[a] religious moment at OutKast’s ATLast

1. I went to church Sunday. Giant congregation, full of diverse peoples, all celebrating the spirit of our religion. Churchgoers raised their arms, waving them up and down when agreeing with particular points in the sermon. Communal neighbors shared in spirits and substance, quick to offer new friends whatever wealth they could. And when church finished, with no promise of an encore sermon, we went home renewed of mind and soul.

Some might simply say OutKast ATLast was spiritual. And dope. It was assuredly that.

2. Music sounds different wherever you are. I’m not talking context (which can be huge, too) but physical location. Usually, that difference of experience is between songs in the club versus tracks pumped through headphones. But there’s something to be said of how certain music sounds of a city or region or place. Those songs and albums that reach the outside remind us of that place. Heard within their proper context, music can deepen and sharpen, bringing new meaning to the tracks.

People say this about Jay Z and New York all the time, but damn if it isn’t true about OutKast and Atlanta, too.

3. Ever since moving to Atlanta, I’ve committed hard to ATL hip hop. Jeezy, Future, Young Thug, Migos, but mostly OutKast. I can’t get enough. All these artists represent what’s so invigorating and downright fun about Atlanta hip hop. Booty-shakin’ bass, nonsensical lyrics, club bangers, whip riders, and that attitude.

For a long time, Atlanta wanted to be heard (and respected) in hip hop. They felt ignored and you can hear it in the music. It’s not an “us vs. them” thing, but more an “us” and y’all can join but don’t say we ain’t got no voice thing. Don’t disrespect us. ’Cause the South got somethin’ to say.

4. OutKast sounds like Atlanta, but not in some specific way like other artists. They capture all of Atlanta: the bigness of its boundaries and separation of its boroughs. Their music drives straight through all of that, attempting to connect with everyone, of all different backgrounds.

That’s why, at ATLast, you can find more white dudes getting crunk with blacks, Asians, Hispanics, and every other background imaginable. Nobody (really) looks differently upon one another, like everyone’s right to OutKast is the same. Because if you feel OutKast’s music, and not just the singles played on the radio, you’ve likely felt like an outcast once or twice. It’s an obvious interpretation, but the only way to explain the broader sense of community on display at ATLast.

(Side note: I may or may not have been one of the white dudes trying to get crunk.)(Okay, yes I was.)

5.I wish you were there. If you’re reading this, you likely wanted to be. Hearing Andre and Big Boi storming out with “B.o.B,” chanting “Uh-huh, hush that fuss” on “Rosa Parks,” then throwing your hands in the air to “ATLiens.” Listening to Big and Three Stacks tease the crowd in that hospitable, Southern way, so you know it’s out of love. Groovin’ to “Hey Ya.” Singing along with “Elevators.” Vibin’ to “International Players’ Anthem.” I wish you were there for all of that.

Oh man, I wish you could’ve heard Erykah Badu wail on “Humble Mumble.” If the opportunity to listen to Ms. Badu croon ever presents itself to you, drop everything and take it.

But yeah, y’all should’ve been there.

6. Killer Mike called OutKast “the Rolling Stones of rap” at ATLast. That feels right. Except OutKast likely won’t be touring year-in, year-out, cashing them checks on people’s nostalgia. Big Boi could maybe do it, but Andre 3000 never looked completely comfortable on stage. He enjoyed himself, but never seemed to let go, transform within the moment of the performance. It’s okay that he didn’t. It probably wouldn’t have felt right if he did.

7. It’s the community I’ll miss, though. How connective OutKast’s music is to its fans. I haven’t been here long enough to root myself deeply, to establish connections with the people and places, but I’m starting to get it. My favorite part about Atlanta is how resolutely weird everyone can be, how of themselves they are. Nobody really cares about the empire of “cool” around here.

OutKast brings that out in everybody. With Andre it’s obvious, but people never give enough credit for how equally strange Big Boi can be. (Actually, people never give enough credit to Big Boi at all. Stop that.) That’s why they’ll always be Atlanta’s own.

8. OutKast let you embrace yourselves, I think. Maybe I’m reaching, I don’t truly know. Maybe I’m high off the experience and still can’t distinguish it properly. But whatever this is, I’d like to hold onto it as long as possible.