O2 Shepherds Bush Empire, London, March 8th
Today being International Women’s Day, there may be some valid reasons for checking out the audience’s gender demographic – although, as LMFAO’s chief party rep calls his impromptu survey “the fellatio ratio”, he probably has few of them in mind.
The 19th-century impresario PT Barnum noted that “nobody ever lost a dollar by underestimating the taste of the American public”. Barnum would have loved LMFAO. This LA electro-rap group journey right to the heart of bad taste, their ‘Sorry For Party Rocking’ and ‘Party Rock Anthem’ (400 million YouTube hits and counting) made from the most lunk-headed bits of dubstep, the Beastie Boys, Borat, and pumping Ibiza trance crescendos. There is some calculation here: beneath his billowing Jewfro and ‘I’m In Miami Bitch!’ T-shirt, DJ Redfoo is one Stefan Kendal Gordy, thirtysomething son of Motown founder Berry Gordy, and consequently, someone who surely knows a thing or two about the music industry. Ridiculous, maybe, but naifs, LMFAO certainly are not.
Absent tonight is LMFAO’s second in command, SkyBlu – hospitalised, says Redfoo, following a show in which a speaker “landed on his penis”. This has little bearing on the live experience itself, which roughly resembles Grand Guignol theatre as stage-managed by a cabal of LOLcats. On ‘Shots’, Redfoo’s team of dancers can-can and glug vodka through a funnel. ‘I Am Not A Whore’ segues neatly into a cover of The 2 Live Crew’s ‘Face Down, Ass Up’. An inflatable zebra makes its way over the heads of the audience. Hate them, but you have to admire the way they work a lowest common denominator.
Come the climactic ‘Sexy And I Know It’, RedFoo tears off his animal-print leggings and jiggles his peanut-like crotch as dancers tar and feather the front five rows with champagne and streamers. The zebra has deflated.
The seven-year-old girl swings enthusiastically from the barrier like it’s a stripper’s pole. Still no-one has mentioned that it’s International Women’s Day.
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