As far as shows involving a dude rapping over a pre-recorded vocal track go, Young Thug’s show at the McDonald Theater last Friday was the gold standard. I doubted him at first; he seemed tired, pacing the stage and only occasionally bothering to rap. But as the crowd ramped up and the stagehand handed him more and more styrofoam cups of god-knows-what, his voice and flow became increasingly unhinged. By the last song, “Best Friend,” from his recent Slime Season mixtape, he was decimating the microphone, jumping up and down as if putting out a fire.
Even when not at his peak, Thug is magnetic. He’s compared himself to a rock star, and indeed his moves seem more like those of a rock frontman than an MC – during “I Know There’s Gonna Be (Good Times),” he doubled over like Jim Morrison to shriek its second verse. He’s great at keeping the audience engaged, finding fun things to get them to “make noise” about: smoking weed, having downloaded Slime Season, and he can always fall back on a chant of “Free Gucci” (“that’s Gucci Mane,” one crowd member explained to his nonplussed friend.)
As with any rap show, it helped to know the songs. I was a bit daunted by the prospect of a Young Thug show due to the sheer size of his discography, but luckily this was an exclusively greatest-hits set. “Lifestyle,” “Stoner,” and “Best Friend” were all there, and all were rapturously received. It would have been nice to hear some of Thug’s weirder songs, maybe “Nigeria” or “Picacho.” But he gave the crowd what it wanted, and the audience thanked him with thunderous bouncing and nearly-incessant hand-waving.
Thug only played for about 45 minutes, which was disappointing given how much he’d been teased. Rachel West, a likable Portland singer who performed in a Ducks jersey, sang Thug’s Dej Loaf collaboration “Blood” before indicating Thug would be coming on after her. (She seemed to expect more people in the audience to know “Blood.” It’s a shame they didn’t because it’s a fantastic song.) And in the interim between opener Easy McCoy’s set and Thug’s, the DJ promised his imminent arrival at least three times.
The mere act of waiting for Thugger seemed to get people randy. I’ve never seen people get more intimate at a show, and I haven’t seen so much grinding since high school raves five years ago. (This makes sense, as much of the audience seemed high-school age.) This was also an unusually good-smelling show. Crowds with this many drunk bros tend to smell of bad breath and sweat, but it seems like they’d chosen this night to bust out the cologne.
A Young Thug show doesn’t seem like the place I’d take a date. Nor is it a place I’d take someone who had never heard of Young Thug and wanted to understand why he’s so eccentric and brilliant. But if you’re a fan, and you have a friend you love to drunkenly sing along with to “Lifestyle,” you could do worse than to snag a pair of tickets next time he’s in town.