The dancehall queens on Brixton High Road are scarce tonight, considering the ragga feast waiting at the Academy. The electric pink weaves and matching bras are swallowed up by blondes in heels, shifty teenage boys with hoods, Asian women and blokes with spiky hair. It's probably the most multicultural reggae audience you'll find and is testimony to Sean Paul's success - simply, he's one of the biggest-selling reggae acts of all time, and he's done it with only a hint of dilution.
The crowd is hot for him, it's bellowing and throbbing and it only takes one special word,"Dutty", uttered by Sean from the wings, to make them scream. He leaps into the smoke as a vision in white - headband, snazzy jacket with zips - for an explosive rendition of 'Gimme The Light', surrounded by his entourage. There's a big guy with a mic who looks like he could be Sean's brother, a bass guitarist swaggering about, and of course, four gorgeous dancers with silky torsos who provide the customary shaking of the bums.
With all these other people on stage, and a string of hits to unleash, Sean doesn't have to do that much to keep up the adoration levels; even when the PA system gets manically deranged and it all just sounds like noise, or while the DJ-ing gets so fast and monotonal it's difficult to tell verse from chorus or even track from track. It's at these times when, disappontingly, potentially beautiful songs like 'Baby Boy' minus Beyonce and 'I'm Still In Love With You', get churned up in all the roughage.
The big guy does most of the talking between songs, such as "if you want more motherf*ckin music say hell yeah!" (screams) Sean only speaks when he has something important to offer, like when he wants us to say "bumbaclart", or when he finds it necessary to give yet another "big up to all the sexy ladies" (more screams).
It's quite a sight to behold when the crowded stage gets jumping. The dancers in the army pants, Sean with his puppy fat and his beefy spas getting their knees up, the guitarist still playing somehow through all this thudding. It happens at the high points of 'Like Glue' and 'Get Busy', a good old dancehall-aerobics knees-up that gets arms waving in the air and hips swinging and lighters flashing all over the place.
And before you know it, he's gone. No goodbyes or encores, just Sean Paul disappearing into the distance. The Academy is out of time, the lights are on, and Sean Paul is a very busy man.
