I’ve never thought about Pitbull’s live show, really. I was aware, in some sort of periphery of my mind, that he had a Vegas show and has toured the world (hence the, uh, name), but attending one of his concerts? Not really something I’d ever thought about real life humans doing. Stepping onto the platform at London’s North Greenwich station, then, was a shock.

You’d be forgiven for thinking a Vin Diesel lookalike contest was in town, as the thousands of people surrounding the O2 Arena – men, women, and those in between – had donned suits, ties, fake goatees, and rubber bald caps in celebration of the man himself: Mr. 305. The surprise continued in the arena itself as I came face-to-skull with around half of the 20,000-capacity venue in bald caps. I didn’t get it. I’m still not sure I do. But… the vibes were very good. And, like any decent cult, it’s starting to sway me. 

With more than 64 million monthly listeners on Spotify and 25 million albums & 100 million singles sold worldwide, Pitbull is no small-timer. An obvious statement, I’ll grant you; but something I needed to keep reminding myself across the next two hours of my night.

I’ve now learned that Pitbull is kind of like a force of nature. Not like a harrowing hailstorm or some kind of world-ending tornado; more like an ever-moving maelstrom on a sunny day.

The instant he exploded onto stage, gyrating to every microbeat, atop a digital yacht and surrounded by dancing women, Pitbull floored it and never let off the throttle. 

I’ve perhaps never seen a man move so much, so powerfully, so energetically for hours. It was almost inhuman. A sight to behold.

And Pitbull’s stage presence was truly infectious, as well. From Don’t Stop The Party, International Love, Gasolina, Feel This Moment, Timber and beyond, the 44-year-old created a visceral party atmosphere that was eagerly lapped up by everyone in the room.

For hours, the floor didn’t stop shaking. People of all ages screamed both his name and his lyrics to him, moving their bodies to his unique and powerful dosage of Armando energy in the process.

Obviously, this icon needn’t had done anything, really. The O2 Arena was packed to the rafters – quite literally. And the bald capped-attendees on the floor were squashed together like I’ve never seen before. But no one seemed to care.

While the man himself was almost flawless, the biggest fault in Pitbull’s show was that he didn’t go hard enough.

The O2’s stage was stunted to its shortest state, with lots of the star’s room taken up by dancers and the band. Pitbull could move – and a runway could have elevated his performance a little, giving him some room to do so further.

What’s more, some excessive gimmicks throughout the show would have gone a long way with his particular crowd – and certainly would have magnified his entire shtick. While he had streams of smoke and dry-ice hitting the stage accenting his hits, that’s where the fun stopped.

Absent were the confetti cannons, tee-shirt cannons, live audience cameras. No pyrotechnics during Fireball? Come on! That’s an easy win! Without all of these bells and whistles the show as a whole seemed a little half-baked.

And, frankly, after Pitbull’s 15th positivity-injected rap-verse-feature-chorus track, his sheen wore off – just a little. If he were to include a few of these additions in his next tour, he could actually be on his way to becoming some kind of extravagant stadium-filler (no, I really mean that).

Alas, I don’t think that’s what Mr. Worldwide is aiming for. And he probably doesn’t need to. With two sold out O2 Arenas at his literal feet, he’s doing all right.