Live Review: A$AP Ferg, DJ Matt Cant

American rappers seem to be a mixed bag when they venture down to Australian shores.

Though it is like comparing golden-oranges-of-happiness to sour apples, Kendrick Lamar's mythical Rod Laver performance bridged that subtle/complex cultural divide and crafted a show that was personable and bizarrely intimate. Then there are the rappers that go through the motions on stage and don't really craft a musical performance, instead leaning more toward spectacle that borders on WWE theatrics. Far from his first trip here, A$AP Ferg is here on the back of Listen Out festival and hoarding a new record.

Far from a highly publicised support, DJ Matt Cant plays some songs from about 9.30pm and it is literal unattended background noise as people file into the venue. Over and done by 10, it's an awkward silence onstage for the next half an hour. Eventually Ferg's unnamed DJ emerges and does the typical hype thing; spins a few tunes with the lights blazing and the sub bass pumping (The dual play of Alright and the first half of M.A.A.D City get a decent crowd response; the rest was practically ignored). For the well-lubricated audience this level of stimulation seems to tickle an itch, and Ferg hasn't even come out yet.

Rather than get crushed in a doorway, it seems to be a good idea to head down to the sardine tin of the main dancefloor. The crowd is a mixed bag of absolutely trashed youngsters, meathead bros and young girls who view the show through smartphones. The ‘Trap Lord’ then makes his appearance, and it is loud and dirty. Ferg organically shows a level of energy and also aggression as he spits his flows over the top of the prerecorded backing track.

It becomes like a sugar rush, the lights and sound and Ferg's messiah-like aura take lead and then fall flat. When the metaphorical high wears off, it's hard not to see the glaring faults as a musical performance. From the chorus of Dump Dump it becomes clear that we are most certainly not in any form of high society, or even something that still feels relevant/socially acceptable.

Sitting back, the cliché becomes a spiral. Ferg gets the crowd to put (finger) guns up in the air, one of the younger members of A$AP Mob comes out and has an average go at a track, Ferg sprays a bottle of cheap champagne (obviously taken from the rider) on the crowd and then incites a circle pit (in which two —ahem— gentlemen violently throw fisticuffs a freckle away, broken up by the crowd not security), new tracks people ignore, and a couple of audience members dragged up onstage to 'rap' (that comes across as well as 8-Mile does in 2016), all of which is clouded in the wafting fog of marijuana from the countless joints being smoked by the crowd (openly across the venue). It feels like no class and no care across the board.

Ferg drifts in and out. He is clearly tuckered out and constantly drops lines for either the backing track or the crowd to pick up (perhaps best exemplified by hit Shabba). The clock strikes 11.30 and after an hour onstage Ferg is off and the DJ and random ‘Mob guy just spin some average music and spruik the after party at some place called 'Club Trill'. When you look inside your wallet and the torn venue and reflect on what you got given for its contents, it’s hard not to feel shortchanged and slightly lethargic.