Rihanna Sets New Record- Invites more than 150 Fans and Journalists to Join Her on a Boeing 777 for 777 Music Tour In 7 Countries!

Rihanna set off for a never-before-attempted world concert series, 777 Tour heading out for 7 days, to 7 countries, to perform 7 concerts. The pop-star invited more than 150 fans and journalists to join her on a Boeing 777 for the experience of a life-time.

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“I am so excited about the 777 Tour,” the 24-year-old singer said in a press release. “We are turning this jumbo jet into our tour bus. We’re practically living on this thing for a week: sleeping, partying, all together. Me, my fans, the press… it’s going to be a wild ride. I wanted it to be a rock n’ roll adventure, and I think when it’s over it will be the coolest thing I’ve ever done. I’m that excited about it,” she added.

Well, apparently the lucky fans and journalist are not feeling so lucky. Our friends at gawker.com asked one of the Rihanna 150 to tell them the story of their sleep-and-bathroom-deprived captivity and this is what they reported:

Here’s the thing: on the surface, it sounded like so much fun.

Seven glamorous cities (or, okay — six and Toronto) enjoying a private plane, intimate performances, free hotels and star-studded after parties with Rihanna.

Even if you’re not the biggest fan of her or even of pop music, it doesn’t sound so bad. Some of us bragged on Facebook and Twitter. Our friends asked: would there be WEEEEEEED on the plane? Would Chris Brown show up? Are you going to try to have SEX with her?

And we were like, Totally, guys. Totally. I’d be lying if I say I wasn’t doing a whole lot of hubristic “U MAD?”-ing to blogger friends and people who made fun of my teeth in high school.

And at first, it all seemed like it was going to go so well. She “interacted” with us on the first day, sloppily pouring champagne into our outstretched plastic tumblers, demanding that we spend the week “partying” with her, and even challenging a sexy young English journalist to a “Zoolander”-style plane aisle walk-off.

Maybe, MAYBE I idly entertained thoughts of Rihanna and me, walking arm and arm into one of those cheap nail salons. We’d wear huge-logo sunglasses and read about her in foot-bath-splashed US magazines, still so giddy from brunch that I tell that dude-with-the-funny-balls-story that even the nail technicians laugh softly while gently removing her previous Swarovski gel pedi.

But after that first, coruscating appearance, Rihanna was gone. And I do mean gone.

I hesitate to say that she looked visibly drunk or generally “on some of the hard shit” during her performances, so let me just say that we came to expect a three hour delay before she went on every night.

She barely does any of her own singing, which isn’t a huge pearl-clutcher, but at least Britney danced a little. For Rihanna, just licking her lips during a song constitutes a taxing, elaborate physical routine that deserves a couple of mid-performance tequila shots.

The fans who won seats on the plane from radio and Internet promotions went from feeling a little disappointed that they hadn’t seen more of the main attraction to wondering miserably when they’d be able to sleep or go home. That is not something you’re supposed to feel when you win a fabulous contest, probably.

The journalists agonized vocally and collectively about how to post anything resembling newsworthy on a daily basis. What do you file when you are rarely allowed outside of buses or planes or hotel “day stays” (read: naps, for those who can take them) except to see some visibly bored Barbadian wearing a t-shirt as a dress doing robotic, indifferent karaoke?

The shows are hilariously rote. “What the fuck is up, Mexico City?” “What the fuck is up, Toronto?” “What the fuck is up, Paris?” “What the fuck is up, [Insert Epcot Center City Here]?” followed by a tight sixty minutes of lip synching and lethargic thigh-slapping.

At least Johnny Cash did his own singing, and when he was too drunk to do that, occasionally collapsed into the footlights to give everybody a little thrill.

© 2012 Ngozika Nwiro. All rights reserved.