Two Thursdays ago, Vince Staples came out in an all black outfit and a Kevlar vest, prepared to entertain a roaring crowd.
In the beginning of his thirty-minute set, as he began one of his many signature songs heavy with subjectively offensive lyrical content, he jumped back in surprise near the chorus line of the song.
When the majority of the white crowd echoed the chorus intended for an African-American audience, it appeared that Staples was hit multiple times with bullets. He squatted down closer to the stage to avoid the verbal spray coming back to him.
“I was so overwhelmed with the wave of Red Bull spittle that came back at me, I thought I was being hit with bullets or something,” Staples said when reached for comment last weekend. Shaking his head in disbelief, he reached for a Kleenex. “No matter how hard I close my eyes, I just can’t get that sea of frat boys’ faces out of my head.”
As the song came to a conclusion, Staples stumbled backwards, the lights of the screens littering the stage behind illuminated his disoriented expression. It appeared as if he was finished. However, just when all hope was lost, a trusty roadie threw a mic stand on stage for Staples to lean on.
As he leaned on the stand for support, he attempted to acclimate to his surroundings.
“It almost felt that the white crowd injected me with a venomous syringe during my set,” Staples said of his struggle. “I felt like I was gonna drop dead, right there. I’ve never seen whiteness so potent before.”
As he stood there, Amy Winehouse looping in the back of his head, he attempted to start his next song, but was visibly shaken by whatever had just transpired. It appeared almost as if the whiteness had changed the barometric pressure of the arena and affected Vince Staples directly.
Without the help of the mic stand and the white antibodies that Vince Staples had developed from growing up in Compton and North Long Beach, the inherent whiteness of Madison might have claimed the life of an up-and-coming rapper.