Iggy Azalea
By the time we made it inside Memorial Gymnasium — beset by the sucking hellscape of Vanderbilt parking and Predators traffic — R&B crooner Jeremih was already onstage, warming up the crowd with slow jams about doin’ it. Or at least we’re pretty sure that’s what those songs are about; we couldn’t make out a damn thing Jeremih was singing. Memorial Gymnasium, a building typically used for Vanderbilt basketball games and the occasional graduation ceremony, has all the acoustic resonance of an abandoned well. Jeremih’s smooth pop music was swallowed whole by the woefully undersold arena, getting trapped in a deserted third tier. We did hear him sing, “If you’re sexy and you know it, clap your hands,” though. We kinda wish we hadn’t.
In any case, Jeremih was fine. He may not have the hipster cachet of Frank Ocean and “Birthday Sex” isn’t exactly the most brilliant song ever written, but he has a charisma and swagger that suited the Commodore Quake warm-up slot well. If nothing else, it made more sense than the two-fisted snoozefest of Brett Dennan and Guster before Kanye West in 2008, or the inexplicable Trey Songz/My Morning Jacket bill in 2011.
Vanderbilt's Memorial Gym was stifling; the kind of hot, wet heat associated with summertime underwear. The only breeze came from when someone would pass through the narrow aisles of folding chairs. And there were a lot of folding chairs — the whole lower level was arranged in strict rows. Add to it the fact the gym is a dry venue, and you get the feeling you’re at a middle school dance in a jungle, safely supervised by concerned parents on the edges who “just want to make sure everyone has a safe, fun time.”
“Everybody is 19,” said a girl in the row in front of us. “I know it’s a Vanderbilt event, but holy shit, there are so many crop tops.”
This woman, a post-college medical professional, was there to see Iggy Azalea. Most people were there for Iggy Azalea. “Fancy,” the song of summer ’14, made the 24-year-old a household name, provided everyone in your household is younger than, say, 30. Along with Nicki Minaj, she is ushering in a new era of women in hip-hop. But despite her pioneering, Azalea takes a large amount of criticism, mostly because of a perceived posturing. True, a certain level of posturing about wealth and sexual prowess is central to hip-hop, but Azalea adds another layer. White and Australian with a discernible accent, she nevertheless raps in a Southern drawl, having lived in the South since 16, including Miami and Atlanta. Debate on cultural appropriation is a central story with Azalea.
The girls in front of us, before Azalea took the stage, were convinced that it was total bullshit that Azalea wasn’t headlining. What about Ludacris being a national name since 2000’s “Back for the First Time,” or the fact that he’s arguably had success parlaying his musical achievements into an acting career, most notably with the Fast and Furious franchise?
“Since Paul Walker died we don’t give a fuck,” one said.
At 8:55, DJ Wizz Kidd spun Azalea’s first track, and out strutted Iggy in hotpants and a crop top, flanked by four backup dancers in harlequin, black-and-white one-pieces. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and during the third song of the set, Azalea turned her back to the crowd and allowed her famously disproportionate ass to take a solo. Her ass was not very loud, but moved well enough, eliciting quite a roar from the crowd.
Azalea’s flow, often criticized for its studied, un-flow-y nature, was more than anything unmemorable. She has become a very large symbol of women’s empowerment in a largely male-dominated genre, and whether or not she’s worth a damn has become irrelevant to her fans, aka Azaleans. The rumor that she uses ghostwriters for her rhymes is moot. Azalea seems swept along by momentum, and from start to finish she is the complete package of swagger without any real backbone. There was a T-shirt gun at one point and “Fancy” to close the set, and glitter fell from the ceiling, adhering to coeds’ faces and bare shoulders and arms.
Ludacris
At 10:30, Ludacris took the stage and immediately answered the question of why he was headlining over Azalea: Ludacris can flow at any speed, but at the top end, he is staggering. It doesn’t matter that he’s done more acting than rapping since his last release, 2010’s Battle of the Sexes; he is as deft as ever. “Southern Hospitality,” one of his many, many hits, immediately got the crowd moving. His live show included both drums and DJ, along with guitar, bass, sax, keys and some odd-looking, middle-aged man in a suit and tie with a concerned look on his face patrolling behind the main performance area. Bodyguard? He did not speak.
After everyone had ingested a good dose of chart-toppers, Ludacris broke for a DJ set before resuming the hit parade through the later part of his career. “All I Do Is Win,” a DJ Khaled track he rapped on along with Snoop Dogg, T.I. and Rick Ross, began the closing portion of the evening, followed by “Move Bitch” and “Get Back.”
After his final song, Ludacris took off his shirt — looks like he's been working out for Fast 7 — and threw it into the crowd. There was no encore. There couldn’t be. Next year will be a year that you want to forget Ludacris thanks to a godawful movie and a rumored new record. But this year is one to remember.
