[live review + phlipcam video] Odd Future @ Royale

Remember May? I'm not going to bother listing a bunch of innocuously unrelated events that occured that month, because I barely remember that month myself. But ODD FUTURE were a thing, that much I can assure you. They invaded our fair city backed by a wall of media hype, instilled fear into the ritzy on Newbury Street and again into press-type gawkers at the Paradise, and said some crude shit to Fox News that many of us here at the Phoenix can only dream of.

Since then however, the hype has subsided, immensely. Their names are no longer in everyones' mouth, and many of their attempts at maintaining relevancy have been half-baked at best: announcing a Jackass meets Chapelle's Show adultswim pilot that will probably go over like gangbusters with your 13-year old cousin; a thinly-veiled, largely-ignored dig at the Based God; and an intentionally half-baked mixtape that was actually quite brilliant, but still generally ignored by internet tropes.

But while the critical gushing (and subsequent backlash) has gone away, there's one thing that will never die: Suburban teen angst.

And that's why their Friday Royale gig still managed to sell-out in minutes, why heads throughout the venue were still adorned with far more snapbacks than fitteds, and why I was still left feeling like the old creepy guy in the ballroom.

The vibe being flung from the stage however, was quite different from that of five months ago. The collective have seemingly been filling their time predominantly with touring, and why not with a guaranteed sell-out at every stop? Easy money really.

But imagine going from the States, overseas, and back again, repeating that schedule ad nauseum for nearly a year now, trying to summon the energy on a near nightly basis to skank across the stage and plunge headfirst into a sea of white boys who are probably going to try to rip the sneakers off your feet. I nodded off just typing that sentence.

Tyler took the stage looking worn as fuck. All seven or so members rarely appeared on stage at the same time, ceding the spotlight to Domo Genesis or Mike G for solo showcases on a number of occasions (not that I'm complaining). The hits -- "Yonkers," "French," Sandwitches" -- still hit as hard as ever, but the whole thing felt far less pointed than before, even meandering at times.

In my fantasy world, there will be a time when I can go to see this group and stand a stones throw from the stage and nod my head along to the beats without getting accosted by an overzealous 16-year old who wants me to help him fulfill his wet dream of crowd surfing at a "punk" concert.

Luckily for me, and for all of those detractors who were so quick to deem the group rape sympathizers, Odd Future appears ready to scale it back themselves. And rightfully so. The gimmick is worn and there's no denying that they have the chops to churn out some righteous rap music, both from the lyrical and production standpoint. So as much as it makes me feel like a fist-clenching geezer to say, here's to a less-odd, more-mature future for these kids.

At least until Earl comes back.

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