There was a two-song interlude between the opening salvo from tonight’s hypeman, Dolla Bill Gates, and the eventual introduction to the night’s main event – a moment which reeked of farce. Many in the audience had been at the venue for the three hours since the advertised door time, and at five past midnight, just as we expected the Neon Icon himself to emerge from backstage, we were treated to two full playthroughs of Riff Raff’s unaccompanied studio recordings. The bros in attendance (of which there were many) began to jeer. After what seemed like an eternity, Riff emerged with Deion Sandals and the aforementioned bros vented their pent-up aggression, forcing a picket of security staff to block the view for anyone more than three people form the front.
I arrived at around 10.30pm, just as local DJ Fletch was dropping International Players Anthem to a healthy sized crowd. It was a Wednesday night and I couldn’t muster the will to get turnt the fuck up. There were, however, more than a few crowd participants singing along with gurned-face sincerity to Trinidad James’ cries of “popped a molly I’m sweat’n’”. Whoop! Knowing that it would be over an hour before Riff took the stage, I retreated with a mate to Hells Kitchen for a quiet pint. As we were leaving, the Cashmere Cat remix of Do You… pumped out the PA.
After three quarters of an hour we returned to Liberty Social to hear the third DJ of the evening playing the Cashmere Cat remix of Do You… – a minor absurdity in a night with some fairly major absurdities.
Why were the requests for set times during the preceding days unheeded? Why have an international artist on after midnight on a Wednesday? Why have inadequate security after encouraging three straight hours of drinking in a sweaty room? Why put such an idiosyncratic aesthete on the most visually impeded stage in town?
There was Riff Raff in his rapper costume. It’s a convincing one – his rhymes and references are mind-boggling great at most times. The bros in the crowd were in their costumes too – mail-order snapbacks, five-panels, beanies. We all felt like we belonged, basking in the arcane code of modern rap trend. I was at the back of the venue, taking notes on my phone, in my music journalist costume.
BY LACHLAN KANONIUK
LOVED: Sleepless In Seattle was the highpoint of Riff’s set.
HATED: Having my gaze constantly averted to the perpetual grimace of the security staff during the main event. I took pity on them.
DRANK: Pints.
