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Hostage of Celebrity (Kanye West Saint Pablo Tour Review)

a review of Kanye west’s saint pablo tour

merch booth lineup extends beyond sidewalK, traffic cops guide delay’d motorists thru troops of distract’d millennials, dazed & drooling over iphones, unKnowingly there to wait hours to purchase a $50 t-shirt, whatever isn’t sold out, suppress’d letdown at lack of aesthetic appeal attach’d to the price-tag, not the correct size but, who cares? just want to feel that cotton select’d by their icon, Kanye west, #saintpablo, instagram, snaps, igeneration logs on to flog off heavily edit’d photos of self-absorption, drap’d in future thrift rack rags of silK-screen’d disaster, lost generation trying to fit in w/a faKe sense of belongingness, a sold out arena draining wifi to share, w/accomplish’d pride, their spoil’d existence, entitled attendance, filling lost boredom w/fashion & hype, vicariously living thru pop-culture’s most covet’d logo, branding is hash-tag’d & post’d alongside the hipness of other cool Kid niche consumerist fundamentals like #supreme, #antisocialsocialclub, #BAPE, the rare #Kaws, #yeezyboosts, but minimal #airjordans worn; blacK rip’d sKinny jeans a requirement for entrance into the stadium

general admission #selfie models lipsticK’d w/Kylie’s millionaire-emo majesty blacK metal matte, balanced on blacK burberry checK print toe pump heels w/polish’d brass bucKles, dyed blacK licorice faux side cut, innocently drunK eyes goop’d w/heavy blacK mascara, a sinful matte blacK nail polish, in hands grip’d is a blacK saint-germain louis v clutch full of daddy’s blacK plastic, blacK rip’d fabric, wrap’d & tighten’d mini-sKirts, side rip’d w/ladder detail’d slits flashing glimpses of smooth blacK raw cut hiphuggers; girls too pretty for the ensuing mosh pit they’re unKnowingly about to join

pre-show atmosphere, dim’d lights, puffs of simulated smoke, incessant chatter mum’d by distort’d soundtracK of retro-hip sounds of ghoul off a dollar store halloween cassette tape, the chamber of horrors, that every Kid from the 90’s had, layer’d w/psychotically hi-pitch’d laughs, scratch’d cult vibrations of ere hypnotizing amass’d grove of general admission millennials; mesmeric swarm gathers, clings, grows, sit cross’d leg’d in a circle of unshaKable silence, creepily still, meditative trance of ghostly whooooo’s, worrisome, young bodies attach & mass together, expand like a parasitic epidemic, mellow’d by sedative lullaby bass lines; channeling energies as one to manifest the messiah…

but, a less of a Kush-inspired conspiracy theory & the truth would be that they’d lost interest, absolutely, in the wait, opt’d out, anticipation replaced w/boredom, sit, rest, lazy & dulling & buzz’d, tired, leaning against deafening speaKers, Kick into new-age automaton, routine, begin scrolling thru the nothingness of iphones, exit the present, search vicarious entertainment, upload photos of #Krayzy time w/all smiles & #lovelife hashtags, but behind the filters die bored, anxious & depress’d, keep scrolling to fill the void of deprived excitement & meaning by double-tapping on a miniature screen; refuse to acKnowledge the smallness of individual life & lacK of one’s control

w/o warning stadium lights deaden’d, blacK’d, as smoKe billow’d thicK from every floor corner, booms & mechanical clunKs & hisses of science-fiction spacecraft resonated, engine revving, pressurized air of pneumatics prepare for flight, flood lights spill, peaK thru heavy clouds of stage haze & cannabis, fanatical roaring, screaming, shrieKing, near-fainting as the stocKy shadow’d silhouette of Kanye struts on stage w/nerves of slush’d hennessy, he signals lift-off, spaceship platform climbs, rises slowly w/a hidden purpose, ascends crowd as it crawls across to the arena’s opposite end of rubber-matt’d floor, general admission hipsters & hooligans, well-dress’d lemmings, chase the reddish-orange beams of spotlight underneath ye to become part of the art, an extension of genius; those wishing to remain relevant must forever chase the light to be document’d as distort’d pixels thru-out stranger’s social feeds

nose bleed/box seats snacK’d on popcorn & watch’d jumbotron á la Kanye, live-feed music video w/menacing filters, grim’d & blur’d edges, transforming pablo into a threatening evil-doer, a comic book, bad guy, villain, captured & chain’d by fame for eternity, off-white baggy sweatshirt bled slowly from dirty yellow to orange to red, slowly soften’d into purer filters, morph’d into illumination, becomes yeezus, godly hazed dreamliKe aura, golden & glowing as edges soften, vibrate to sound, pleasantly, calmly, hypnotically, while overhead view is of a god point of view, peaKing thru clouds of heaven to look down on his followers, auto-tuned power mix’d w/greeK mythology & occult allure, a King, a living legacy live on tv, pop-culture’s messiah, chain’d, hostage of celebrity, runs in circles; pull’d bacK if he tries to go too far

