SUPAFEST 3 @ ANZ STADIUM (15/04/12): A REVIEW

Posted on April 17, 2012 by OneEightKevin

Supafest returned for round three at ANZ Stadium last Sunday, but not without its fair share of controversy and criticism.

Just days before the tour’s initial date in Brisbane, a press release from Supafest announced that P. Diddy and Missy Elliot had been cancelled. As ticket sales fell short of expectations, organisers had to “slightly modify this year’s event to ensure that Supafest carries on in years to come.”

Slightly modify? Are you serious? Increasing the price of hot dogs by 25 cents would be slightly modifying the event. Cancelling two headliners and offering no replacements was just deceitful and rude.

Then it was revealed that Rick Ross would not be performing either. If you’re a regular reader of my articles, you’ll know that I have an unhealthy obsession with Rozay. Every song that this guy pens is like holy scripture to me. I was crushed beyond belief. I started to feel physically ill, kind of like how Rick Ross must feel after a large bucket of fried chicken.

After this avalanche of bad news, the day of Supafest in Sydney finally arrived. Hooray. I headed to ANZ Stadium with the full expectation that this event was going to blow a big bag of dicks. Upon entry, I realised that 96% of the Supafest population was wearing YMCMB or NBA merchandise. I was also impressed by the number of punters who were able to colour co-ordinate their snapbacks and sneakers. I believe that this sort of wardrobe expertise is what some people refer to as having “swag.”

As soon as we entered the front of the dancefloor, a security guard politely grabbed my cigarette and threw it on the floor. Apparently smoking outdoors at Supafest was a big no-no. A great rule that made alot of sense. With my emotional state already fragile after the Rick Ross cancellation, I was on the verge of tears and ready to leave. We had been in the venue for a grand total of three minutes. Things were beyond grim.

But then came the set from rap legend Ice Cube, and I decided to stop being a mopey bastard. He strolled onstage with a super-tight afro, pummelling through his lengthy history of gangsta rap tracks. Cube continually asked the audience about their allegiance to the west coast. Despite the sea of “W” hand gestures being displayed, I highly doubt that anybody there had gang connections in Los Angeles or the west side. The west side of Anzac Parade maybe, but I don’t think that Paramatta counts. Highlights included Bow Down, Today Was A Good Day and Rep That West.

Next up was Kelly Rowland, who had no trouble belting out a solid note or two. I’m not a massive fan of her solo work, but she performed a short medley of Destiny’s Child singles, including Independent Women, Say My Name and Jumpin’ Jumpin’. She also looked amazingly beautiful. Marry me Kelly.

Ludacris then took the stage, serving the crowd with a catalogue of his biggest hits. Rambunctious Southern anthems like Yous A Hoe, Move Bitch and Stand Up were balanced with his guest spots for popstars like Taio Cruz, Enrique Iglesias and Fergie. Unfortunately, he didn’t spit his verse from Justin Beiber‘s Baby, which I thought was a huge novice error. Luda absolutely killed it with his diverse set, except that his DJ dropped a LMFAO track for some reason. Who knew that so many hip-hop heads were actually closet “party rockers.”

We decided to brush Trey Songz, but headed back to the dancefloor for autotune dude T-Pain. He opened with his hook from Rick Ross‘ Maybach Music Part 2, and I exploded with excitement. I started looking up at the sky, praying that a helicopter would fly over the stadium and lower Rick Ross via rope and harness onto the stage, where he would perform the rest of the track. Unfortunately, that never happened. T-Pain‘s set consisted largely of his DJ throwing on big party tracks while he yelled incoherently. He also took frequent breaks to offer the crowd some sub-par banter. This made his set extremely difficult to enjoy, although he did drop the hook from No Hands by Waka Flocka Flame. Five extra points for you, T-Pain.

Finally, it was time for headline act Chris Brown to do his thing. Being a responsible public figure and role model, he encouraged all the ladies to take their clothes off, provided they were at least 18 years old. After one or two songs he rushed offstage, presumably to take a shit, because no male singer has to change outfits just a few minutes into their set. Anyway, he returned only to perform a seemingly never-ending string of melodramatic R&B crooners. This was painfully boring, and it seemed that even the most loyal members of Team Breezy were growing weary.

Then came the best part of the set – when Chris Brown‘s DJ played tracks that didn’t involve Chris Brown. He dropped Drake‘s The Motto, into Tyga‘s Rack City, into Kanye and Jay-Z‘s Niggas in Paris, into Rick Ross‘ B.M.F. Amazing. However, he also asked the crowd whether they would like to engage in a “fistpump crazy party.” It blew my mind that anyone would even think to use these three words in succession. Weirdo. Breezy then played some of his more upbeat singles like Yeah (3x) and Beautiful People, but it was just too little too late. This set was a certified stinker.

In conclusion, Supafest was actually pretty decent. I enjoyed myself alot more than I expected to, but nothing will make up for that hollow feeling of not seeing Rick Ross in all his glory. Although the event lost steam towards the tail end, most of the acts delivered solid sets which were sandwiched between quick intermissions. With the tremendous amount of negative publicity that organisers have received in the past few weeks, hopefully the next Supafest makes up for this year’s late cancellations and monumental fuck-ups.

**Photos by Ponnorraks Ou**