Who’s the “Pussy’ole?” I had to ponder this question last night as I wondered why the Dizzee Rascal concert went so wrong in every way. First, he didn’t show up, which is, well, like, a problem in itself. More importantly, though, the audience at Cervantes didn’t know why he didn’t show up, or even of the concert’s eventual cancellation until a quarter to midnight. Most importantly, the concert seemed strung along until that point to maximize liquor sales.
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No one was let in the show until almost half an hour after the posted 8 p.m. door time and only then after an employee obviously checked to make sure that there was enough confused concertgoers to let people in. A DJ started to play at eleven, just as the crowd was starting to yell out Dizzee’s name, and just when their liquor-buying tolerance seemed to be near its end.
On the flip side, a stumbling, smiling concert patron had informed me that he saw Dizzee Rascal eating tacos at around 8 at an undisclosed location with his “crew”. So maybe Dizzee was so full of tacos (and one would assume other substances) by 11:30 that he decided to call off the show.
I’ll never really know, I think. I assume denunciations, arguments, and counter-arguments to abound in the wake of such an event. All I do know is that in searching for answer to that eternal question, “Where Da G’s At?,” I could safely answer: nowhere near 26th and Welton last night. -- James Anthofer