So I saw Blackalious at B.B.King's this past Saturday with Jay-Z, Ken Tailey and Ken's friend Gravy. It turns out Gravy knows more about cheesy 80's romantic comedy than any man should, but he did earn major points by showing much love to the consistently overlooked, Some Kind of Wonderful. Eric Stoltz (yes!) stars as a Keith, an artist/mechanic (he's good with his hands) and social misfit who lusts after the "hottest girl in school" (who frankly, needed to show a little more skin). There is a montage shower/date-prep scene soundtracked by a tune of the same name as Lea Thompson's softly sexy yet unattainable screen persona "Miss Amanda Jones." And Mary Stuart Masterson plays Keith's dykish tomboy of a best friend Watts, who alternately bangs her drumsticks and insults Keiths's dream girl to hide the fact that she wants the kid's cock and a pair of diamond earrings on which the idiot spent his entire college tuition (his "future"). This film marked the climax of eighties cinema, my friends. Gravy, you kick ass for knowing it.
80's movies don't have much to do with the actual Blackalicious performance, unless we're talking about the dress code of the audience. I was sort of expecting a hipster-heavy turnout at the show because of a Blackbook article I scanned a couple weeks ago, which made it apparent that Blackalicious is the default "favorite rapper" of nearly every up-and-coming indie musician.* I didn't expect to see a solid sea of cropped leggings, mismatched garments and matted, overgrown locks, however. I mean, who wears a blazer to a Blackalicious concert? And where were the homies at? Blackalicious is now to indie music what J5 was to the jam band scene. The group brings smooth, easy hooks, intricate, literary lyricism and messages more palatable to trust fund hipsters** than say, Ghostface's "Whip You With a Strap" (one of the more poignant and compelling jams on his latest, Fishscale). It's wasn't too hard to picture the misplaced audience grooving to the liberal slang of "Paragraph President." But the crowd (aside from the front four rows of devotees) remained fairly stiff and composed. Too bad these kids only know how to dance to Joy Division.
Perhaps I'm not giving this concert experience its due. Gift of Gab was spot-on, as he always is when he shows up (two out of four times I've seen Blackalicious he's been mysteriously absent), spitting out classics like "Chemistry Calisthenics" and his Speedy Gonzalez freestyle with equal effortless flow. Plus, you can't undervalue the company of Ken Tailey, who does an awesome hip-hop shuffle to "Deception," while hollering, "Laaaaaa-da-di-da..." But two months ago I saw Big Daddy Kane take the stage at the Nokia Theater and motherfucker! That place was rank with down-and-dirty energy. Fists pumped the air and lyrics spilled out the mouths of worshippers - natural, uncontainable. Sweat and heat and sauce and love mixed in that pit below the stage and you felt on fire in the middle of it. Now, Big Daddy Kane was no doubt the highlight of the night (the headliner was the awesome-on-record, mediocre-in-person MF Doom), but all that hip hop show seemed to have in common with the one I just saw was a familiar smell and happy cloud of smoke overhead.
Again, this isn't to say that I didn't enjoy myself or that Blackalicious didn't put on a great performance. The encore, always the highlight of their shows brought longtime tour companions The Lifesavas and other openers and guests out in a freestyle free-for-all, ending with a choice exhibiton of Gift of Gab's slick rhymes. But the line that stuck in my brain was one he called out mid-set:
"...I cross the bridge to Brooklyn..."
When met with a deafening roar from an audience of mini Julian Casablancas', I couldn't help but remark underbreath, "I'm pretty sure he didn't mean Williamsburg."
*Side note regarding the "Favorite Beatle" category: None of you fuckers give Paul McCartney ANY fucking credit.
**I want a trust fund.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
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1 comment:
i like crossing the bridge to brooklyn. you should try it sometime. good times.
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