El-P. Killer MIke. Mr. Muthaf**kin’ Exquire. Despot.
If you didn’t know who these four dudes are, well first: eat a prune. Second: check the batteries on your 1987 LifeLine. (”You’ve fallen and you can’t get up” etc.) Then: LOOKATTHEPOSTER. Even if you didn’t know who these cats are, if the tribute to Sendak that was the poster for this tour STILL didn’t make you wanna see this show: take the word ‘prune’, replace the ‘rune’ with ‘enis’ and eat that.
Along with Das Racist & Danny Brown, this wild pack of MCs is making a career out of not giving a fuck and attacking rap from beneath, like fuckin’ Tremors. Call ‘em underground if it makes you feel better. All I know is the only reason they stay that low to the ground is to keep their ear to the streets and give us what we need» in this age of soft-as-a-puppy’s nuts ‘hip hop.’ And what do we need, you ask? Boom. Bap. Buh-Boom, Boom, Bap.
End ‘Previously On…’ segment. Cue Opening Titles. On with the show…
Due to Jay’s misadventures in his secret identity of talentless rapscallion Nicole Ritchie, we arrived juuuust in time to miss Despot. Fuck! I really wanted to see him too. I first heard his instantly likeable voice on Ratatat Remixes Vol. 2 (Mu’fuckas that don’t know shit: trust in me and cop Vols 1 & 2 with the quickness! Ees-a-niiice.) In addition to being audibly pleasing he’ll also fuck your mind up with lyrical lyrics. (See: Crap Artists, Get Rich Or Try Dyin’ and his killer bars on El-P’s Tougher Colder Killer.) Also I read what I assume is a self-written (and self-deprecating) bio on Despot that included: “With the work ethic of a hairbrush and the wit of a new sock…” Yo, who the fuck wouldn’t wanna see fuckin’ Sock-Brush rip a mic to shreds?! I will never forgive you for this Jay. Nicole. Whatever your name is…
We DID arrive in time to see the following: a DJ with an Optimus Prime head» Narduar, wearing a shirt woven from an acid trip’s pubes. My homegirl T-Bag. Old high school homey, the happiest man alive, Raul. Mr. Muthaf**kin’ Exquire on stage… wait, WHAT?! Exquire’s on fuckin’ stage already?! AND the side of his hat says ‘Fuck You’?!?!? Punctual rap shows and hats that swear at me? What rad madness is this?! Huzzah!
Aside from having the muthaf**kin’ best name ever, the shirt-hating, obscenity loving Mr. E also crafted the muthaf**kin’ best drunk driving» anthem ever: ‘Huzzah!‘ The original absolutely bumps, and the posse cut remix, (’The Last Huzzah‘ featuring Despot, Danny Brown, Das Racist & El-P) bangs. Nay. GANGBANGS. Bukake!
Despite the fact that no cars are allowed inside Fortune (unless they can transform into robo-headed DJs), Huzzah had the whole crowd swervin’ uncontrollably. Stomping like some leadfooted asshole upstairs neighbours. Yelling along to the contagious chorus. Including me, which gave away my location to the Chernobyl-faced Transformers-trivia-knowing trick. Best to keep it movin’. Jay! To the Red Stripe!
Killer Mike! Like most people, the first time I heard Mike was on the OutKast track ‘The Whole World.’ It was a solid, if not showy, um, showing. But then, next to 3000, the slickest of Ricks appear to stand still, so no foul. Point being: my previous Mike-sposure left me unprepared for R.A.P. Music. Produced entirely by El Producto himself, R.A.P. is a revelation. Now, a nation of millions has already drawn this comparison, but fuck ‘em. It bears repeating: R.A.P. Music is AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted. Killer Mike is Ice Cube. El-P is the Bomb Squad. This album is a forward-thinking throwback to the days when gangster rap had real shit to yell about. (Politics, police brutality, etc.) So, that’s the album. The show?
