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Music

Drake And Future’s Hourslong Delay At AAC Somehow Didn’t Hamper The Night

The show started more than four hours after the doors opened, but that didn't matter once the production got underway.
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They let us all in to the arena after 8 p.m., those thousands of fans bottle-necked shoulder to shoulder, back to back on the lower concourse of American Airlines Center. “We can’t let you up until Drake lets us,” shouted one attendant at the floor of an escalator. Another (very kind) attendant outside section 107 told me that the stage was still being assembled—and this was at 7:30, the time Future was set to go on. Another said that the truck with the gear didn’t even show up until after 6 p.m. Sound check bled out past the dark curtains blocking each section and into the concourse. Rumors spread; maybe the 18-wheeler with the gear had gently wrapped around a pole at the entrance to Woodall Rogers just before 5 p.m.

Getting into the American Airlines Center for the Drake concert was a chore, to say the least. (Photo: Matt Goodman)
Getting into the American Airlines Center for the Drake concert was a chore, to say the least. (Photo: Matt Goodman)

Whatever had occurred, we were going to be there awhile. After 8 we were allowed in, treated to more than a dozen staffers hurriedly setting up the stage while someone, somewhere pumped Nelly singles throughout the PA. And then we sat, until about 9:30, when DVSN performed for 20 minutes in front of a giant black curtain, channeling Michael Jackson and Prince through a balladeer’s voice. But then he was gone and Future was still missing, a smidge of hope only coming once Rae Sremmurd and Father took over the PA tunes from Sir Mix A Lot.

By the time the curtains collapsed and Drake ascended from below, surrounded by smoke, standing on an elevated perch in front of a screen that curved out over the stage, it felt like a release. It was 10:15 p.m., more than four hours since the doors opened. The stadium became a wall of cheers and yells as Drake smirk-snarled through “Summer Sixteen,” the word “REVENGE” on the screen behind him bursting into white flames. For all this talk of Drake’s newfound snarl and bite, his two-plus-hour set felt almost solely celebratory and joyous. There were no shots at artists that had not already been recorded, no moments of genuine menace. It was an ornate evening of rap and video art, the screen oscillating between what could’ve been a .gif of Ride’s Nowhere album art and the 15 minute cosmos sequence from the Tree of Life.

“Still Here” followed “Summer Sixteen” and then came “Started From the Bottom” (Now we out in Dallas / half a million for a show) and “9,” a suite that reveled in success more than anger. “Feel No Ways” and “U Wit Me” shifted the show into the melancholy, Drake hunched over and occasionally singing a capella. Toronto’s CN Tower appeared on the screen and blinked neon, like the world’s largest, slowest Simon machine. Soon, he stopped to address Dallas, the stage bathing in royal blue light: “It’s one of my favorite places in the world. I know there’s been a lot going on lately but an unfortunate situation does not change how incredible this place is.”

And then he took us through a medley of radio hits, both his and by others, that reminded everyone of just how ubiquitous he’s been in pop music for the past five or so years: “They Know,” “Trophies,” “HYFR,” “0-100,” “We Made It,” “Blessed,” “Versace,” Bounce That.” Fireworks sailed from behind him and five elevated, neon-blue-lit stands rose from the ground around him.

The stage became more of a spectacle as the night went on, peaking alongside the beginning sounds of “Hotline Bling,” when the pale, balloon-looking orbs suddenly glowed Turrell-pink and fell from the ceiling, making designs that sometimes looked like sine waves and strands of DNA. “That tripped y’all out, right?” Drake asked, bearing a smile.

At this point, more than an hour into the show, the hum of the crowd hadn’t slowed a bit. Drake very well could’ve finished the concert himself, letting Future come onstage for only the songs off their dual effort What a Time to Be Alive. But then came “Grammys” and Future, too, rose from the bottom and was suddenly in the middle of the stage, surrounded by smoke; his voice a growl, loud and piercing. The visuals disappeared and filled with the image of the stage as he darted its length, performing as if he’s been in the bowels of the AAC, gritting his teeth at being unable to play.

Drake disappeared and Future kicked off his mini set with “Same Damn Time” and “Thought it Was a Drought,” quickly running through “Stick Talk” and “Trap N—,” “Commas” and “Low Life.” The delay scrapped any hope of pre-programmed visuals and timing cues, freeing Atlanta’s most popular rapper to focus on the rapping. He touched on “March Madness” and “Wicked” and Drake returned to do “Big Rings” and “Jumpman.”

“This guy right here, he a legend,” Drake announced, and then Future vanished.

The tone inside that arena was so celebratory, so joyous. The hourslong delay added unpredictability and nerves to the typical production, the Highly Manicured Blockbuster Summer Concert. Future, technically billed as somewhat of a co-headliner, got 30 songs in the night before in Austin. The set in Dallas was abbreviated, but at that point it wasn’t promised, and so, for me at least, it was a genuine surprise. The rest of the night seemed to operate on that same tone, most everyone smiling, dancing, cheering. What a time. As the night moved closer to its end, a woman on the floor took off her shirt and stood on her chair, trying her best to get Drake’s attention. But he didn’t explicitly notice; there were 15,000-plus others that he was focused on, just as he had since he finally took the stage. And then the words “PLEASE FORGIVE ME” appeared on the screen, and burst into white flames.

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