There’s not a guitar, a drum kit, or a Glaswegian in a checked-shirt to be seen...
If the Franz Ferdinand manifesto consists of ‘wanting to make girls dance’ then Kapranos and co might wanna take some tips from Ludacris, because right here at tonight’s rammed, sell out show there’s girls of all colours, shapes, and sizes. Some of them are blowing on those huge rave whistles, a lot are blissfully smoked out under the massive cloud of high grade engulfing the Academy, but, importantly, they’re [I]all[/I] dancing – properly shaking it, as fellow Atlanta residents OutKast put it, like a Polaroid picture. They’re singing too, from [I]”Move bitch get out the way, MOVE BITCH GET OUT THE WAY,”[/I] say, or, ‘Fantasy’s’ [I]”I wanna lick, lick, lick, lick you from your head to your toes!”[/I] with the ferociousness of a protest rally.
Pretty much any other performer alive would have messed themselves with pleasure by now, but for multi-million sellin’, lady-chasin’, chicken’n’beer guzzul-uzzulin’, party startin’ Ludacris it just ain’t enough, so he repeatedly stops and starts the music until the whole venue’s turned into a huge mosh pit. A ‘Right Thur’ cameo by protégé Chingy and a comedy interlude by DJ JC, – master of scratching with his nose while standing on one leg and taking a T shirt off – just further hype up the already dangerously over-stimulated crowd. There’s not a guitar, a drum kit, or a Glaswegian in a checked-shirt to be seen, but Ludacris’ Greatest Hits Roadshow rocks the Brixton Academy into hysterical submission.