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The San Francisco Treat :: Locales and Freddie Gibbs

The San Francisco Treat :: Locales and Freddie Gibbs

San Francisco and its muted weather of non-existing seasons – with its steady flow of fog, weak sun, and easy breezes… Hate it or love it, it is what makes this city unique from the rest and why I love to call this place home.

The Grace Cathedral on California Street with its art installation by Anne Patterson. 20 miles of satin ribbon that represent our prayers, dreams, and wishes rising towards the heavens above. As pretty in person as it is in picture.

Our fully revamped Bay Bridge with added LED lights envisioned by world-renowned artist Leo Villareal.

And lastly, this is my self-proclaimed experience at a Freddie Gibbs concert this past Thursday. Just odd little tidbits that I think would have never happened if it wasn’t a Freddie Gibbs concert, spring break, and in San Francisco. The combination of the three can formulate some funny observations and experiences.

Factoid #1 from that night. I was waiting in line in front of a man that wanted to “fuck any niggah up” when he got inside. You know how I know? He told me. I get this lonely tap on the shoulder from what looks like a Yelawolf clone and he asked if I had a lighter which obviously had to do with his obsession of alcohol since he smelled like liquor piss. Like a gentleman (which oddly didn’t go fair with him) I politely said no and he proceeded to share his one-liner of anger with me. 3 hours later in the midst of Gibbs performing his third song, I see him yelling at some other goons where his wish almost came into fruition if it wasn’t for the two 6-footers that ran security in the front row. Shoot… he almost had it.

Weird story #2. Gibbs and Madlib’s audience is an odd one. Let me single out one in particular that we’ll just dub Sarah because well, that is what everyone else called her. Sarah the douche that she is, was feeling herself, rubbin’ her A-cup titties in every which way that she could while chuckin’ deuces in the air as if poppin’ gang signs on Crenshaw. Never one for embarrassment, Sarah then proceeded to fire off the n-word as much as possible. Phrases such as “niggah pass the blunt” never sounded so weird and mostly due to her being Asian if any. Actually to my recollection, every n-word I heard wasn’t even said by a black person. Actually come to think of it, there were hardly any black people at the concert at all. Just weird.

Law #3: If you don’t smoke weed, you are a bitch. I won’t bullshit, my poison has never been weed and every time I smoke it, I trip harder then your average which just makes it that marijuana and I just don’t go hand in hand. But to be called a bitch? I felt it was a little uncalled for. That is what I get for waving the no-no hand sign to a 250-pound Italian guy that has no clue how strong he really is as he’s Jersey turnpiking my hip. To his credit, I even went a little apeshit when Gibbs performed BFK. A bitch I assure you I am not.

By the end of the night, I had seen enough and yet, I felt like I wanted more. Gibbs manages to set hearts on fire, but leaves his crowd estranged from not attempting to do some of his cult classic songs. I guess it was just not that type of concert and Cocaine Piñata was more the focus… rats. I should have came out when he was promoting E$GN.

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