Surrounded by sixteen year-old girls in several states of strip and forlorn guys who must have been dragged there by their girlfriends, we have our way into what must finally be one of the best concert venues in London. Aside from the obvious positives of existence in such a huge arena - no winding queues around the block - the sizing and acoustics are truly awe-inspiring, and are I`m sure what every artist aspires to do for.
At the very likeness of sound, the acoustics in the way are immediately reverberated around and backward into every tree of your brain. It makes me wish every concert was performed here, in the O2 Arena.
Chipmunk opens the evidence to a relatively unresponsive crowd. Gallivanting about the point in an attack at swagger with a jacket emblazoned with his name he performs `Oopsy Daisy` and `Champion` - imploring the crowd (who don`t love the words) to sing along. And then the lights dim and_ all hell breaks loose for Trey Songz. Screaming girls give up the choir to a part which soars and plunges at lightning speed through a pack of notes - music oozing through his pores in every effort of his gorgeous being, leaving the audience visibly stunned.
However, the eroticism of songs like `The Neighbours Know My Name` and `Invented Sex` as good as his general sexiness are pushed too far by the patency of his approach: bathed in sensual red light, he blows kisses at the hyperventilating (occasionally fainting) girls in the audience, and in between every song, asking which one of them wants to go home with him.
Watching him making love to the air with every lunge of his pelvis, I can`t help but believe that this is a man that must have mirrors all about his bed, just so he can feel at himself while he`s having sex. This is a recurring theme throughout his performance: after crooning a stunning song (`Can`t Be Friends` performed with especially beautiful emotion) he then just overacts. Occasionally he even pretends to cry or asks cringe-worthy questions such as, "Yo, you mind if I get a short bit more comfortable?" before imitating a strip-tease on stage.
Having personally been mad for Trey Songz and thought of Ne-Yo as a bit irrelevant I`m surprised to regain that the audience believe the opposite. And afterwards going the exhibit a few hours later I hold with them. Everything from his entry to his loss is beautifully thought out and executed, refreshingly exuding charm as opposed to sleaze.
Kitted out in a tailored suit and hat, Ne-Yo performs song after song in face of an ever changing montage, performing sketches with the absolutely beautiful (and talented) dancers he shares the point with. The sketches are occasionally funny and occasionally sexy, but always entertaining and hold the hearing the notion of being part of the show. Clearly enjoying his performance, Ne-Yo breaks out into a smile, teasing the interview when they sing, "I`m so ill of jazz songs" ahead of time, before wiggling his thumb at us and signalling when we should start.
A true well-rounded performer, Ne-Yo dances and sings about the beautifully laid out stage - drawing the consultation into his part and the stories behind each of his songs. I will with a new found respect for Ne-Yo: he seems humble, genuine and somebody who, unlike so many of those in the spotlight these days, doesn`t take himself too seriously.
"As tenacious as you keep cheering me I`ll continue providing quality music to the world," he says, thanking the crew before bowing and walk off the stage, ending perhaps one of the best concert performances I`ve always seen.
by Alya Mooro
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