Last Friday I began my 3-day weekend as a vast number of fellow students at my university did: dancing the night away at a Pitbull concert. Those 4 hours on that sweaty, smoky lawn were slightly formative for a number of reasons, but I’ll document the evening extensively for you:
Someday mid-April 2022: Enter me, gasping and shrieking and screaming, seeing a formal announcement that Iggy Azalea is opening for Pitbull on a sort-of reprise of their 2021 tour (which I could not attend because they came to my city the day I moved into college) and proclaiming to my friends that we should all buy tickets. Y’all know how I feel about Iggy, and I couldn’t miss a chance to see her, given that I thought she was quitting music forever that year (she is not, as recent updates would have it).
7/4/22: My friend’s sorority officially instates this concert as a “sisterhood event”, and people begin buying tickets in droves. We decide as a group to go for GA lawn seats because they’re like 30 bucks and it’s the first full weekend back on campus.
8/30/22: The group chat is alight with concerns regarding attire for the evening. General consensus: crop top and jeans.
8/31/22: We realize that half of campus is also attending this concert.
9/2/22 (Day of Concert), 10:00am: I accidentally sleep through my morning classes in what I assume was an attempt on my body’s part to prepare me for what was to come.
5:00pm: Bluetooth speaker bumping The End of An Era, my roommates and I get ready.
5:30pm: We pull out of the parking lot, more setlist hits queued up on aux, ready to make the drive to the venue. My friend has pockets stuffed with power banks and water.
6:30pm: Doors open at the venue, right after we park and walk in. I buy an overpriced pretzel. We end up waltzing to the front of the middle section of the expansive outdoor lawn - a great view with a breeze.
7:00pm-8:00pm: We loiter and take pictures, auspiciously craning our heads to see through the growing crowd of thousands and spot our friends and peers, because if you see your lab partner at Pitbull that means it’s just meant to be. Some mid DJs come out for like 12 minute sets of radio hits.
Approx. 7:30pm: Some poor girl 10 feet to our right collapses and pukes on herself and her really cute leather skirt. A wretched Karen yells at her for falling on her lawn blanket, and grabs security officers to move the girl. It is broad daylight and the show hasn’t started yet.
8:00pm: The lights finally dim, and Iggy’s intro plays. I am shaking and barely get videos because I’m watching so closely.
8:05pm-8:45pm: I black out in what I assume is a fugue state of hype and nostalgia. Something about hearing your favorite song when you were 11 with your best friends at 18 is so fulfilling, and I’m reminded of how much I genuinely love her music. Her choreo is cute, and she’s really solid in her energy as she blends deep cuts with songs like “Fancy “ or “Work.” Iggy puts on a great show, looks great, and sufficiently hypes the crowd for Pitbull’s entrance. Like 70% of my motivation for going was Iggy, so I could die/go home happy at this point.
9:00pm: Pitbull enters. With a fiery blaze of a black and white full production of a video countdown intro featuring every member of his live band and a NASCAR vehicle emblazoned with the paraphernalia and logos associated with the tour, Mr. Worldwide appears at the top of a decadent staircase set from behind a dropped curtain. I mean, the place looks like a Vegas residency, and so do the incredible dancers onstage with him. He immediately jumps into “Don’t Stop The Party”, gyrating and two stepping the whole way through.
9:10pm: Unfortunately a few songs into the set, two different groups of people enclose my friends and I from the front and side, fully blocking our view. An individual with bleach blonde hair with 5 inches on me is vaping vigorously, and my friend on my right receives an apt warning that “ass is going to be thrown on her.”
9:55pm: As I’m enjoying my evening the best I can, jumping and popping, Pitbull pauses to give a speech about hard work and the struggle his family came from as immigrants. The crowd is encouraging, in agreement, cheering and listening. Suddenly, the speech takes a turn. We’re being reminded of how incredible and opportune the United States is, and how we should appreciate that we don’t live in the straits of poverty and communism. We’re told to “bring the rednecks out” and led in a “U-S-A” chant, which is conveniently the title of the next song (a country collaboration with Filmore, apparently). We turned to our friends, gagged and bug-eyed, laughing at the absurdity of hearing conservative Mad Lib lines at a Pitbull concert, of all places in the world. Quite literally, we were jumpscared. The next 3 minutes are that truly awful country song, lit up by a flag display on every screen, and Filmore makes a stage appearance to sing it. Because this is Indiana, more people than not are fervently screaming along. I fear a lynch mob will coagulate on the left half of the lawn. I truly could have done without all of that and to be honest, it sours the evening more than the events that have already transpired to crush my vibe.
10:15pm: Once I recover from the sights we have just seen, two sticky and shirtless frat guys push past my friend and I by literally putting hands on us and moving us to the side. The energy of the frenetic crowd is pushing further and further to the front, unfortunately right where we are. I find a sealed Mountain Ice water bottle on the ground and it becomes communal betwixt my friends and I for some much needed hydration. The aforementioned “ass thrower” picks up a random, unidentified shooter during the eponymous song “Fireball” and chugs it.
10:45pm: Pitbull takes off his glasses.
10:50pm: We make it through the rest of the set without major incident, and “Timber” is really fun live. Surviving the masses of bodies all traveling to the same parking lot, we are immediately gridlocked into the worst traffic direction I have ever seen. there are cops positioned sporadically along the lines, doing literally nothing besides pace back and forth.
11:20pm: We haven’t moved, but there is a car full of guys singing bubblegum pop karaoke and we sing along with them.
11:40pm: Minutes away from pulling out onto the road, the end literally in sight, the truck in front of us opens its passenger door and a girl hangs out of it, projectile vomiting. Some kindly elders having what appears to be a square dance tailgate a few feet away give her some bottled water, but the driver of the truck keeps pulling forward while homegirl is still chucking it. We swerve to avoid the puddles and zoom away.
12:15am: Every McDonald’s in the 30 minute trip back to campus is unbelievably packed or closed, and our plans for our usually post-concert nuggets and Cokes are squashed.
12:30am: We end up at a Circle K. I get beef jerky and the cashier gives me my slushie for free <3
12:35am: While driving home, we realize Circle K snacks aren’t enough. We order Domino’s, pick it up, and bring it back with us.
12:50am: Sitting on the floor of my apartment chowing down on the best parmesan twists I have ever had, my evening comes to an end.
This is a lot of complaining and rambling to say that I underestimated how poorly judged and massively intoxicated the demographic of my college town was. I truly feel for everyone experiencing this shift in concert etiquette and experiences, probably pretty directly as a result of so many young people attending their first concerts after a pandemic. I get it, and I won’t harsh your buzz, but remembering moderation and looking after the people around you is crucial and non-negotiable at any live show, in my honest little humble opinion. Anyway, I still had a good time, and got to scream “Started” into the sunset, so I’m a happy camper. See you next week!