I liked it. I heard some complaints about Mike’s breath control and backing track. Hey, Mike’s a BIG man. Rapping over the ordered chaos of El-P’s beats. I was out of breath just watching. If I had to choose a bone to pick, I’d say: one too many acapellas and I felt like the set had a few natural spots where it could’ve ended (’The Whole World’ or ‘Butane,’ which brought El-P out for a spirited guest verse and a monstrous ovation) but…. then it kept going. Like the last Lord of the Rings.
Highlights were the aforementioned ‘Butane’ (yeahyeahyeah!) and ‘Go!‘ (my favourite track off R.A.P.). Specifically the part I would point to for proof that the man can rap circles around skinnier, yoga-breathing MCs, 50 seconds in: “Shamalamadumalamashamalamadumalama, even when I ain’t sayin’ shit…”
Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the main event! El. P. Yo.
Ridiculous RETARDED! Hey if we’re gonna “pump this shit like they do in the future,” where better than Fortune, home of the Sarah Connor-hunting Future Assassin Killer Robot GREATEST SPEAKER SYSTEM EVER! (Answer anything other than “nowhere is better, Nuv.” See what happens.) Let’s. Go!
He performed his album, Cancer 4 Cure, front to back. Mr. Killums (the degenerate squirrel muppet from ‘The Full Retard‘ video) was in attendance! ‘Drones Over Brooklyn‘ came out the speaker and impregnated a bitch! Despot, Exquire and Mike all came back out for ‘Oh Hail No‘ & ‘Tougher Colder Killer‘! Jay Haddow was wildin’ out on top of the superduperspeakerstravaganza! Chicks were tying their wrists together and tit-fighting! T-Bag shot some whiskey and ate the glass!The homey Raul did me a solid and took out the Elephant Man-chick with a net just as she was closing in on me! Shit was bananas, B!
Through it all, El-P mastered the ceremony. He had various people on stage rocking Moogs and guitar solos and shit, but make no mistake, it was all filtering through Producto’s prism. I can’t even name a highlight. The whole shit was thumpin’. The whole crowd was one big, pulsing, sweaty, amped mess, tossing itself side to side before Hurricane Producto. And he looked upon us. And he was pleased.
After the album, he did an encore: EMG, off of (best muthaf**kin’ album name ever) I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead. And he went WAY back with the Company Flow track, ‘Vital Nerve‘. “Auto. Matic. Just for my people…” Fuck. I was SCREAMING that shit, and smiling like Raul. Motherfuckers was happy.
You might’ve missed the show ’cause you’ve been stranded on your bathroom floor since Monday afternoon (I told you to check them LifeLine batteries, Grandma), OR ’cause you’re a Were-retard and last night the moon aligned to make you tard-chop your chest and howl “Supahmanunderwear!” at the sky. Don’t worry. It ain’t over motherfuckers. You can still hip yourself to the game. Go get Killer Mike’s R.A.P. Music & El-P’s Cancer 4 Cure. Now. Run a hundred mile before your coffee if you must. Mark my words: these two will be on my (and everyone else’s) top ten come year end. (Do those lists early, just in case, you know. Mayan steez.)
Oh shit! She chewed through the net! RAUL! RUN!!
*Yo, Chris Brown is rapping. If you DON’T think the genre needs some grim and gritty saviors, you’s a ostrich, money…*Powered by Hackadelic Sliding Notes 1.6.5
*I overheard a chick talking about rubbing him… somewhere… to make sure he was an Autobot. First I was like, of course he’s an Autobot. He’s Optimus, ya trick-ass-trick! Then I was like, wait, you’re a chick, and you know about rubbing Transformers to reveal their allegiance?! Combining Hasbro and hand jobs?!? So then I was like: will you marry me? But then I was like, shit, I’m already married. Second but – fuck it: Polygamy! Then she turned around, AAAAAHHHHHH!!! I mean: Hi. Have you met my friend Jay. (Sacrificial sidekick, smoke bomb, grappling hook, AND I’M OUT)*Powered by Hackadelic Sliding Notes 1.6.5
*R2AK does not endorse driving drunk. Matthew. Catch a cab. Chances are the driver is Nuv’s cousin. Supermegayeahracism!*Powered by Hackadelic Sliding Notes 1.6.5