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June 13, 2004
THE GOD MC, HE, K-HOVA
Thank his daddy he ain't too cool for the safe belt.
The passion of the Kanye was in full effect at Summer Jam, turning tragedy to triumph, blah blah blah. Sure, this heathen was moved when Kanye opened with a 30-deep choir kicking out "Jesus Walks," but the man loses the plot right about the same time he loses his balance. Come the chorus, Mr. Shoulda-Been-Signed-Twice gets his Caviezel on, staggering across the stage doing the titular dance, word to Shaheem.
It has come to this: a dance based on the final steps of the son of God (if you're into that sort of thing) as he took his final nailed-to-the-cross walk. Say word! Errrybody in the chuuuch gettin' tipsy!
Much to my surprise - and that of anyone in the arena over 25 - in the middle of the hours-long show, a hip-hop concert broke out. (Go ahead, call me a hypocrite.)
Mid-bill snoozer Alicia Keys, taking an L in exchange for a street-cred re-up, put zero and zero together and realized her 30 minutes were less well served as an opportunity for snack service than as a view to the ill. After maybe three cuts, she plucked out a few notes of "ABC," and then, inexplicably, Treach emerged spitting the intro to "O.P.P," setting off a medley of Naughty By Nature classics. Afterwards, Public Enemy, with Flav in full effect, teleported in from 1990 for a pair of jams, soon followed by Black Sheep's Dres (no Lawnge?), who was was dapper in all-cream ensemble while kicking "The Choice Is Yours" like Sure Shot Redemption never happened. Finally, Doug E. Fresh - recognized by more children in my section than any of the other grandpas, oddly - closed out the time warp with some of that mouth music Justin Timberlake likes. Unlike most industry fakes, the embraces all these geriatrics gave Miss Keys at set's end were deep and genuine. Thank you, the hugs implied, for saving us from another night filled with Netflix and regrets.
Apart from that, the only honest moments of the night came during G-Unit's set. They always used to say that you knew a song would be a hit if the crowd at the Tunnel erupted into violence. Using that same logic, allow me to pronounce Young Buck's "Let Me In" the bow-throwing anthem of the summer yet to bleed. Just one chorus in, folding chairs began making their way from the crowd to the stage. 50's extended crew - well, they were more than happy to return the volleys. And so began 45 seconds or so of choreographed air ballet, until cops and other shook ones shut it down. 50 licked his lips - "I'm feeling a lotta hate these days." And he wasn't kidding. The rest of the night's bromides -- Sample insult: "Ashanti is disqualified [from finest-R&B chick award] for running with a bitch-ass crew." Sample Yayo outburst: "I'm back. It's over!" -- were pale, but for a few precious, enlightening seconds, 50 tasted the fear. Can he get a witness?
Posted by jon at June 13, 2004 11:02 PM