Just a few rows back from the front of the stage, I watched as patches of brown, well-trodden grass — once largely visible minutes earlier — became steadily occluded by hundreds of feet. I felt shoulders pressing against mine and a noticeable shift in pressure at my back. My arms were suddenly pinned at my sides.
Kendrick Lamar wasn’t set to come onstage for another 45 minutes, but the crowd — mostly drunk teenagers in backward caps and shiny basketball jerseys — was already riled up.
