Kansas City Blog

Tech has made little secret of his desire to bring hip-hop and African-American fans back into the fold of his expansive fan base of college students, indie-rockers and Juggalos. The Summer Jam crowd presented the perfect opportunity to make that wish a reality.

During the hour-plus set (noticeably longer than either Rick Ross before him or Hurricane Chris, who followed), Tech treated his fans -- and those who remain unconvinced of his hip-hop allegiances -- to songs from his newest album, Sickology 101, and several classics from earlier albums like Anghellic.

Flanked by Kaliko and Calhoun Tech jumped into fan favorites, "Einstein," "The Beast," and "Psycho Bitch." All three shared the stage with ease, showing off choreographed pop-locking and other dance moves in most if not all of the songs they performed. The set also featured solo performances by both Kaliko and Calhoun, both of whom are set for forthcoming solo releases. Of the two, the charismatic Kalhoun (who performed much of his solo in the front row of the crowd) seems to be obvious choice for future success outside of Tech's shadow.

The last half of the set proved the most entertaining.

After an impassioned rendition of "Caribou Lou," Tech and Company sang a thoughtfully poetic dedication to girls who flash their breasts at concerts. All three shouted the hook -- "Ugh, AR-E-O-LA," -- while a string of tossed bras was shown off onstage.

"It seems like he [Tech] just learned that word," the person next to me observed.

Encouraged by his straightforward invitation, a few in crowd welcomed Tech -- and the thousands of fans who surrounded them -- to take a closer look at their feminine goodies, leading several men in the crowd to grab furiously for their cell phones. But most of the ladies in the audience were content to wave less conspicuous body parts -- like arms -- from a safe distance.

Before making way for Hurricane Chris and, later, Soulja Boy, Tech invited several members of his informal crew to bob and nod behind him as he performed "I'm a Playa."

As Tech and his crew departed, one question remained -- perhaps at this point the only real question left regarding his career. Did this performance convince skeptics that Tech is indeed a legitimate rap artist and did it endear him to his lost African-American fan base? Judging from many of the stoic and perplexed faces dotted throughout the audience, there's still much progress to be made.

It's hard to get down with face paint.

Lessons learned from this concert:

1. Sandstone does not accept credit cards. If you want one of the popular, big margarita-looking drinks that vaguely resemble plastic penises, bring cash.

2. Rick Ross is much less imposing in-person. Besides stopping midway through the majority of his songs ("Hold up"), the sweat that poured from his forehead, which he mopped almost constantly with a white towel throughout, appeared more like it came from last night's liquor than it did any real effort. Given Ricky's apparent fatigue, everyday hustling seems like a potential health-risk. (One would think that the former correctional officer would be more adept at working a crowd.)

3. Soulja Boy is not a rapper, nor can he be safely defined as a rap artist. But whatever Soulja Boy does and/or whatever you want to call it -- he gets asses, young and old, out of their seats and dancing. He's the Britney Spears of hip-hop. It's worth noting that he also seems to have satisfactorily recovered from being allegedly jacked for his chain at gunpoint over Christmas.