A show on a Wednesday evening meant that there wasn’t an honest working soul in the venue last night – making the audience exclusive to students, “industry” fuckybergs and professional alcoholics. Since I fit into two of those categories my attendance was required, if only to make up the numbers, so I stumbled through, figuring that worst-case scenario, I’d at least have some subject matter for this week’s column.
I observed a couple of disturbing things upon my arrival, which didn’t bode well for proceedings. For one, the cover charge was $60. The fuck? Secondly, instead of a DJ to warm-up the crowd, there was a video screen with the silhouette of an effin’ DJ, accompanied by a CD. Guess the door charge wasn’t going towards that, huh? After slamming down a couple of beverages, the host for the evening appeared on stage, sounding a lot like someone’s dad emceeing a 21st birthday party. Cue the local support act, which was a guy who rapped while dancing around like a Muppet, as the young people are prone to do these days.
Then Sean Price and his DJ, PF Cuttin’ hit the stage and all was well. Megatron Sean delivered exactly what I want to see out of a rap show – the classic MC and DJ combination with no hypemen/weedcarriers, a bunch of great rapping and minimal crowd participation exercises. P lumbered around the stage with trademark Brooknam nonchalance, and between songs he revealed the science of why everyone who wasn’t a borderline industry fuckyberg like my good self had to shell-out 60 clams – he had demanded that the promoters fly him out Business Class so that he couLd enjoy the pleasures of hot towels, extra leg-room and being addressed as “Mr. Price”. Nicely played, sir.
Once Sean P had finished his set (the highlights being his renditions of “Figure 4” and “STFU Pt. 2”), my buzz was completely obliterated by the appearance of Brother Ali, who Twitter tells me is not only an albino rapper but legally blind. Not having bothered to listen to him before, I attempted to keep an open mind of sorts and give this character a few moments of my valuable time. Joined on stage by his DJ, who resembled an unholy cross between a young Rick Rubin and a member of Nickelback, Brother Ali proceeded to preach his sing-songy sermon to a throng of super-excited disciples. After what seemed like an eternity of Gospel Rap hell, Ali left the stage and I attempted to get a chant for more Sean P going, but the Pale Rider returned instead. FML.