HudMo, Henny, and a Boy Named Tity: Adventures in Urban Lifestyle Marketing

All photos courtesy of Hennessy

The venue is, of course, at capacity. For a while, a booming fireworks show over the nearby Hudson River distracts us from the brouhaha outside this Hennessy limited edition bottle launch party. Yet soon after all the colors and shapes subside we become a restless mob of pleading debutantes and don juans in various states of dress. We just want in. We know someone important. There’s only four of us.

A casually dressed man signals to an impeccably coiffed friend on the other side of the rope, who shrugs and grimaces with genuine remorse. “You know I just got out the kitchen,” the momentary have-not implores, alluding to something obvious to anyone within earshot who’s heard a Fetty Wap song before. “Gimme five minutes, I'll let you know” proves to be the best his natty pal can do.

Such bartering--be that of drugs, sex, or power--doesn’t alone change the policy. The swarm of security and staff circling the Highline Stage’s entrance dutifully denies, apologizes, and avoids, all coping mechanisms to deal with the fact that New York’s fire marshals and law enforcers love to show up and shut down. This isn’t some downtown nightclub operating under shady premises run by some sketchy promoter and his goons. This is a Hennessy party; this is serious fucking business.

The French-headquartered LVMH Moët Hennessy • Louis Vuitton boasts a respectable beverage portfolio, albeit one that stretches the definition of luxury to include Belvedere vodka and Cloudy Bay wines alongside formidable libations like Château d'Yquem and Dom Pérignon. A flagship product for the company, Hennessy enjoys its status as one of the world’s most valuable liquor brands. Much of that success has to do with the way it is marketed. In line with a history dating at least as far back as the early 1960s with the hiring of African-American Olympic athlete Herb Douglas, the 250-year-old spirit continues to effectively court black consumers with impressive and often celebrity-featuring campaigns. Before Nas was shilling soda pop for Sprite, he starred in one of Hennessy’s dramatically staged, beautifully shot commercials, a fitting ouroboros for a rapper who first namechecked the cognac on his 1994 debut Illmatic. Hennessy V.S. also helped support his Time Is Illmatic documentary.

A client of award-winning advertising agency Droga5 since 2011, in recent years the brand has sponsored LL Cool J-hosted dinners around the Grammys, bestowed one of its proprietary Privilege Awards to Carmelo Anthony, and collaborated with Shepard Fairey to design limited edition bottles. The latest such project teams Hennessy with Manhattan-based artist Ryan McGinness for a V.S. bottle, ostensibly the reason for this particular event. But, to be honest, we’re all here queueing interminably and loosely for the free Henny and performances by 2 Chainz and Hudson Mohawke.

Even with two distinct waiting zones—one for general guest list and one for V.I.P.s and press—there’s no clear reason for those who end up exceptions to the capacity rule, of which there are several. The disgruntled yet not discouraged young men ahead of me in our amorphous queue posit theories, though most likely these chosen ones are LVMH employees, stakeholders, or partners. Still, by some stroke of dumb luck or the comparative rarity of my particular namedrop (“I’m on HudMo’s list”), I’m singled out from the masses after an hour of polite patience on my part, fortunately just in time to catch the beginning of the globetrotting Scottish DJ/producer’s hour-long set.

Inside, a pervasive glow-in-the-dark theme dominates the space, save thankfully for the restrooms. In the lobby, the walls feature McGinness’ art, while a handful of women stand at a table with fluorescent handstamps, apparently optional. In the main space, a long bar staffed by several handsome helpers doles out three cocktails featuring the same Hennessy V.S. housed in McGinness’ bottles, each one sweeter and more easygoing than the last. Nearby, ladies dressed in all black with neon glowing face paint invite attendees to pose for photos against customizable backdrops akin to the artist’s style. Passed hors d'oeuvres of the precious fish on tiny cracker variety prove scarce, though nobody here intended to make a meal of it.

Positioned off to the side on the room’s stage, HudMo’s set starts strong with a mix of Kanye’s “All Day,” a nod to the producer’s own credits on Yeezus. From there, he teases some grime before switching up to Ginuwine’s “Pony.” The crowd responds as the anticipates, blending hot tracks off Future’s DS2 with his own TNGHT anthem “Higher Ground.” I first met HudMo a few months back at a Brooklyn used record store for a magazine piece, and his transition to a short run of R&B throwbacks from Anita Baker, Chaka Khan, and Minnie Riperton confirm much of our crate digging commiseration. It’s the sort of genre-defying set that one never hears at a New York hip-hop event, and from my perch of imbibement the responses range from pleasant surprise to genuine joy. Towards the end, he pays appropriate homage to the city’s rap gods with cuts like “C.R.E.A.M.” and “Juicy,” but those in attendance hopefully will remember the set for sexy curveballs like “Ain’t Nobody” and “Inside My Love.” DJ M.O.S. follows HudMo’s set with far more predictable fare, with predictably Pavlovian results.

Like a good culture reporter, I position myself close to a doorway where, given the security scrimmage, it’s clear 2 Chainz will emerge from. And emerge he does, cloaked in a white pullover that resembles the toothsome lovechild of a poncho and a hoodie. I snap a few atrocious iPhone pics before he rushes to the stage, “All Me” already playing, him copping the mic on cue for his verse. Staffers actively and aggressively pass out glowing plastic necklaces and foamy oversized rods while Tity Boi spits over K Camp’s “Cut Her Off” in sunglasses. (The hooded poncho disappears swiftly.)

The performance largely covers his best known work, be that songs from his own albums or those of others. “Bandz A Make Her Dance,” “Birthday Song,” “Fuckin Problems,” and “Rich As Fuck” pepper the set, though no other guests appear. "I come from Atlanta,” he says. “We've got the best strippers in America." And that, of course, prompts DJ M.O.S. to drop “I Luv Dem Strippers.” During the breaks between songs, he promotes the upcoming Trapavelli Tre mixtape, repeatedly mentioning an August 13th release date, assuring the crowd "so you know I ain't bullshitting."

Roughly twenty minutes after taking the stage, 2 Chainz has adjourned to the V.V.I.P. section, hobnobbing with executives and elites. From my vantage point, I swear Stalley’s there too. A security guard posted up at the roped off area repeatedly denies entry to a cocky would-be gatecrasher, one who attempts to make his case by flashing a billfold. I text HudMo to thank him for the connect and to see if he’s still in the building. My taste for another sugary Henny cocktail having considerably waned, I duck out of the still-poppin’ party craving something to eat more substantial than an artisanal tuna crisp. Outside is quiet, near desolate, the lined-up hopefuls long dispersed or otherwise discouraged. It’s always like this in the end.

Gary Suarez stays going places. Follow him on Twitter.