Even though I'm approaching my 28th birthday I still like to think I'm "down" with the kids. For starters I own a baseball cap. Secondly I know how to "surf" the "web" for illicit material and from time to time I can be found leering at Cat Deely on a Saturday morning on the premise of observing the current musical trends. Basically I'm one "bad muthaf*cker" as a ten year old might say.
With this in mind an opportunity to see this years bright young things N*E*R*D* in the company of a couple of mates was too good an opportunity to pass up even if that meant braving the stinking cess-pool of human detritus that is London.
Firstly, the venue. Having never been before I was expecting another souless hangar with black walls and sticky floors. Not so, as The Apollo is a kitsch-lovers paradise, it's interior a combination of Art Deco ballroom chic with interior design by the person responsible for kitting out that hotel in The Shining. I half expected a deranged toddler tricycling around the bar area screaming "Redrum".
Forget your Timbalands or your William Orbits, Pharell Williams and Chad Hugo are the hotest producers in modern music. With an urban "flava" taking over the charts their alter egos The Neptunes are the kings of the genre and the brains behind Kelis, Nelly, Jay Z, Mystikal, Snoop Dogg and Justin Timberlake's better work. When Brittany Spears wanted to shed her girl-next-door image for a little credibility, who did she come to? The Neptunes of course.
Such success brings the inevitable desire to break from the shadows and satisfy the ego but N.E.R.D are more then a vanity project. Their debut album "In Search Of...." taps into the same zeitgeist only with the added bonus of them keeping all the cash. A contemporary hybrid of rap, rock and R n' B, it ticks all the right urban boxes for those who can tell the difference between their Cristal and their Curvoisier.
With the forthcoming album "Fly or Die" in the offing could N*E*R*D cut it live? Yes, but only with a little help from their friends.
For starters the sound is absolutely awful, as if listening to the album played under water at the end of a long corridor. Through a wall. The fact that I was in row Z had little to do with it as there were no speakers at all in the circle. Were we expected to lip-read. Some of Pharrell's more delicate Curtis Mayfieldisms are lost in the ether and have to compensated by backing vocals from the enthusiastic sell-out crowd.
<*dv_1*> The decision to air half a set of as yet unreleased songs is also a bit of a head scratcher. Surely the record company could plan their artist's diaries a little better and hold off a tour until the album had been released. The audience can only nod to the beat and clap at the end of each song. Not really audience participation.
<*dv_0*> The fact that the concert was performed on the same day the Brit Awards were in town ended up being their saving grace. After 3 or 4 inconsequential new tracks out steps a wooly hatted Justin Timberlake and all hell breaks loose. A sea of mobile phones lights up, girls swarm past me (not entirely unusual) and high pitched screaming ensues. Suddenly I feel like an "old muthaf*cker". The tempo picks up and we are treated to a couple of duets with Pharrel on "Run to the Sun" and "Stay Together" which we can actually hear. Either Justin gets microphone priorities or he has a better voice.
Justin pops off but hormones have no chance to settle before Pharell is inviting laydeez up on stage to dance to new single "She Wants to Move". How come every girl these days wants to dance like a Soho stripper? Their insipid grinding amused me no end.
From our telescope in the stratosphere we could see Justin hadn't gone home but was milling backsatge with an assortment of Brit liggers (Naomi Campbell), industry knobs and a bizarre bowler hatted man in a pink suit. "No tw*t would wear such an ensemble without being famous" we said in our eagerness to see more Brit fall-outs, and we were later provided right.
Inevitably on came Justin again to steal the show from the N*E*R*D* crew with a version of "Frontin" and the highlight of the night "Senorita" with Pharell on drums, JT on keys and the audience on vocals.
The night ended with a "We Are the World" style singalong of "Lapdance" with special guests Dizzee Rascall, the poor man's Wyclef from the Black Eyed Peas (the tw*t in the pink suit), Timberlake and some 50 Cent wannabe who will remain nameless because I had no idea who he was.
All in all an entertaining spot of celeb spotting where style triumphed over substance. As Pharrell would agree, sometimes it pays to be a bad muthaf*cker.
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