Below The Fold

Represent, represent

Last night’s A Tribe Called Quest show was arguably the best Hip-hiop show I’ve ever been to. In fact, it numbers among the top 5-10 shows I’ve ever seen, regardless of genre; which I think is an especially difficult category to break in to for Hip-Hop (maybe I’m an elitist, but I tend to find musicians actually playing instruments to be a bit more impressive than a DJ and a couple of MCs…)
Top to bottom, from the beginning to end, it was a perfect bill.
The Procussions opened the show, a Colorado Springs-bred trio (not including their DJ) that sounded like a cross between Kanye, Rage Against the Machine and the Beastie Boys (Mr.J.Medeiros, the Puerto Rican MC with a Mohawk sounds dead like Adrock). Their DJ (didn’t catch his name) was impressive, and they were a perfect warm up.
Next up was Rhymefest, a.k.a. Che Smith, who co-wrote Kanye’s breakaway hit “Jesus Walks.” Viciously intelligent and sharp-witted, one of the highlights of the night was him wading into the audience and freestyling on playing in Denver: “I think R. Kelly Killed Jon Benet Ramsey.” His performance was nothing short of bombastic.
And then the headliner.

Probably my all time favorite hip-hop act (the whole Native Tongues Posse was in my changer growing up; Tribe, De La, Jay-Beez, Das, Black Sheep… I couldn’t get enough of the East Coast sound. The Low End Theory, in my opinion, is the finest hip-hop album of all time.
Seeing them live for the first time, Q-Tip was electrifying. He was humbly confident; a man at peace with himself enough to know how revered he was in the room, and simultaneously thankful for the adoration without feeling like it was deserved. Though the production brilliance of Tribe’s music suffers a bit under the live stage’s bright lights and struggling soundmen (feedback rang out three or four times during the set), the groove was molasses and honey, and the vibe ebullient. I couldn’t wipe the grin off of my face. Except for this one moment:

An added bonus, my hook up at the Fillmore provided us with VIP seats in box number 1. The box jutted out ahead of all the rest of the boxes, and Amy and I were alone (until we ran into our friend Wendi and her friends, who crowded in towards the end of the show. By then we didn’t mind the extra company. Except the guy I told to move when he tried to snag out Amy’s spot when she went to the bar. He looked like he was about to cry). The view was unobstructed, and we didn’t have to jostle elbows down here:

The only damper on the evening was having to cross paths with the occasional juggalos milling about after the show, thanks to the Insane Clown Posse show down the block at the Ogden. Worst fan base ever.