Nothing beats the crowds of a hometown hip-hop hero, but fans of the young Acid Rap purveyor reached a level of fanaticism those outside of Chicago might not have expected (though his popularity clearly got a recent bump thanks to opening dates with college-crowd fave Mac Miller). Whoever booked this dude clearly underestimated his draw. Situated at one of the smallest stages in a tucked-away grove, it was window-to-the-wall packed, and the closest I could get was about half a football field away. (Above are pictures to each side of me to approximate at 360-degree view of what I was dealing with.) Coupled with a too-low sound system, it was hard to hear whether or not he was good, but it almost didn’t matter, because every person knew every song, from “Pusha Man” to “Everybody’s Something” to “Smoke Again” and “Favorite Song.” Like, multiple punk white girls rappin’-ass-rappin’ along to every single word, verse to chorus, in a way I have not seen since the Dipset days of 2005. He seemed great, but I couldn’t see him, either. Magazines, free tip, put him on your cover now.