I've been preaching and ranting, extolling and pontificating on music for these past eight years in the hallowed pages of City Newspaper. Some have agreed with me, many have not. I've felt the love and I've felt the hate. Perhaps I've gotten a little predicable. Let's face it; I likes what I likes. But in all fairness, as a critic I have to travel outside my own tastes. I don't have to like it for it to be good, I've just got to believe it. It's no secret; I do not believe in the majority of mainstream music today. Some of it I hate, some of it "hate" doesn't begin to describe. But I repeatedly give it a chance. Saturday night I gave hip-hop another chance.

T-Pain is at the top of the hip-hop heap right now. And though I favor instruments over programming, the energy is undeniable, the controversy palpable. It's hip-hop stars like T-Pain (and Sunday night's no-show, Lil' Wayne) that are living the rock-star life that rock stars have abandoned in lieu of high colonics and yoga. It's a brash and over-the-top celebration, and I salute it. T-Pain and his crew (were they in white face, or were they mimes or clowns?) ran around the stage breaking into periodic bouts of choreography as the crowd pumped up and down upon command. They were more like cheerleaders, and the whole show a pep rally. It was actually a lot of fun.

I dug opener Beanie Man's dancehall grooves a whole lot more as he tried to warm up the crowd. His attempt to get the crowd in on some a cappella Marley fell flat. "Can I go please?" he asked after the last few numbers. Yes and no eventually bled together, and he left.

And I dug the bass. The subsonics were so low they practically changed the Blue Cross Arena's address by a couple yards by the end of the show. The crowd was in constant motion and the closer to the stage you got the more rabid it became. It was infectious and menacing the way rock 'n' roll used to be, and I could feel my hate subside.