After Trey Songz dire performance opening for Mariah Carey a year ago, only the excellent “Can’t Be Friends” convinced me it might be worth another visit opening for Usher.
I split the difference and arrive late.
The noise at MSG was louder, and higher in pitch, than the Rangers trouncing the Devils in their first game in the playoffs back in 2008. Louder and the same pitch as Justin at Jingle Ball a coupla days earlier. Louder than Usher an hour later.
A pain inducing roar of pure lust as the ft as the Situation Trey tore off his sweat drenched tee, put it down his pants, and asked who wanted it. Apparently, I was the exception that proved the rule.
Trey sexually exploited himself to the delight of the girls, but he also provided glimpses of excellent soul junk r&b. A superb tour de force on “Neighbors Know My Name”, ending in a modified strip, was followed by the superb tale of love and friendship and the limitations of both “Can’t Be Friend” and finally a knockabout “Bottoms Up”.
So no, I’m not going home with Songz, but if he wants to buy me a drink and promises to keep his hands to himself we can talk.