Get Down On The Get Down

About ½ hour ago I was coming back from the bagel shop when I passed a guy in a suit and eye-patch fixing a candle* for a woman in the street. I love that my neighborhood is home to freelance, door-to-door root doctors, and I expressed that sentiment by nodding and smiling as I passed. A few seconds later, he was yelling and running after me. "This is for you," he said, and handed me a stick of incense that had been dipped in oil.

So I’m burning it now and thinking about roots and history and culture and, of course, hip-hop.

Alien Ness, my b-boy guru, once told me:

"This is the only luxury that the slaves had, was the dance and the music…That’s all we had was the song and dance. ‘Cause they stripped us of the religion. And a big part of that religion was song and dance. So the only thing that they were able to really participate in without getting whupped or killed was the dance. Because anything else would look too much like worshipping the wrong god."

This is his new video, "Rusty Shank’s Operation Get Down". Now "spirituality" may not be the first word that comes to mind when you watch it, but then again maybe you just need to broaden your definition:


As you watch him do those sweep swipes at 00:50, keep in mind that Ness is 41 years old, and consider that there may be something beyond mere physical exertion at work here.

* from Luckymojo:
‘The ambiguous verb "fix" can refer to either harmful or benign magical operations. Generally speaking, when "fix" is applied to an inanimate object -- as in "fixing up a mojo," or "he makes fixed candles," or "she fixed some baths for him" -- the intention is helpful and the word is synonymous with "prepare," anoint," or "dress."’

Now that was...something.

Last night’s free Lauryn Hill concert in Brooklyn was truly one of the strangest performances I’ve ever seen. And, judging by today’s blog response, the question of whether she’s half-crazy or half-sane will not be resolved any time soon…I guess we all see what we want to see…Here’s my view:

After digging Brooklyn Borough President Marty Markowitz’s unfadeable crowd-stalling styles, hearing the longest and most incoherent spiritual invocation I’ve ever witnessed, hearing the staff of every Brooklyn Appleby's introduce themselves on stage for some reason, nodding through Sean Kingston rapping along to Jay-Z’s "Takeover" for some reason, and seeing one of our era’s leading young feminist intellectuals almost hit a cop, it was time to prepare for Ms. Hill’s entrance.

The band got it going. Now, people who know me know I take a hard line on band-vamping: Up to 3 minutes = excellent sense of showmanship; 3 minutes and over = artist locked in bathroom. No exceptions. OK, one exception: when I saw Willie Colon in downtown Brooklyn last summer, he drove his SUV right up to the stage and jumped out, trombone in hand, and joined the band, which had been playing for about 5 minutes. "Sorry I’m late," he explained after the song ended, "my cat fell off the couch."

Anyway, the band took solos for about ten minutes, all the while craning their necks toward stage right for any sign of L-Boogie. Eventually, Lauren hit the stage looking and acting like the love child of Liza Minelli and H.R. from Bad Brains, which is not necessarily a bad thing. They both know how to put on a show, after all.

I did not take this picture:

Basically, about seventy-five percent of her performance consisted of punk rock versions of Bob Marley songs, which would have been excellent...if that was what she intended. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. I mean, seriously, she spent the first 30 seconds of nearly every song urging the band to speed up, which suggests that what she was going for was not so much "fast" as "faster". When the band approached the desired tempo, she would then scream the lyrics as quickly as she could, as if to get them out of the way.

This is how the crowd reacted:

People started walking out almost immediately, which I thought was strange, considering that they had just spent three hours waiting for the show to start. But Brooklyn audiences know what they want, and they know when they’re not getting it.

But here’s the weird part: at several points in the show Lauryn caught a groove, slowed down, and just completely rocked the crowd. I’ve never seen anybody gain and lose and regain and re-lose an audience like that. It was like twenty minutes of folks walking out, followed by five minutes of absolute adoration, followed by another twenty minutes of people on the verge of booing, followed by another five minutes of transcendent bliss. I have no explanation, that’s just how it was.

