|
 |
 "Signs You're Ready for a Hammer-Sized Fall" Part Two of my thoughts on the opening of the Sprite Liquid Mix Tour By Tim Molloy  (Editor's note: In our last installment our heroes wrestled with the coolness ramifications of going to something called the Sprite Liquid Mix Tour, decided they had nothing to lose, met an MTV veejay, and saw the infallible N.E.R.D. taunt security guards who tried to hold back hundreds of fans they'd invited to the front row. So here goes Part Two.) "Who's better, Ted -- N.E.R.D. or the Beatles?" "N.E.R.D." "N.E.R.D. or Public Enemy? "N.E.R.D." Me and my younger brother have this conversation as we make our way to the side stage to see Talib Kweli. His entire production consists of him, his DJ, and two backup singers, who have harmonies kind of like the I-Threes except that there's just two of them. It's brilliant. The beats are dope and Kweli's delivery is aggressive and smart. T.K. is as good as N.E.R.D. if not better, with impeccable rhymes like, "These cats drink champagne to toast death and pain like slaves on a ship talkin' 'bout who got the flyest chains." After the set we again march back to the main stage. "Who's better Ted? Talib Kweli or Elvis?" "I'm gonna say Elvis for the sake of avoiding controversy." We stop at a food tent to order what turn out to be the worst chicken burritos of all time. "Excuse me," I ask the girl behind the counter. "Is this where they're having the freestyle battle?" Of all the people today who've had me ask them this question, she is the first to consider that I might be putting her on. We take our burritos and she's still looking at me like I'm retarded. She is awesome. On the way to the main stage I see some of the same security guards who tried to hold back the crowd while N.E.R.D. frontman Pharrell urged them forward. The more I think about it the more I think that sucked. There's something very wrong about a millionaire who gets his checks signed by a massive company like Virgin trying to claim that a bunch of $10-an-hour security guards are The Establishment. "Excuse me," I say to a guard who looks like a slightly shorter version of 80s wrestling icon Big John Stud. "I just want to tell you I think all that criticism during the N.E.R.D. set was totally unfair. You're all doing a great job." He nods. "If I wasn't working I would've grabbed him off the stage and kicked his ass," says the guard. Funk-punk-rock-reggae-roots-ska-trance-dancehall-hyphen-hyphen-hyphen icons 311 start their boring, boring set. The highlight is when lead singer Nicholas Hexum introduces what he says is a brand-new song. The chords sound strangely familiar, and I wonder where I've heard them before. Then, to my right, young Ted begins to sing in perfect time and melody with the music. "Fell in love with a girl Fell in love once and almost completely She's in love with the world But sometimes these feelings can be so misleading... "She turns and says are you alright? I said I must be fine cause my heart's still beating Come and kiss me by the riverside, Bobby says it's fine he don't consider it cheating, no..."  Alt-rockers 3-11 In the anti-racism magazine I picked up earlier in the day (see "Dear Pharrell": Part One of my thoughts on the opening of the Sprite Liquid Mix Tour) the group explains that their name does not refer to three Ks, even though K is the 11th letter of the alphabet. Good to know. The set ends, and a lot of people in the crowd are obviously really psyched for Jay-Z. There's a happy mood, and a DJ somewhere offstage begins playing the Black Sheep classic "The Choice Is Yours," my favorite song ever. I'm thinking that it's kind of neat that a hip-hop artist is the driving force behind a good-sized summer tour. When I would go to festivals in high school and college it always seemed like there was token rap group among the rock acts that people had actually come to see and that the group always sucked. Like the third year of Lollapalooza where Arrested Development came out to educate us to sleep and then the headliner was Primus. The stage goes dark and a film begins. It seems like we're in for an elaborate and admirably arrogant opening to Jay-Z's set. But no, it's a preview for an actual film, "Paid in Full," produced by Jay's own Roc-A-Fella Films. The three main characters, one of them played by real actor Mekhi Pfifer, are introduced as "The Dreamer," "The Soldier," and something else I can't remember. Maybe "The Player." Ten minutes go by and the curtain comes up on Jay and a huge backdrop of a tenement facade with glowing skyscrapers in the background. The DJ sits high up on a platform built into the facade. It feels like something out of the early 80s and I think for a while it's pretty cool that Jay is doing something so straightforward yet grandiose. He's wearing a lot of platinum, or something shiny, and it's clear that of all the people on the bill today Jay has the flyest chains.  Roc-a-Fella: The Bling Soon dozens of members of Jay's Roc-a-Fella Records entourage join him on stage. They include, but are not limited to: *Freeway *Damon Dash, who with Jay is co-CEO of Roc-a-Fella Records *Memphis Bleek *Beanie Siegel *a lot of guys riding silver tricycles Jay's entirely uniformly talentless crew treats the audience to relentlessly boring previews of their own upcoming albums. I look around and notice that very few people are smiling, nodding their heads or reacting in any way. Bored, I sit down with my hands over my ears to protect them from the rattling, toneless bass, and it dawns on me what Jay-Z has become, or perhaps always was: a commercial for a commercial for a commercial. Come to the concert where you're told to buy the Roc-a-Fella albums where everyone promotes the Roc-a vodka (there really is one) and to see the Roc-a movie where everyone wears Roc-a clothes. A choose-your-own-Roc-a-shopping adventure that never ends until the day that Jay finally stops being 30 seconds ahead of mainstream trends and finally falls 30 seconds behind. Wu-Wear, anyone? At some point Jay previews the first track on the followup to his last studio solo album, "The Blueprint." Creatively titled "The Blueprint 2," it apparently begins with the Notorious B.I.G. visiting Jay in a dream.  Cowardly murderer Biggie Smalls Also, why have we raised B.I.G. to the level of esteem usually reserved for slain civil rights leaders? And now that the Los Angeles Times has accused Jay's old pal of playing a B.I.G. part in Tupac's murder, will Jay have room in his basement amid the copies of his R. Kelly collaboration for all the master tapes where he name drops Notorious? Jay divides up the crowd into two sides and commands those on the right to yell "Nigga what." Those on the left are to yell "Nigga who." I look around appalled to see who complies, and note that a ghastly woman in a cocktail dress, tanned but still very-Anglo, is laughing and shrieking the N-word just like Jay requested. It is at this moment that I resolve to write a scathing article for lunchboxing.com. By the end of Jay's set I've devised a list of sure-fire indicators that a rapper is due for a Hammer-sized fall: 1. You have 80 people on stage at any given time, at least 74 of whom are just standing there. (All of things on this list actually happened.) 2. Producer Damon Dash stops the show to give you a trophy commemorating your record sales. 3. A personal photographer follows you throughout your performance snapping shots at every possible angle. 4. Thousands of people watch your entire set without nodding their heads once. 5. Hip-hop barometer Tim Molloy thinks you fucking suck. As we file out of our seats a drunk woman with her leg in a cast yells at everyone not to leave, insisting that an encore is imminent. She screams. "I'm not done with you, Hova!" "Excuse me," I say. "Do you know where they're having the freestyle battle?" The End |
|
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
| lunchboxing.com 2003 | all content © | all rights reserved | suck it so hard | feel the rhythm of the night |