Kneels to crowd, reaches out, signals them to come closer & closer still, freestyle 4 clamor’d thru speaKers, icon looKs front row thru their eyes & into the soul to ask, “what if we fucK’d right now?” with most convincing energy, accuracy & emotion of the night, every syllable emphasized, flawlessly, forcefully, liberal minded free-souls drunK on cans of apple cider, sold for $9.50, mesmerized by proximity of celebrity, starstrucK, herd mentality, agreeability, as distortion peaK’d lyrics misinterpret’d as request, one word could descend hipsters and #selfie models, that were barely wearing their easily shredd’d mini-sKirts & rip’d jeans, into a lustful trance of debauchery, rip off st. pablo merch & baggy sweatshirts, “what if everybody starts fucking?” slips his influential lips, crowd deforms, degrades, animialistic driven frenzy of impulse gratification, tongues connecting, hands groping, groins gyrating in a mosh pit of hidden perversion, advantageous creeps, waiting for signal to devour the emaciated flesh stuff’d w/silicone & soft lips of youthful regret, the monstrous musical ode to public fucKing end’d early, needle scratch’d off, figuratively; merely avoid’d witnessing virginal sacrifice by a spellbound cult of yeezy extremists, hood’d in baggy compliance, atop the rubber-cover’d hockey rink floor for the roc god’s deviant pleasure

as it usually will w/o ritalin, my attention began to wander, drift, began doubting how much longer a crowd w/a fleeting attention span would salivate the repetitiousness of one man, no matter how famous, on stage performing 60% of his lyrics over an imac playlist, then it shuffled to fade w/pre-record’d vocals sung by uncredit’d vocalists, a madison square garden déjá vu moment, but w/o cudi, only him w/o vocals to perform, shimmy shimmy ya, effortless hotline-bling swag attempted/fail’d to entertain, attention is lost, but the rock-god w/his finger-on-the-pulse was in tune w/the slow roaming engagement of general admission, who’d grown tired of chasing the spotlight & those seat’d in the balcony w/numb legs, as song picKs up he unexpectedly thrills & wows w/red laser beams of rocK-star grandiose, yet a hip-simplicity, that stretch from the stage to the end of the arena, blanKeting floor crowd, separating & hiding general admission from balcony attendees, economic apartheid, those below imprisoned, caged from above by beams of neon awe, Kanye hidden below, nosebleed fans resort’d to jumbotron w/pleasure & familiar sit-down comfort, then stage rose & his head broKe thru the vibrating rays of minimal excess; ye stretch’d his hands to disrupt laser beams & plucK’d at the bars like Keys of a futuristic piano

lasers turn’d off, crowd turn’d on, phones glow, giddy, choir gospel harmonize in hopes to calm the beast he’s created using the gospel of ultralight beam’s, hold hands & rejoice, c’mon together, now, spaceship maKes final voyage w/a slow, slight sway towards opposite end of arena that he’d enter’d from, as it approaches the landing pad security guards lift up long rope they’d strung across center-ice of arena while general admission crowd were looKing up, unKnowingly herded to one side of arena by the traveling stage they chased during laser beam show, two dozen security guards picK’d up rope in unison, holding bacK groupie pablites & their reaching clammy hands of delusional hope, choir Keeps singing of unity & love, pre-record’d hydraulic noises of simulated pressurization mimics readiness for spacecraft to land, begins descent to earth, landing on same rubber matt’d ground fans slip’d on chasing the spotlight mere minutes ago, a god walks among us, lands, mechanical noises park’d, airlines bleed & silenced, shut off, awaiting to be freed from his chain by a stage-hand who’s paid minimum wage, he’s freed by one of us, his heavy steps jump off stage & he disappear’d thru slit in blacK curtain; gone forever

lights go on & the show is over, w/o blessing vancouver w/a pop-culture rants; no poetic inspiration or genius explanations/clarifications, no corporate rivalry gossip, no artistic ambitions shared

just 90 minutes of uninterrupt’d & focus’d Kanye performing the saint pablo tour as he intend’d; legendary.

bj draKe