“I broke my leg in three places and didn’t know if I could do the tour… It was probably my fault,” he said, smiling serenely. His bleached dreads, flowing out from underneath his backwards hat, were never still, whether swaying as he stood still or violently thrashing and obscuring his vision as he enthusiastically whipped his wrist.įetty brought jokes, too. He immediately launched into his deep reserve of catchy bangers. He was dressed modestly, a single chain and the red-and-white striped shirt from Where’s Waldo. In a nutshell, Malone’s performance affirmed the tweet he sent out last week: “I don’t sweat shit.”įifteen minutes later, Fetty Wap arrived on stage amidst motorcycle noises and a giant ovation from the crowd. He unceremoniously handed his mic to a stagehand and vanished offstage.
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Having proven his vocal chops, Malone made his quick exit the moment “White Iverson” ended. He was definitely not lip syncing as he led the crowd in one final, glorious a capella “White Iverson” chorus. Throughout his brief 40-minute set, Malone’s vocal presence was so impactful that I wondered if he was lip syncing his autotuned growl. 50 stuck around for a couple more songs, including The Kanan Tape ’s “Tryna Fuck Me Over,” before leaving the stage and let Malone serenade the crowd with “White Iverson” one last time - the high-point of his set (besides 50). Right on cue, Curtis “ 50 Cent” Jackson marched out on stage and launched into “Window Shopper.”įor the most part, 50 rapped Malone strolled absent-mindedly behind 50, smiling broadly, his grill a-glitter. At one point, he lost the crowd, which started chanting “Fetty! Fetty! Fetty!” To this, Malone nonchalantly quipped, “calm down, Fetty will be here soon.
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Post Malone basically has two gears - 1) lighting up the room with his gigantic smile, or 2) milling around the stage like it was his living room and acting as if the audience wasn’t there. He prefaced “What’s Up” by saying he was about to “throw the gentleman the alley” to help them make a move on the girl standing next to them. Malone ripped through his entire catalog, comprised of no more than eight songs. He's not far off base from the ultra-positive stylings of DJ Khaled or Lil B, but he is probably closest in spirit to a young Marshawn Lynch, SHINING SEVEN DAYS A WEEK. He radiated a positivity so immutable, so impenetrable, so absolute that his rise to fame seemed inevitable. It was at this moment that I fully understood Post Malone for the first time.
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The crowd pressed closer and belted out every word of “White Iverson.” Malone crooned softly with a huge dopey smile plastered on his face, letting all the flashbulbs in the room ricochet off his golden grill. Malone stepped out on stage, decked out in a Yankees jersey and a patchwork overcoat that would have made him look homeless if not for the impressive corona of animal fur draped around his neck. One cannot understate the enthusiasm with which the crowd, particularly the ladies, greeted the luscious opening chord of “White Iverson,” Post Malone’s breakout smash. He urged the crowd to raise their middle fingers and chant “FUCK YOU FLEX” before exiting the stage for 20-year-old Post Malone. “I AM THE BEST EVER TO DO IT,” Flex informed the crowd. Whereas Travi$ Scott’s “Antidote” elevated the energy in the building to previously unforeseen heights, Bobby Shmurda’s “Hot Nigga” got a decidedly tepid reaction, no one doing the dance, despite Flex’s exhortations. “YOU THOUGHT I WAS GONNA WASTE YOUR TIME?” he screamed.Īn extreme sports highlights raged on the screen behind Flex as he treated this army of 1,000 Post/Fetty fans to 45-second forays into bangers all across the ‘lit spectrum.’ The crowd’s reaction proved a useful litmus test for each song’s popularity. But first, a brief DJ set from Funkmaster Flex, who surprised the crowd with his thunderblasts on the mic.