Amoeba Culture

One thing you must understand and prepare for before you head into a Crush show: he will try everything in his power to utterly destroy your life. This is no exaggeration. He’s crafted his performance style with as much care and dexterity as his music. The man knows how to put on a show — even more so how to rouse an audience, sweeping all his fans up in a furor and making them nearly catatonic with unbridled affection for his on-stage antics. One fan standing against the barrier behind the photo pit was beside herself. The mere suggestion of Crush’s presence had her in a near fugue state.

There’s nothing quite like the roar of a crowd of adoring fans when the object of their undying affection makes his appearance. It’s something similar to the howling winds of an F-5 tornado, a squall like the finger of God. All hyperbole aside, it became increasingly apparent with every second that Crush not only knew what he was doing, knew the effect he had on his audience, he was dedicated to leaving each soul utterly shattered. Even the security guards, who’d attempted to remain stoic throughout the entirety of the Korea Spotlight, couldn’t help but smile, some fashioning the overt head nod indicative of men attempting to hide the fact that they’re overwhelmed.

Crush is a study in musical balance. Even without the backing of Band Wonderlust, you feel each dip and curve of his music as if he were playing fully loaded with all the trappings of a jazz ensemble. From the opening notes of “Sometimes,” the man’s on a mission. He completely engulfs the stage, almost suffocating everyone in the front row with his charisma. The song ends, silence ensues, and Crush milks the moment for all it’s worth: staring out into the audience with the gaze of a bird of prey. He has captured us all and isn’t intent on letting us go until he takes his final bow.

He flows effortlessly from song to song, giving us the bump and grind of “Woo-ah” only to transition into the smooth jazz inflection of “In the Air.” There are moments of such ingenious crowd interaction I just have to laugh. For instance, blowing a very slow, very deliberate kiss to the audience, eyes serious and focused as if physically planting a quake and quaver in the bodies of all those in attendance. At one point in the show I started protecting my camera whenever he picked up a water bottle.

He’s tender when delivering ballads, practically yanking the screams out of his fans. At one point he falls to his knees — the previous song seemingly wringing him dry for all its heartache. He then launches into an a cappella rendition of “Sofa,” a Jackie Wilson-inspired bit of hallelujah that culminates in a melismatic jubilee in that flawless falsetto of his — candle-wax drip flirtation he brings out when he doesn’t believe his audience is close enough to the edge of their sanity. But he gets downright sinful when teasing us with his R&B, suggestive lyrics like those of “She Said” or “Hug Me” causing a reaction that nearly shakes the Belmont from its foundation.

When Crush has had his way with the audience, wrung every last yelp, screech, and entreaty for his affection from the throats and hearts of his crowd, he takes a deep bow and heads backstage. (Of course, it’s only fitting that he come back out for a few more seconds to deliver a flying kiss and soak up more of that seething adulation.)

Crush absolutely pulls no punches. This is a man with no qualms about snatching the life out of you, and he does it all with his voice. Yes, the interactions were brilliant, his ministrations giving every body in attendance the fits. Even his song choice was calculated. But the unmistakable truth is that Crush is a voice and a mind for music that lends itself to performance. He knows how to work an audience, to send each and every person into hysterics. His voice is the catalyst of it all.

 

 

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