The girls are pretty, shapely, dolled up. Scene of flat-billed caps, graphic shirts of varying obscenities, and fitted shorts. He scopes the scene out for better shots, I try to get a feel for my surroundings: flashy, attractive twenty-somethings, mainly. We enter the the lobby it’s already fairly packed, and a mess more of attendees are yet to enter. We greet and meet, and briefly discuss our shared admiration for the group and Tyler, and our expectations of the night. The line stretches all the way to the back of the building, luckily, fellow SIGT photographer who’d I be meeting for the first time, Carlo, was already there and fairly close to the front. And after some speeding- my car swerving slightly to the left- I finally made it. Maintenance came and made repairs in timely fashion. I missed his last visit to Orlando, when he was touring supporting his second studio album, but wasn’t going to let anything stop me from seeing him this time, not even the flat tire caught on the way to the venue. He’s gone less for the shock value, and synth heavy production, and has decided to explore wider musical avenues. But he’s always been one to defy convention. Tyler, as well as the rest of OFWGKTA, seem to have a gung-ho approach with their concerts, as they do with pretty much everything else, essentially doing what they want to do, saying what they want, without much regard to the background noise telling them otherwise.Īfter listening to Tyler’s latest album, Cherry Bomb, which dropped only a few weeks prior, I’d noticed a little maturing from Tyler, both in content and musical range, all while maintaining his do-as-thou-wilt attitude. The last time I saw Tyler was with the rest of the Odd Future collective perhaps three years ago at the Beacham in Orlando, and I’d call it hands down one of the best live shows I’d ever been to. Delinquency of this variety is highly encouraged with Tyler, the Creator as the unruly host of the evening. Tyler’s pink-faced, goblin-esque caricature from the Cherry Bomb album decorates the back of the stage. A merch t-shirt depicting vintage porn star, Rhonda, completely in the nude, cupping augmented breasts. Fans are chanting, cussing, screaming things like “Fuck you, Tyler!” and “Wolf Haley bitch!” A familiar herbal scent lingers about in the room.
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