“Um, actually it’s like a rapper guy? T-Pain.”
I instantly regretted that I had already agreed to go. “Uh, T-what?”
“He’s that guy who sings ‘I’m in Luv Wit a Stripper’?” she said.
Okay. Just to provide a little context? The last performer I saw in Western Hall was the very white, very British, Elvis Costello. And while ‘Costello’ may not be a name known in every household, his billing in Western Hall wasn’t anything out of line with the solidly popular, mainstream acts that have graced the stage in Macomb over the decades—like Bill Cosby and Johnny Cash to name a few. Not exactly cutting edge.
So I couldn’t help but feel more than a little panicked when, for the first time in my life, a performer was playing in Western Hall I had never even heard of—a disturbing sign that I have probably slipped into the other telltale signs of clueless-ness that come with age, like still wearing the same hairstyle from your senior portrait after your 10-year reunion has passed. Or not thinking twice about strapping on a fanny pack before going out in public.
When I saw his posters on campus, I discovered that T-Pain was written not T-period pain, as in, an abbreviation for Tom, or maybe Terrell, but T-hyphen Pain. English major that I am, I wanted to read into that hyphen: T-as-signifier. What did it stand for? “Tooth-pain”?
For the week leading up the concert, I was nervous. What on earth, I wondered, does one wear to a hip-hop concert? And how does one…behave? To me, ‘concert’ has always signified such cultural mores as the Banging of the Head, the Raising of the Lighter, the Strumming of the Instrument known as ‘Air Guitar.’ What happens at a hip-hop show? Were we, I feared, going to be expected to dance?
So, shamefully, when my friend called and said the concert had been cancelled—something to do with Mr. Pain’s getting stuck in an airport somewhere?—I was relieved.
But then, a few months later, I got an e-mail invite from a fellow graduate student to attend another show in Western Hall, something being advertised as a “loop fiasco.”
It wasn’t until I saw a helpfully visual ad in the Western Courier that I discovered that loop–actually Lupe—Fiasco is not a what but a who: a rapper.
Not long after T-Pain missed his show here, I was surprised to hear his name brought up on NPR. It turns out those of us who have never heard T-Pain’s music are in a minority: the story explained that his songs have been downloaded as Ringtones in record-breaking numbers. Not only because they’re catchy, but because of something to do with the fact that they’re nicely fit for today’s technology, due to T-Pain’s use of a vocoder—you know, that thing that made Cher sound like a robot on “Believe.”
Now I’m trying to look at this whole…‘fiasco’ as a much-needed educational experience. Over the weekend when I heard a grad student reference T-Pain, I was able to play it cool and nod in recognition. (I did, however, blow my cover when she mentioned the name of one of T-Pain’s songs—when I emitted, church lady-like, “Now what in heaven’s name are ‘apple-bottom jeans?’”)
The unfortunate fact is that, mainstream as these acts may be, and relieved as I am to at least now know who they are, I have no desire to listen to their music, let alone pay to see them live.
I suppose this cements my status as the fogie being mocked in that old ad campaign, “If It’s Too Loud, You’re Too Old,” but it just doesn’t sound like music to me. It’s too manufactured. Vocoder-vs.-guitar will always be, for me, a losing battle.
But next time a hip-hopper comes to Western Hall, I might just shuck out the bucks and go—if only to prove that I can leave the house without a fanny pack.
–
Kim 
You know, one of those geese once bit Levi on the back. They are evil!