Sometimes, you go to one of your favorite artist’s shows, and they immensely disappoint (ahem-Drake). Sometimes, they’re solid. And sometimes, Frank Ocean absolutely brings the mutherfucking house down.
A few weeks ago, I totally spaced out (like I usually do). Frank Ocean tickets went on sale, sold out and I, of course, missed them. Luckily, I got a totally awesome friend who didn’t miss them, and invited me to join her (if you’re reading this THANK-YOU-A-MILLION-TIMES).
The place was buzzing early. The crowd erupted when Tyler the Creator and Earl Sweatshirt took their places in VIP. Rumors were swirling around that Jay-Z was in the building. Some people were counting bagels. Outside there was a tornado warning (or some type of cataclysmic weather warning), but inside Terminal 5 no one could care less.
Frank hit the stage, and the crowd’s ovation rivaled the thunder outside. For about, the next hour and a half it was a 3000 person (ages 17-27) sing along. Everybody fell into a collective unconscious, vibing out HARD, showering Frank with unconditional love. And he deserved it. He played everything, everyone wanted to hear (with the notable exception of Pink Matter, but still), he crooned, he swayed, he didn’t miss a step. Then he played Pyramids, and everyone lost it (including Tyler). Then Frank left the stage. Then the crowd chanted for one more song. Then Frank delivered. Then the crowd left.
No, now, that is all.