She left the stage for a moment (Joe Twist rule #354: Roadies not dismantling equipment = encore), and soon returned for a nine-song encore that had us sprinting toward the stage. Two identically-dressed guys were standing on chairs in front of us, and when they turned to talk to each other, I realized it was the Twins, Keith and Kevin, who are considered to be the first b-boys ever. Ever. They just happened to be standing in front of me at the Lauryn Hill show.

Analyses and a songlist can be found at sherealcool. Analyses without songlist at Conny Kate.

Top five most hip-hop moments of the last week, presented for your convenience in outline form and reverse chronological order

1. KRS-One free in Prospect Park last night.

I cannot deny that the Blastmaster knows how to rock a party:



A.
Kris(t)* invited all "b-boys, b-girls, poppers and lockers" up on the stage with him. He also at one point shouted, "YouTube this!" which is either very un-hip-hop or very hip-hop, depending on how you look at it.

B.
"In 1980, I used to sleep in this park! You can’t see it now, ‘cause it’s too dark, but I used to sleep right on this bandshell. And I used to say to myself, ‘One day, I’m gonna rock this park.’ So I’m actually in my dream right now! You wouldn’t even believe how this feels!"

C.
KRS: "Hold up your t-shirt and STRETCH it!"
Crowd: "Huh?"
KRS: "If you want me to sign your t-shirt you have to stretch it out, so I can write on it."
Crowd: "Oh."
[moves across stage signing various items that people hold out to him]
KRS: "You know signing money is a federal offense, right?"
KRS: "You know signing sneakers is insane, right?"

2. Harlem Hop, Jackie Robinson Park, 147th Street, Tuesday

What’s weird is that I routinely improvise multi-hour lectures on complex topics in front of hundreds of people without feeling the slightest bit nervous, but if I have to dance in front of 20 people, I’m a wreck! So at last week’s Harlem Hop (there’s still three left!), certain individuals who shall remain nameless were pushing me to get into the cypher so - against my better judgement - I gave into the peer pressure, and wound up falling. The Original Jazzy Jay tried to encourage me over the sound system, "That’s alright – keep going", which I probably should be embarrassed about, but, ethnographically speaking, I’m actually kind of honored by.

3. Wild Style Anniversary, Central Park Summerstage, last Sunday

In between the *ahem* more traditional old school performers, Rammellzee took the stage and basically hollered esoteric theorems for about 15 minutes. The crowd was nonplussed, but about 5 of us loved it. You can check his web site for a simple, easy-to-follow explanation of his approach.

In fact, here’s a sample paragraph to start you off:

M x A = N has been placed by this unplanned structure colony math to do the concentrating of friction-formation. The equation G x O = D has placed two prophetic universal (not according to this word-formation UNIVERSAL) gambles.

4. "Curfew Breakers" at Rock Steady Crew 30th Anniversary Crew Battle, Saturday

Best. Crew name. Ever. These were a bunch of little kids who entered the battle and no one said anything about it. They just battled like any other crew. Here’s some video that someone took from the night before:



The run that that little girl does (starting at around 2:00) is more hip-hop than 50 Cent’s entire catalog combined.

5. Riding home on the train. Saturday Night.

There was a baby who wouldn’t stop crying, and for some reason, the father felt that taunting it would help. It didn’t. People on the train were becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the whole situation. Then a homeless guy, who was clearly mentally ill, boarded at the other end of the car. He began doing a little dance and reciting religious dogma in both English and Spanish as he moved down the aisle. Those of us in the middle were like getting squeezed between this mad prophet on the one side and the dysfunctional family on the other. Finally, the guy stopped right in front of the baby, who – in its fascination - immediately fell silent. The guy continued to dance in front of the quiet, enchanted baby until I got off the train. How is that hip-hop? Because two things that were totally out of place on their own came together and formed a perfect synergy.

*He’s actually calling himself "Krist Parker" now. You knew that, right?