. And because I'm vain and jaded, my reaction was "so what?" (The quickest way to get on my nerves: tell me I'm good looking. Pretty people are a dime a dozen, son. I could care less that you think so.) He said "hi" right before the encore, but I was too busy jumping up and down (I still have hops from basketball! Go me!) and going nuts to do more than shoot him a "back off" look. He looked like Paul Westerberg (and yes that age also) after he stuck his finger in an electrical socket. I ran into him again downstairs by the exit and he did some sort of awkward conversation asking for my number. Me being me, I was thinking "oh you're a bit of a clown" yet on a whim, gave it anyways. No rhyme or reason. He called this afternoon and that was a funny conversation.
Post-show, the hodgepodge group of me and the crew plus some random British girls they met at the show ran through the rain over to a restaurant basement party a few blocks away. Let me give you the nutshell specificless happenings that had things looking dicey for a while: 1) I have the capacity to be very jealous -- I'm not especially proud of it but hey, I'm no saint. 2) I'll front until the end if left unchecked if I feel it is the best policy for the situation. 3) If I'm pissed off, I'm likely to come out with some sweet-sounding sharp-tongued shit while smiling and fronting all the while. So, I was feeling like a bit of an unhappy camper and feeding the pro-me and The Brit camp (which I find astounding. The whole thing had a cute junior high "circle yes or no if you like him" aspect. I had spies and I didn't even know it!) some disinformation. Still, it was all smoothed over before the night was done. Have you ever gotten a pointed look with so much heat that you thought if you returned it, you'd burst into flames? I did and yeah...good thing I can't really blush.
ETA: Whoo...got my Prefuse at Northsix tix in the mail!
Posted by Candicissima at April 24, 2005 09:01 PM