BlackStar, Definition
Just like most white suburban kids from my generation, I grew up listening to rap music, much to my father's dismay. If my parents were guided through their adolescents by Lennon, Dylan, Page and Plant, my navigators were Gangstarr, Biggie, Jay-Z, Methodman, and the rest of the Wu-Tang Clan. I had a grunge rock phase, complete with Bush/Gavin Rossdale worship (wish I had hung on to those now chic flannels), but more then half the cds I owned from 1998-2003 were featured on BET's Rap City. I never gave up on rock 'n' roll but I was a product of the times. Hip-hop was popular culture and I was on board.
One of my favorite MC's, whom I became familiar with during this period of my life, is Talib Kweli. His album with Mos Def (BlackStar) easily cracks my top 25 albums of all-time, in any genre. When I heard Kweli was coming to town and that my friend Cliff's band, Matt Reed and TGP would be one of the opening acts I was ecstatic. I contacted my man on the inside to see if he could hook me up.
"No worries," Cliff told me via text message. "I can get you a few free tickets." Wonderful news. This had ‘extraordinary' and 'epic' written all over it. I hadn't been to a hip-hop show since I saw Kanye West in Chicago a few summers back. It really wasn't all that great; an amazing interactive stage, lots of smoke, lights and other effects. But he was the only one out there; THE WHOLE TIME! No guest rappers, no band, no dancers. Just a whole lot of Kanye, gotta love ya some Kanye ... he does. The United Center was over run with white, 14-year-old girls, wearing braces, training bras, and don't forget the Venetian blind shades. I've never looked at the man the same since ... just being himself doesn't help either (i.e. Bonnaroo '08, Taylor Swift debacle).
This would be different though. Talib was all substance, little style, as apposed to the opposite (see above). I had also been to TGP shows many times before and loved their eclectic electric funk, soul, R&B combination. We were all going to really tie one on for this.
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My phone said 9:45 when I returned home from a busy night at the country club, with a little cash in my pocket. This was a rarity, since the patrons are all members and simply sign the check to their member account, neglecting the tip box they no doubt notice when they are eating out anywhere else. My apartment was nearly full of strangers; brothers of acquaintances, and their girlfriends, a few good pals and my roommate Tony. They had been drinking heavily since six. Obviously I hadn't been as lucky, so some catching up was in order. A bowl or two was passed around and I could hear forgotten but familiar bass heavy beats coming from the idock.
The mood was being set for what lay ahead, but I barley had time to sit down. Cliff had been blowing me up since I left work, warning me that they had over sold tickets and we should hurry to Skully's or we might not get in at all. I promised him I would do a post on their show, so there was little alternative for me but to finish my beer, change, and hit the road.
It was a surprisingly chilly night, even for Ohio in early November. Shivering, I zipped my coat and pulled my collar up to keep my neck warm. The sky was very clear and I was almost able to make out the Big Dipper despite the heavy light pollution of the city, which sprawled around me in every direction like mold on stale bread. BlackStar's Astronomy was suddenly playing in my head; background music in a movie I call my life. As I approached the bar, I could see that two lines had formed.
Unsure of what to do, I called Cliff, who informed me that the line to my left was for pre-sale tickets only. The poor bastards in the right line where trying to buy their tickets at the door. They had no idea that they wouldn't even make it to the guy checking IDs. Waiting in the line which was actually moving, I noticed my friend Janis and her boyfriend, standing in the stationary line to my right. We chit-chatted for a bit and I told them the situation. They were not pleased.
"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," I said shrugging my shoulders. "I'll give you guys a shout after." I gave the door guy my ticket and walked in, feeling like a very important person. I texted Tony and told him to hurry his ass up.
