Gregory Gagliardi Photos
Last Thursday at the State House, there was a line around the block to hear Lil B talk.
The Berkeley, California-based rapper, activist, and motivational speaker — real name Brandon McCartney — has been a cult hero since he arrived on the scene in 2010 with a single harmonizing the name “Ellen DeGeneres” over a diabolic trap beat; that single has generated 6 million views and counting. He released Angels Exodus and I’m Gay in 2011. Five more albums and collaborations with Lil Wayne and Chance the Rapper followed — but the man has rarely toured. The rarity of Lil B’s appearing outside of Berkeley, let alone in New Haven, heightened whatever energy could not have been already found at a typical Lil B show.
Before Lil B, the Hartford-born JOATA — formerly known as José Oyola and the Astronauts, when Oyola was a fixture of New Haven’s music scene as both a performer and show organizer — took the stage to play his rare blend of infectious rap and indie pop. His bilingual set list, with numerous songs in Spanish, added to his energy and misty voice. A man of pride in family and heritage, JOATA performed with the Puerto Rican flag behind him and ended his set with a poem dedicated to his mother, who sat at the side of the stage with a beaming smile.
After this heartfelt ending to a light and rejuvenating performance, it was time to lose all conscience and free our bodies of despair. Lil B sprinted on stage in a New York Jets jersey to begin over an hour of the most elegant and decadent display of unity, ignorance, acceptance, and the fear of an elbow knocking you out of work for the next month. With long-haired high schoolers in and ‘80s rock t‑shirts to the left and Lil B’s own “bitch mob” to the right, everything was somehow out of control yet in balance.
Lil B’s most loyal supporters — the aforementioned mob — are their own breed. Energetic, optimistic, liberated, and proud, proud to be themselves, the fans unleashed an energy that made the State House a place to dance with and away from demons and into someone else’s arms. A hip-hop head might collide with a skater, but Lil B made it cool for both to be there, to be themselves, to be secure, and to rely on and trust in their decisions, their own beliefs. Everyone was welcome — welcome to scream out Lil B’s obscenity-filled lyrics, and then listen to Lil B give a speech about love. and instruct everyone to extend an empty hand and utter to a stranger, “I love you,” as the instrumental to his collaboration with Lil Wayne, “Grove St.,” pulsated through Generation Z’s eardrums. With the light glowing off his jet-black dreadlocks, Lil B signed off with “I’m God,” his signature angelic anthem. A fitting end to a religious experience.