Kelly, a soul-boy, is a diverse talent, (having written hits for Michael Jackson, Aaliyah, Celine Dion, Jay-Z and Nas) but tonight he uses rap as his back-up (two emcees prowl the stage reciting his lines as six female dancers flit around). Women scream and the Latin-by-way-of-the-Bronx groove of ‘Fiesta’ thunders. A voice booms “will the real R Kelly please stand up?” and he steps forth, pulling the mic from his crotch. A huge block launches three identical men high into the air. Everyone should do it.īy r&b standards, the stage set is impressive. During several costume changes the screens come alive with mini-interviews, a ‘Shaft’ spoof (featuring Ronald Isley) and Kelly cajoling his audience to scream louder. You can believe that this is going to be Kelly‘s last international tour cos he’s pulled out the stops. In many respects, R Kelly is the urban Dr Ruth – he tells it like it is – and for many embarking on their sexual awakening, he’s a point of reference. Biting the pillow, screaming at each thrust, sex. Then three screens appear suggesting you ‘Brace Yourself’ for the sexual overtones of the man who, for the last decade, has been the third person in innumerable teenage sexual relationships. That’s the only way to explain why Syleena Johnson and Sunshine Anderson race through their support slots, reducing the impact of their anti-pain material.
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