Waiting at the bar, I saw Cliff and our mutual friend Constance K. Cliff is a pretty low-key guy but tonight he was geeked up for his gig. Matching his intensity, CK was (and always is) a bounding ball of energy; ridiculously fun to be around. The last time I saw her was in Chicago, her adopted home, when I was visiting for Kanye. I had no idea she was going to be in town. Matt Reed and TGP were employing her to take some pictures for their Facebook page (fan them). In addition to being a close friend, she is a gifted photographer. All her amazing photos reside at www.eyeshotcha.com ... be sure to check them out. Tonight she was sporting a shiny, black, sequenced stretch top and stylish jeans, both of which which match her personality; a little bit of flare but never out of vogue. She hugged me tighter then my mother does and told me to order a drink on her tab. Feeling classy while jotting in my notebook, I ordered a gin and tonic and began shooting the shit with my compadres.
Facing out, with my back against the counter, leaning on my forearms, I surveyed the scene. It was a cross section of America; blacks, hispanics, asians, arabs and surprisingly high white representation. However, this is not the thing that stuck out the most in my mind but rather the fact that everyone was getting along, mingling even. We had all gathered for the same reason. This was a perfect example of what makes our nation great; the ability for an incredibly diverse population to all unite under a common cause, in this case Talib ... and in Kweli we trust.
Constance K. and I were on our own after the first round, Cliff had to get ready for his set, they were just one of many warm-up acts, pretty customary at hip-hop shows. The first group, who had just started, called themselves the Liquid Crystal Project. They were very mellow, jazzy even, with a strong Roots vibe. The drummer even looked like Questlove, minus the afro. They played some covers, in addition to originals, and scratched samples in-between.
People continued to file in; crowded wasn't the appropriate word. Teeming or squished came to mind. I felt like a spawning salmon trying to swim up stream the few times I got brave enough to try and take a leek. It was by far the most people I had ever seen at Skully's ... ever. Throughout the night, whenever I saw flashing lights drive by, I held my breath, hoping it wasn't the Fire Marshal, come to shut us down ... or worse. A vision of headlines reading 'Fans Trampled to Death at Rap Concert’ flashed before my eyes. After the first group finished up we pushed our way to the exit leading out back for breathing room and fresh air. Outside we ran into Tony and some other friends.
"Nice to see you made it," I said shaking Tony's hand.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he responded after a long toke on a spliff.
After it was out, the three of us (Tony, Constance K., and me) headed back in. "Make a hole!" she shouted. Raising her large telescopic lensed camera into the air. She acted as our lead blocker, despite being six inches shorter and sixty pounds lighter then both of us. It was assholes to elbows now, beyond dangerously crowded. We parted the masses and made our way upstairs to the balcony, finding a spot just in time for Matt Reed and TGP.
Having seen the guys on several other occasions, I felt like this was probably the biggest crowd they had performed for yet, and it showed a little bit. They started off nervous but finished very strong. It didn’t help that a baboon was working the sound booth as well; the guy was really fucking up. Cliff and his mates took it in stride though, and still managed to kick ass. Matt Reed was the perfect frontman in his debonaire striped dress-shirt, tie, suspenders and fedora. He's got tons of charisma, and works the crowd to perfection. Jeff Trasin’s fingers danced effortlessly over the keys and turntables. His crooning voice is enough to make all the girls we... well you get the idea. Jon Hammond and Cliff’s rhymes are top notch and they all harmonize beautifully together. My favorite part of every show (besides Cliff's percussion) is when they break it down Temptations style on Still Here. The synchronized dance moves are cold as ice.
“Alright, this one is for the ladies,” Jeff said into the mic. Cue the lights, and break it down. All that was missing were the white leaser suits.
As they went through their set, Constance K. was growing more and more fidgety. She couldn't get the shots she wanted from where we had hunkered down. That would simply not do.
"I'm heading back down, to get closer to the stage," she said. We both told her there was no way in hell we were going to fight through it again. We would try to catch up with her later. Watching, as her thick mane of black hair bobbed and weaved through the crowd with a quickness and spunk that equaled the Energizer Bunny’s, we had to credit her on the tenacity.
