what to wear to a post malone concert

Post Malone concert aims low and does but plenty

Young music star seems genuinely grateful for his success and humble nearly his work. Merely he could have put in a scrap more endeavor on Th in Toronto, writes Ben Rayner.

Post Malone

With Swae Lee and Tyla Yaweh, at Scotiabank Arena, Th, October. 3. Show repeats October. 4.

Put yourself in front of Postal service Malone long enough and he'll ingratiate himself to you.

Up to a betoken, anyway. Like his slightly-better-than-they're-given-credit-for records, the Texas-raised sorta-rapper's get-go proper large-room show in Toronto at the Scotiabank Loonshit on Thursday dark — to be followed by some other in the same xx,000-capacity venue Fri evening — was entirely OK if you didn't linger too long or think about it likewise much. Just OK, though. Not great, not particularly good, but passable enough. Merely OK.

To be honest, Austin Richard Malone doesn't seem to be doing much more than showing up and collecting a helluva lot of money night by night on his electric current Runaway loonshit tour. In that location wasn't even a DJ onstage with him, let lone a ring, for the entire 70-minute operation and his lip-sync game was often loose plenty that you wondered why he'd fifty-fifty bothered putting the microphone to his lips in the get-go place, since its placement clearly made no difference to the heavily processed vocals emanating from the PA.

The production was minimal, too. Once an oblong black slab that looked similar one-half the monolith from 2001, laid flat across a proscenium extending about a third of the way into the loonshit floor, had lifted skyward to reveal Malone singing/rapping/mouthing the title track to his recent Billboard No. 1 album, "Hollywood'due south Bleeding," amidst darting lasers and jets of steam to open the set, well ... that was information technology. Except for a few blasts of fireworks and a jet of flame to come here and there, that was it. That was your arena-level production, firmly fix at "just OK." Firmly set at "just enough to get by."

No one seemed to care on the floor, then perchance the kids — and this crowd skewed young plenty that this 40-ish fossil feels comfortable using the word "kids" — hangin' on every word that did or didn't come up out of Malone's mouth during such roof-raisers to come as "Saint Tropez," "Dice for Me," "Paranoid" and the 2015 calling-card single "White Iverson" are OK with "just OK."

I'm OK with that. I'm OK with non entirely getting Mail Malone. I had a conversation with a friend whose 15-yr-quondam son was attending the show earlier in the day where we talked about precisely that, about how Post Malone is "really something that is not supposed to be for us." As Stephen put information technology: "It would take sucked if my folks understood my tastes as a teenager, too."

And I agree. Again: I'm fine with not getting Mail service Malone. Whatever we high-minded music-critic types might think about his catch-all populist stew of emo, trap, rock, EDM and creeping "bro"-country, Malone's got a few undeniable bangers in his arsenal these days: the lilting "Candy Paint" is a lovely lilliputian singsong pop tune; the slinky "Wow." is as gluey as any dispensable trap garbage gets these days; and "Allergic" — which tilts abruptly from a Linkin Park-esque whine of "I took your pills and your drugs just to feel something else/ 'Crusade I tin't feel you lot no more than" into a weirdly innocent Buddy Holly headspace — is a 18-carat 21st-century keeper and an entirely unexpected stroke of weird genius that's the all-time thing yet committed to the Post Malone catechism. He tin can clearly practice meliorate.

And he could definitely do ameliorate. Post Malone is a genially rumpled character onstage, looking for all the world on Thursday night that he'd merely woke upwards and pulled on a Hawaiian shirt and some baggy dad pants before stumbling over to the venue, getting as many cigarettes in equally possible on the manner. His repeated exhortations of "Give thanks you so f--kin' much, Toronto" could not take come beyond more sincerely, nor could his stage banter have been more unpretentiously endearing.

Some samples:

"My name is Austin Richard Post and I came here tonight to play some sh--ty music for y'all to go f--ked up to while we doin' it."

"This next song, I simply wrote it about having a very absurd, shiny watch. It's chosen 'Psycho.' "

"I wrote this song about going out with two best friends, getting f--ked up and having a good f--rex night. It'due south called 'Get Flex.' "

Information technology'southward difficult to argue against such an overall, albeit unstated, "It is what it is" statement of purpose. Just this was a big show and Malone could have put in a bit more than effort.

The big reveal on the run to the encore, for example, was an appearance on the video screens by a heavily eyelinered Ozzy Osbourne singing his claw to "Take What Yous Want," at the end of which Malone only slouched backstage into darkness, with flames belching and a climactic, canned metal-guitar solo screaming, without whatever real acknowledgment of or enthusiasm for what was happening. He would afterward re-emerge with an actual acoustic guitar and sing "Stay" at the end of the stage, finally solitary and unguarded and insufficient of effects for the kickoff time in the evening, quite competently. Merely the gesture was, once once again, a minimal effort.

Opener Swae Lee, of Rae Sremmurd infamy, later came out to victory-lap their hit duet "Sunflower" — a rail from "Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse" or "the second-newest Spider-Human being motion picture," every bit Malone put information technology — simply the two basically gave up pretending to sing or rap or any when their "live" microphones all of a sudden cut in over one another unexpectedly so they contented themselves with throwing actual sunflowers into the oversupply instead while the track played on. Mail service Malone smashed his guitar at the end of "Rockstar."

"Live your dream. Live your truth," he proclaimed at the terminate of "Congratulations."

I'd say dream higher, kids, but Post Malone is richer than god and cashing in on the bare minimum so what practice I know? Alive your truth.

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Source: https://www.thestar.com/entertainment/music/review/2019/10/04/post-malone-concert-aims-low-and-does-just-enough.html