Pitchfork is Nothing Without R. Kelly

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Over the past three years, I’ve seen my fair share of shit at Pitchfork. Fearing for my life at Odd Future and finding God at Toro Y Moi fail in comparison to the majestic beauty that is R. Kelly.

Sunday, July 21, 2013, I headed to Pitchfork with this schema that every performing artist was going to amaze the fuck out of me; I couldn’t have been more wrong. As soon as I got there, I decided that MC Tree would be a good place to start. For a while, I thought Danny Brown was the worst live rapper that I have ever seen due to how incomprehensive and molly’d out he was, but I take that back. Tree takes the award. On stage there were about eight useless ass people in knockoff McDonald’s uniforms, untimely chanting “Tree” and some shit about “Soul-Trap.” It grew kind of ridiculous after about the third song. 

After waiting an impossibly long and tiring four hours until Lil’ B, I got to see the Based God with my own two eyes. As much as I would love to say that I turned the fuck up, me, my homie Charlie, and our two lovely ladies stayed in the background where the 35-year-olds could merely bob their heads and whisper “swag.” Exciting, huh?

Next was Toro Y Moi; need I say more? If you’ve read about my previous Pitchfork experience you will know of his magnificence, and this time was nothing short. I feel like I could put M.I.A (whom I saw afterward) in the same paragraph because she was pretty fucking dope too. This shit live was almost too much.

Finally, the moment that we have all been waiting for. With the intent to watch R. Kelly for a measly 20 minutes then slide over to TNGHT, I wasn’t predicting to have my mind blown; but right off it came. Once this man walked on stage, I was immediately blinded. Not particularly due to the fact that he was in front of me, but because of all of the fucking ICE he had on! If Chief Keef thinks his wrist is sloppy, he needs to step his weight up. Being around a bunch of smiley, 70-year-old black people really changes the mood. Even Abbey, the whitest girl I know, was gettin’ down. By far, there is nothing more baby-making than this.
After about 20 minutes we ended up walking to TNGHT like we said we would, but immediately hiking right back because all we wanted to do was make sweet love (with our clothes on of course, there were children around). I couldn’t imagine a better place to end the night. Trust me, If R. Kelly is ever in your town you’d better go see him, no matter how much you despise urine.

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