After the set, we impatiently waited through another act, all the while pounding beers. It was well past midnight and no Talib. One of our friends, from earlier, found us and waited as long as he could before throwing his hands into the air and giving up altogether. Tony and I laughed about it later; not even ten minutes after he left the man himself came out and absolutely killed it. He started off slow, with Brown Skin Lady. From then on, the tempo picked up. Every bar was on point; sharp as knives. The speakers were just right (guess the sound booth got its' shit together) and the speed of his cadence, which I never truly appreciated until I saw him live, was mind blowing.
The Brooklyn based MC did 10-15 bars form his Reflection Eternal hits like: The Blast, Move Somehtin, This Means You and Down for the Count ... all at blistering speed. He even did his parts from some BlackStar songs. The crowd was supremely hyped and no one seemed to be angry about the lack of personal space anymore. All my feelings of worry and impatience melted away. During Definition, Tony's favorite song, I noticed he was standing up on the bar’s foot rest, supporting his weight with his hands in order to get a better view. He was totally shitfaced and enjoying ever second of the show. Surprisingly, no one fucked with him, including the bartenders.
"I can see everything from up here!" he shouted over the bass. He stayed perched up like that the rest of the show. At a break in the action, Kweli addressed his fans.
"I've been in Ohio a lot recently, working on my new album with Hi-Tek (a Cincinnati based producer)" he explained. “Actually, I just drove up I-71 to get here tonight and I seen a lot of heads, between here and there, who love hip-hop. Who's got love for hip-hop out there?" He asked. We responded with ruckus cheers. "I can’t hear you! Ya'll gotta let everyone know how ill Columbus Ohio really is!" He dropped Get By next and everyone had a conniption. After a few new tracks he addressed the crowd again.
"If it's alright with you guys, I'm gonna spin a little after the show. Stick around for the after party, with your man, DJ Kweli."
This was fucking amazing. Talib Kweli DJing the after party? I could only imagine how jealous all of our hip-hop head friends would be. He spun classics like Anti Up by M.O.P, and Biggie's Who Shot Ya? ... ( not to be confused with www.eyeshotcha.com ... seriously, check it out). We danced with some random chicks we saw on the floor as the crowd slowly thinned out. Before we knew what had happened, it was after 2 a.m. and the flood lights were on. Everyone who had looked attractive five minutes ago was now rendered hideous by the unflatteringly bright white lights. We were pretty soaked with sweat ourselves by this point, being up close and personal with a couple hundred strangers will do that. We closed our tabs as C.R.E.A.M by Wu-Tang Clan banged out behind us.
On the walk home, in-between drunk high fives and some street meat, we discussed the events that had transpired. It was easily the best hip-hop show either of us had ever seen and we were thrilled we waited it out till the end. Matt Reed and TGP had won over Tony as well and we looked forward to seeing them perform again soon. We tried to get ahold of Cliff and Constance K. but we were really in no shape to entertain more guests. We made it back to the apartment unscalthed ... for the most part.
"My fucking hand is totally numb dude," Tony kept saying. "I can't figure out why, I hope the feeling comes back by tomorrow." I tried to explain to him that it was probably from supporting his weight the whole time he was on his bar rail perch. Luckily, he would be fine, but for two days after he had no feeling in it what so ever. “Totally fucking worth it,” he kept repeating. We fell asleep on our respective couches fully clothed, TV blaring and all the lights on. And we wonder why the electric bill keeps going up.
Although I truly love (almost) all music, hip-hop will always have a special place in my heart and Talib reminded me why that night. No matter what you grow up listening to, it will forever be the music you associate with your youth. Elvis or Tupac ... it’s really irrelevant. All that matters is that it reminds you of a simpler time, when your biggest problems were how to finish your algebra homework and where you were going for open lunch. When I think back fondly of my time skipping class through the halls of Gahanna Lincoln High, I will always have songs from the Sound Bombing 2 LP and other Rap City classics to provide the soundtrack. We are all products of our environments and whether you’re a white kid from the burbs or (insert your choice of minority) from the inner city some things ring true either way... like a love for good music.
- J.R.
***Be sure to peep Matt Reed and TGP’s latest at ... http://www.youtube.com/thegreenplan
Holy Shit this is Awesome.
ReplyDeleteTrue Story!