Fashionably late, my sidekick Jay & I arrived on the scene partway through the opening set of Rhymesayers’ newest acquisition Grieves and DJ/horn section/guitarist/kitchen sink Budo. Grieves looked a lot like his crowd: baby-faced, earnest, pants too low, hat as purposely off-kilter as his rhymes, skinny (or is that hungry?) and white. Which made his choice of a cover song as surprising as it is inspired: Bow Down. Yep. That one. The epitome of west coast 90s gangster rap. It was the call to arms in the East/West war that ultimately claimed the lives of Biggie and ‘Pac. So, needless to say, when a white dude that looks barely old enough to even be in here announced this as his next song, I perked up ready for one of those ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’ moments where you try to crawl out of your own embarrassed skin. I was dead wrong. The whole song took on an air of irony as Grieves’ sing-song delivery took the bite out of the original version’s bark. It reminded me of that folk version of Boyz-n-the-Hood. Good times.
Even stronger than Grieves was the aforementioned Budo. Grieves recognized this fact and made sure “the mother-fuckin’ backbone” got his props due. The set was good. It helped that the crowd was comprised of Rhymesayer’s faithful, that seemed to know all the words and followed all commands handed down from the stage without hesitation. It was a sea of hands-up-call-and-response-bots sent to power the rappers before them. Which brings me to my one beef (out-of-town acts take note): there is no need to, every few seconds, stop the momentum to engage the crowd in useless Canada/Vancouver/’Poon-tine’(?) banter, designed to get you a quick cheer. Or as they call it in wrestling, a cheap pop. Grieves was actually fairly amusing when he would talk to the crowd. The only parts that made me roll my eyes were when he would throw out wooden local references. We get it. You like us. You want us to like you. 90% of the crowd already did, so it was an unnecessary effort. Also, I’m assuming you meant poutine. That’s Montreal, homey. You can get it here, but it’s not synonymous with Vancouver. You may as well have shouted out “West Edmonton Mall, eh?” Next time compliment our ability to hide all of the homeless people in a compound until the Olympics are over and then release them back onto the steps of the Vancouver Public Library, ready to stink like never before and ask me for a smoke every 14 seconds. Or our tiny population of competent local rappers. Or our abundance of hot women that never get to show off their talents due to our shitty weather. Moving on…
Headliner P.O.S. and his DJ Plain Ole Bill took the stage just after 11:30pm. At once professional and casual, he effortlessly controlled the crowd’s attention for the entirety of his set. He also had his share of Canada-talk, but it seemed less forced. He ripped through songs quickly and concisely, a by-product I’m sure of the lessons learned when he was Punk back before he was Rap. His songs are short, but not in a slight way. More like the gristle has been cut away to bring us straight to the point. The sound, feel and general bombast of the songs owes as much to the Mohawk as it does to the Kangol. Like all of the marquee Rhymesayers (Slug, Brother Ali, Eyedea) Pissed Off Stef is a scenery-chewing monster on the mic, so I was sure going in that, if nothing else, I would see some serious spitting. Affirmative. Most MC’s tongues would be tied in permanent knots after some of the verbal gymnastics employed that night.
That covers the professional. As far as the casual, he at one point informed the crowd that he was an undefeatable thumb wrestler. (It seemed natural in context, though I can’t recall the segue) I can honestly say this was the first time I’ve seen a mob of people chanting “1-2-3-4, I declare a thumb war…” True to his word, he battled and beat four opponents. (If I were refereeing I may have thrown a flag at some of his arm twisting, and he did have the high ground and leverage that came with being on stage, but that’s neither here nor there.)
He did Low Light Low Life with fellow Doomtree (the crew he still raps with despite being signed to Rhymesayers) artist, Dessa, re-affirming my belief that women should not rap. Put your torches and pitchforks down! Barring a few anomalies (Ladybug of Digable Planets, Lauryn Hill, Lady of Rage) you know I’m right. If the song title fits…
He ran through every song I wanted to hear (essentially the first half of 2009’s ‘Never Better,’ plus some) except the one I wanted to hear most: Get Smokes. Which brings me to my one problem with Stef’s set. (And Grieves’ as well.) Numerous times I heard the crowd of true fans, who seemed to know the artist’s entire catalogue, shout out song requests, and each time they were denied. Sometimes they would get a “I didn’t bring the beat for that one”, sometimes a “Next time,” and sometimes just a “I’m not gonna do that one.” Really, guys? I would think, at least at the lower-to-mid level that underground rappers and young mutant martial artist non-reptile critters occupy, you should be ready to provide your die-hard fans with whatever they want, and prepared to rock any and all of your material at the drop of an overly-wordy simile. Then again, that crowd will love you no matter what, so fuck it. Let it rattle, Stef. If your MC-ing doesn’t, your thumbs’ll hitchhike you to the end of the set.
As you were,
–Nuv
THE P.O.S. P.L.AYLIST.
Let It Rattle
Drumroll (We’re All Thirsty)
Savion Glover
Graves (We Wrote The Book)
Get Smokes
Been Afraid
The Basics (Alright)
Out of Category
Terrorish
Half Cocked Concepts
P.O.S. Is Ruining My Life
Click the pic below to view Jay’s P.O.S. galleries. (Warning: They’re not very good)
