Proud2, London
In US hip-hop, they come no bigger than Rick Ross. The Miami rapper known as Rozay has enjoyed three No 1 albums in his homeland, where he can routinely fill arenas the size of the O2, rather than entertaining one-tenth as many people in this intimate club venue tucked away in its bowels.
That Ross's fame has not travelled over here is arguably down to the fact he is a cartoon gangsta rapper, spitting unoriginal rhymes about guns, girls and grams. With admirable chutzpah, he has maintained this persona even after being outed in the US as a former prison warder, which led to a major beef with a suitably indignant 50 Cent.
He does cut an imposing figure live. Glaring from behind shades and a Brian Blessed-style beard, the 300lb Ross prowls the stage alongside his hype man, Slab, growling his brusque braggadocio over portentous beats from DJ Slick that are heavily indebted both to 90s horrorcore hip-hop and to Ross's own primary musical influence, the Notorious B.I.G.
Ross's lyrical focus rarely shifts from his own entrepreneurial skills, financial acumen and inconceivable sexual prowess, as detailed in Hustlin', Bag of Money and Fuck 'Em respectively. His flow is gruff and halting rather than nimble, while Apple is unlikely to base its next marketing campaign on his boast, on 9 Piece, to be "selling dope straight off the iPhone".
It's subtle as a sledgehammer, but highly palatable as gangsta-rap panto, with a po-faced Ross turning to his maker during Holy Ghost to plead: "Father, please protect me from broke-ness and bitch-ass niggas." Meanwhile, in the champagne bar, an over-emotional VIP fan is arguing with security: "I paid for this table! Why can't I stand on it?"