Gig-going has become too serious: Letting my hair down in a Pitbull bald cap
As the old proverb goes, “This is for everybody going through tough times, believe me, been there, done that. But every day above ground is a good day, remember that”. And by proverb, I mean Pitbull.
If Miami had its very own version of Jesus, he may well come down from on high by the name of Mr 305 with shouts of “Dalé!”. To use an overwrought phrase, Pitbull really is the man, the myth, and the legend. His social media meme capabilities may be endless, and his bald head may be all the more alluring, but he’s also exactly the antidote that the music world needs right now.
Invariably, some of you will already be furiously submitting complaints about my ability to hold this position as a music critic; everything I’m meant to do has to be profound, well-considered, and tasteful. To be honest, perhaps a few years ago, I might have agreed with you. But just this very week, I found myself donning my aviator sunglasses and cramming my unruly, curly hair into a bald cap to go and see the man himself. So what has happened since?
Let’s not beat about the bush here: journalist or not, if you’re reading this, the chances are that you have been to a fair share of pretentious gigs in your time. Don’t worry, I’m also including myself within that number. The grand jury of indie music supposedly rules on what is and isn’t acceptable to publicly enjoy, and most of the time, we all find ourselves subscribing to that law.
But as time goes on, I’ve realised how increasingly pretentious and high-brow things are becoming. This isn’t about blaming anyone or anything in particular, but you look at rising rock stars who are so up their own arses that it’s physically painful to listen to, the ones who talk about going on journeys of discovery to arrive at some banal guitar solo, and wonder where we’ve gone wrong.
Pitbull doesn’t have time for any of that. The Cameron Winters of the world would be frothing at the mouth with the so-called vulgarity and commonness, but honestly, none of us should have time for that kind of jaded view on life anymore, either. Particularly when it comes to the live space, Mr Worldwide is actually cultivating a global revolution. Admittedly, it may not be the mantra he set out to create as a rapper, but I feel strongly that there’s an art we’ve lost in the midst of gig-going that should have always stayed at the front and centre: simply having fun.
It’s not about the picture-perfect outfits, the performative mosh pits, and the constant filming of every second on stage. It’s about escaping from the real world for a little while, and letting your hair down. Well, in this specific instance, it was more about hemming your hair up into a terrifyingly synthetic bald cap bought off Amazon for £6.99, to be fair. Yet the sense of freedom was apparent to me even while I was getting ready in the middle of the afternoon. I didn’t have to put on a full face of makeup, given that the sunglasses and bald cap were doing the work for me, and my outfit was decided by the consensus that every Pitbull gig-goer must wear his classic shirt and tie.
I subsequently arrived in high spirits at Glasgow’s Bellahouston Park, thankfully having spotted several other baldies en route and therefore quelling the small seed of anxiety that I was about to make an absolute tit of myself in my choice of attire. In fact, it was this precisely which became the overriding high point of the night. Absolutely no one was taking themselves seriously, and everyone was joining in and having a laugh together, and while the weather may have made it feel like it was February rather than July, as the rain thundered and the winds howled, it seemed as if the crowd only increasingly morphed into one.
Yes, that was primarily because of the sea of bald caps, but it was also because the main man on stage was the king of commanding a circus of total silliness. For all it may have been a music gig, I have equally never laughed so much. Between the support act, Lil Jon, breaking into a bizarre chorus of ‘Sweet Caroline’ or Pitbull finding a new love of the ‘No Scotland, no party’ chants, everything about it was a constant high.
Despite being completely soaked to the bone and fearing I was bound to catch pneumonia by the time I left, I felt more life-affirmed than I have at any other gig I’ve been to recently. Nothing about that night was furthering an agenda, making a blistering statement or creating a contrived point. It was just about having a party, nothing more, nothing less.
At the end of the day, live music was never created to leave people in a state of dismay or contemplation about their lives. It should be the prime source of escapism and entertainment, and Pitbull is very much leading the charge on that front, so I challenge you to this: the next time you feel disillusioned at the state of the world, go to a gig that you would normally turn your nose up at. Don’t plan ahead, don’t worry about what you’re wearing, and just open your eyes to what you see. I can guarantee you will have far more fun than you think, so go on, just let your hair down, or put it up in a bald cap. The choice is yours.
