Charl Blignaut
SAY what you like about the Tevin Campbell concert at the Standard Bank arena in Johannesburg last weekend, the highlight of the evening had to be the crowd.
Mingling at the slightly tame Radio Metro bash beforehand (I mean, what radio station hangs banners saying ‘Where the music talks’ and then doesn’t play any at their party?), the party-goers heard a roar from the crowd and rushed to the window to see if the concert was starting. It turned out that all that had happened was a stagehand had crossed the stage.
By the time local whiners Devante hit the stage the kids up front went ballistic. Nudging past Romeo Khumalo and Basetsana Makgalemele and neatly side-stepping Michelle Constant, I headed straight for the bar to drown my Devante-induced sorrow. I know we dig America and all, but these little clones even speak in American accents between their ripped-off songs.
By the time Tevin came out, they almost had to hose the crowd down. And, to my amazement (having ordered a triple in preparation for his breed of tune), the boy came out funking.
His set continued to surprise, but not nearly as much as his hairstyle. The glam-dread original had actually removed his dreadlocks for the occasion and came out looking a whole lot less posey.