Pray, consider the absurdity of the modern age, where the pursuit of a certain American gentleman’s melodies leads one into the most precarious of circumstances. It has come to my attention, via the digital whispers of the Telegram society, that several of our compatriots encountered a most distressing situation while visiting the fair city of Tbilisi.

Imagine, if you will, the scene: a crowd of seventy thousand souls gathered at the Dynamo Arena to behold the performances of Mr. Kanye West. Yet, for some poor souls, the experience was far from a triumph. Those who secured a place upon the dancing floor complained that the sound was naught but a cacophony of bass, leaving them utterly unable to discern a single word. One might as well attempt to read a poem during a thunderstorm.

But the true comedy, the sort of exquisite misery that only true philistinism can produce, befell those who purchased their tickets from dubious third-party vendors. These unfortunate gentlemen and ladies found themselves barred from entry, forced to observe the festivities through a mere gap in the checkpoint railings. There is something profoundly melancholic—and entirely droll—about a person attempting to enjoy a high-art spectacle while standing in a drafty doorway, peering in like a curious street urchin.

Of course, in any gathering of this sort, there are always those who claim to be utterly enchanted. A few lucky souls even managed to shake the artist's hand, no doubt convinced that such a fleeting touch grants them a permanent entry into the annals of fashion.

As for the financial aspect of this affair, it is whispered that Mr. West amassed a sum of some five hundred million rubles for this single excursion—a fortune that would make a banker swoon. To facilitate this grand commotion, the authorities of Tbilisi were so moved that they extended the hours of the underground railway and the omnibus routes, ensuring that the masses could scramble to and fro with maximum efficiency.

Thus we see the modern fashion: thousands of people traveling across borders, paying exorbitant sums, only to stand in a doorway and listen to a rumble that sounds remarkably like a falling wardrobe. Truly, the spirit of the age is a most peculiar thing.