The blood was coming thick from his nose. It ran over his lips and down to his chin and he refused to wipe the stream of red away. Bare-chested he stood daring the street to comment. I have rarely experienced the hardy staunchness of this character on inner-city Brisbane streets before 10pm, let alone on a weekday. Inside the Hi Fi Yelawolf fans have gathered and I hope they’re not like this guy, whoever he may be. What has the white rapper from Alabama done? Has he brought the hood with him or just ignited a fuse that was always here? Either way we’re going in.
We’ve walked in mid interlude and it’s like anything could happen after the hype act got the crowd up. The crowd holds a majority of Australian hip-hop fans, you know that flat brimmed lad sort, with quite a few Pacific Islanders, not more than a 
smattering of button-downed hipsters and a handful of females sexier because they dig rap. The venue has opened a single tiered level for the crowd. There is a small second level balcony but it’s closed tonight and, despite the less than capacity crowd, the air is thick with anticipation.
The DJ sneaks out. He pops up from behind curtains and the area in front of the stage becomes a hard press expecting the main act. The people crammed directly in front of us turn around and they’re a mix of hip hop and metro. We’ve been squeezed closer, face to face. They say hello and introduce themselves. I would expect as much at a festival or a Last Dinosaurs show but not here. They acknowledge our desire to be closer to the action and also know we’ll be knocking up against each other soon, so of course we should be acquainted I guess. Such manners are greatly weird regardless. We spoke of Radioactive, Yelawolf’s new album, and it’s agreed despite excellent sales, Trunk Muzik is his best work. The hip hop fan says the 30-year-old Deep South rapper has crazy lyrical skills, a type that isn’t like the majority of artists. Most rappers are either really fast like YouTube living room man Mac Lethal or the emotional, intelligent sort like Drake. Yelawolf has both.
The background music has been NWA and Wu Tang, but as we get closer to kick off it takes a Caucasian turn. Beastie Boys blares and it’s time. He wears a buttoned to the neck off white paisley shirt, blue jeans, a short brimmed fedora, black glasses and orange kicks. A thick gold chain loops around a black pistol tattooed on his neck and off it hangs a not so miniature gold boom box complete with reception antenna. Yelawolf has entered. The DJ kicks the base up, its low frequencies resonating through my legs. I’m glad we made friends with the group in front because in the first song, ‘Daddy’s Lambo’, everyone goes mental. With his feet on the speakers Yelawolf leans over the crowd throwing water into the frenzy. His lyrics are fast and clear, he needs more air surely but then he gets faster twisting the words to fit his Southern drawl. None of the studio sound gloss has worn off.
Sipping a bottle of Jack between breaks he talks of time spent on tour with Eminem, Wiz Khalifa and Wu Tang. Since joining Shady Records Yelawolf’s been touted as Eminem’s Kentucky Fried protégé but has proven his own manicured style is equally commanding. There is no doubt of that tonight and he’s been proving himself ever since becoming a white rapper. By the third song the Fedora is off and his slicked black Mohawk is getting rocked. Another swig and he tells us about the Adelaide show, pointing out that only 200 people rocked up and assuring us Brisbane is way badder. We ate it up and the chant ‘fuck Adelaide’ echoed. He did his part from the Shady Records Cypher 2.0 as it puts the deep fans in raptures. When unleashing ‘I Wish’, the generally white crowd blew up on the chorus “Bitch you ain’t hip hop” letting all that pent up, white hip hop anguish out. Six songs in and the button up shirt’s been replaced by a tropically tie dyed singlet, the gold boom box still swinging.
People around have danced and jumped and knocked about and almost fallen over, but all are smiling. Yelawolf played what we wanted to hear and with that satisfaction any differences amongst the crowd’s breeding are forgotten. A montage of songs came on featuring The Doors, Johnny Cash, Eazy-E, and finally Beastie Boys. He had a big swig of Jack Daniels, our binge drinking culture gets recognised and the crowd froths. Despite the speed of everything he does, the show has not slowed. Playing ‘Pop the trunk’ then ‘Marijuana’ the crowd needed no urging to light up and the air got dense. He asks the crowd who’s a legal smoker and we boo. He says that’s alright, he likes illegal smokers more anyway. His momma used to grow plants for them to share anyhow.
An acapella version of “Love is Not enough” sealed it, the crowd were now all friends. Yelawolf finished with “I Just Wanna Party” thanked the crowd and disappeared off stage. The crowd remained and with screams from exhausted throats he came out for an encore. He walked out cigarette blazing, the lights from above caught and lit every puff of smoke, solidifying each and every draw. For the last time he left the stage with a salute and prayer hands. The quality of his lyrics are sometimes unsupported by the beat on albums sounding hollow like a mansion with arched ceilings but no walls. Seeing Yelawolf live, there is no problem. He played for an hour and a half and the pace never dropped, his voice never faded nor lost its voracity. The crowd hummed funnelling out of the Hi Fi spilling into the West End street. We didn’t hang around to see Yelawolf’s magic disappear. The once unified crowd are now milling on the street and, like before the main act came on stage, it is tense.
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