Orange RockCorps @ Royal Albert Hall

Slavery for sound? Manual labour for love? I [Fantasticunt] eradicated weeds from suffocating infant tree saps one Wednesday morning last month for four hours in a forgotten field somewhere in deepest Hounslow, all for the viewing of a legend. For another fifty minute Bussa Buss set like that on Friday night, I would gladly shovel steaming shit out of a pig pen for a whole weekend.

I arrived promptly at 7pm and admittedly the first thing I noticed was that there were, well, an abundance of attractive women everywhere and yet when I was wielding a (lamentably blunt) sickle and attempting to look macho during the weed excavation four weeks ago I was surrounded mostly by Job-Seeker Allowance magpies and ASBO contemporaries. In hindsight I wish I’d gone for the nursery-wall-painting volunteer programme.

Inside the traditionally prestigious Royal Albert I attempted to capture the good-looking girls, merry goons and grand décor alas my photography was thwarted by an over-zealous arena attendant who grew suspicious of my ‘Taliban-esque beard’ (as my Father exaggerates every time before I leave the house). The best I could do was three shifty shots at whim:

The stage: 

The ceiling:

Busta Rhymes + Spiff Star:

Under a sky of burgundy blood cells, Lethal Bizzle surfaced first performing the regular riot-inducing medley which included ‘No’, ‘Pow’ and perhaps a few other monosyllabic Grime favourites though I wasn’t present for the entire set as I found I had casual acquaintance fragmented across the stalls and balconies. I’d estimate the amphitheatre was at 75% capacity and not overwhelmingly rammed but for comforts sake I do not complain. As I was down in the standing section (a.k.a. the trenches where all the real, live, hardbody heads roam), I found myself phoning individuals five storeys up and simultaneously during the exchange I’d flip them a discreet middle-finger to see if they could make it out from such a great, lofty, distance: this was an immensely satisfying activity.

Next up was John Legend who performed a decent set including the new single ‘Green Light’ and a prior break-up classic that’s granted myself (and most men) an excuse to every woman ever dated and dismissed, ‘Ordinary People’. The unabashed crooner was followed by a trio of NME-darling Indie-Rock bands Guillemots, Feeder and The Automatic. All middle-class kids present seized their opportunity and the rapture spread as I found myself chorusing with the entire theatre (man dem not excluded)- “What’s that coming over the hill? Is it a monster? Is it a monster?”.

And then the second most important highlight of the night for me personally… Ludacris. Though he’s firmly one of my choice emcees of this decade, I’ve never seen Chris perform live before so the surprise announcement (made within the previous 36 hours of the event, kudos to the administration) of his addition to the unclear line-up boosted my anticipation tenfold. We were hit with an assortment of Luda bangers and vigorous ‘bows were thrown (accidentally connecting with someone’s bosoms behind me for which I’m a tad remorseful) during ‘What’s Your Fantasy’, ‘Southern Hospitality’, ‘Stand Up’ though sadly no ‘Splash Waterfalls’ as it was a short 25-30 minute set.

Finally, the dynamic Flipmode duo emerged: Busta Rhymes and his faithful hype-escalating cohort Spliff Star. The synergy between these two men on stage is the embodiment of Hip-Hop folklore and despite having seen them two years ago there had been no decline in gusto. The crowd-level hit its frantic apex as expected whilst we were struck with a barrage of some of the most memorable party-rockers in Rap history: ‘Woo-Haa’, ‘Break Your Neck’, ‘Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Can See’.

I and my friend made possessed hand gestures to those around us requesting space for our uncontrollable, disorderly dancing and head-banging the moment the buzz saw opening of ‘Ante Up’ blared through the atmosphere, ready to “…COCK THAT TOOL, N***A RUN YA DAMN JEWELS, ‘FORE WE FUCK AROUND LAY YOU UP IN YOUR OWN BLOOD POOL!” Yet my animalism truly climaxed the second I sensed the ‘Scenario’ verse (greatest posse cut ever in history, don’t ever contradict that or I’ll eviscerate you) was about to drop.“WATCH AS I COMBINE ALL THE JUICE FROM THE MIND, HEEL UP, WHEEL UP, BRING IT BACK COME REWIND…!” To be honest, we all transformed psycho, every single crowd participant- probably even that totalitarian arena attendant from earlier.

Bar some occasionally dismal sound acoustics, there were scarce disappointments except: Busta’s neglected performing one his illest vertebrae-snappers ‘Gimmie Some More’ on both occasions I’ve seen him, and the audience’s yearning for a Buss and Luda back-n’-forth, stage-share, twosome during the climactic routine was not fulfilled. Plus no ‘Cat In The Hat’ hat though it may be asking a bit much of the man.

Still, I confess I never really did any weed digging that day in farthest Hounslow. I got pissed off I’d  opted to wear shorts when I’m a paranoid-arachnophobic and was forced to toddle through treacherously tall grass. So I hid amongst the trees for atleast 2 and a half hours taking pictures of mushrooms and a stranger’s lost shoe (battered Ascot crep, left-foot only) on a camera phone

For this, I was rewarded with experiencing one of the all-time Goliath’s of the game… I can’t whinge really.

Words + Photography by Shan Phearon for Pinboard Blog.
Courtesy of www.ibootleggedyourmum.wordpress.com