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They say it’s violent….They say it encourages drug use and endorses misogyny and will lead us into urban Armageddon - They say a lot of bad things about it - Well they’re all wrong I tells ya because this hipedy hopody music is really edumacational! Within the first ten minutes of his storming set for a maximum capacity North London audience, spirited emcee/poet Sage Francis was well under way with the cultivation of a genuine pearl of wisdom. After first imparting his recent discovery that all sentient beings possess their own “God Shaped hole,” Sage’s set served to demonstrate how on this night, the god shaped hole of several hundred like-minded rap fans would be fulfilled by one man possessing a head full of insightful lyrics, a placcy bag full of broccoli and a trouser waistband stuffed with a George W Bush doll.
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© CD Goldie/ukhh.com 1999 - 2003, photos © Knut Neerland, rekylfoto.no |
Sage Francis, Boomb Bip & Buck 65 Scala 
It fast became evident that Sage Francis had been taking notes on the stagecraft of his Canadian tour-mate when for this show, his usual repertoire of rigid theatric gestures were to be replaced by a healthy dose of relaxed, amiable banter with the audience. Sure, rock stars claiming that this particular night is the best night so far and that [insert other town’s name] was the worst night ever is a well known cliché used to ingratiate themselves with the latest crowd. However, given how, shortly after his last gig, somebody had stolen a vital CD containing his instrumentals, Sage had good cause to declare “fuck Leeds!” The absence of this essential set of backing tracks looked set to plunge this night’s performance into chaos. Fortunately, the saying “from chaos comes order” rung true and it turned out that this unscheduled anarchy was to prove a happy accident; saving us from one of those “Buy the new album” personal appearances. Having opened his set with a marvellous epic acapella recital of all his lyrics from the Signify album on which Buck65 also appears, what followed was an impressive spread of material drawn from over half-a-dozen albums’ worth of music. Apart from the God Shaped Hole lecture, Sage called upon a series of bittersweet anecdotes drawn from life on the road to segway smoothly between this night’s hurriedly scavenged playlist that included: pitchers of silence, time of my life and Bounce. The most memorable preamble found Sage recounting how customs officials misinterpreted a rucksack full of cash as the ill-gotten gains of a drug dealer (and not in fact somebody who hates banks) simply because the CD which confirmed Sage’s professional identity listed a track called Crack pipes…..Well, once done with an abbreviated rendition of the Sixtoo-produced, angst-filled suite from personal Journals, and once through with head-butting a fresh bunch of broccoli, sage Requested that the echo be turned up on his mic for a dynamic rendition of the ATCQ-influenced new cut Spaceman. This cut in turn lead to Sage serving up a nifty portion of human beatboxing. Sage’s beat was tight and whilst he had a brave stab at flipping beat and vocals at the same time, he struggled to pull off this party trick for long - and sadly, most of the audience failed to take the hint to chant the vocal. Indeed! His impromptu set steamed on with old favourites like veg shop but these interludes were soon curtailed because, no matter how receptive his zealous audience seemed, they proved reluctant to fulfil their part of call-response routines and to speak when spoken to. Sage not only revisited past work but capitalised on the best of past shows. For instance, when selecting further tracks from personal journals, sage re-enacted a moment from his maiden UK show where, midway into Climb Trees the instrumental was to suddenly and continually pick up pace. After jokingly enquiring as to how many of the audience that night had already downloaded his as yet unreleased single “for the love,” the centre-piece of his set was a zesty outing of The Non Prophets’ would-be hit smash Damage. This cut went down terribly well with the audience who were all finally galvanised into playing their collective role during the choruses. However, most of the audience appeared unaware of the origin of the hook and so went largely silent when sage’s recital of the track’s final chorus tailed off into an acapella performance of a chunk of ll cool j’s momma said knock you out. Of course, we were all there to hear one song and Sage saved the best until last! Offering his Bush doll brief reprieve from half-an-hour of depraved misuse, Sage Put apt words into the mouth of his presidential prop with Jello Biafra’s Word from our Sponsors (b.k.a. Ice-T’s Shut up Be Happy). Yet as soon as the grand finale had built up a decent head of steam, Sage reverted to pleasuring himself with this effigy of the world’s most powerful man. The earnest discontent of the anthemic satire Makeshift patriot stood in marked contrast with both Sage’s antics on stage and the mood in the venue - especially when a deluge of broccoli florets rained down upon the front few rows of the crowd.
Allowing me precious little time to reup at the bar, it could not have been more than two minutes before the night’s second emcee took to the stage. To my knowledge, Buck65 has never given less than 100% for any performance. Unfortunately, there have been many occasions, this being one, where problematic sound has hampered enjoyment of his gigs. It was not long into his set when his vocals suddenly sunk down into the mix; Making for a slight, yet significant muffling of the sound. This may not have been worth noting if the set had comprised well known rap-along favourites but this night, Buck65 was to perform a selection of completely new material, mostly drawn from the new album but also including works in progress that, for this gig at least, had been given a Grunge make-over (or should that be “Grunge dressing down”?). I have since spoken with folk who were stood elsewhere in the hall that night and they were content with the sound but from where I stood, ( and even with his new album fresh in my head from the cross-country train journey that lunchtime), I had to make a conscious effort to discern every word. Buck himself was aware of the faulty levels and so during tracks like Tired Out, he attempted to dominate the brush drum rhythm and acoustic guitar instrumental by lazily half singing his lyrics. Buck65’s cult following within both underground hiphop and festival-going music circles is well known and documented – What however did come as news (to me at least) is how this uncanny emcee’s on-stage persona has made Richard Terfry hiphop’s most unlikely sex symbol. His moth-eaten, whimsical performances are as if the world-weary Tithonus is relaying his timeless wisdom through Jake from The Tweenies which makes it impossible to determine whether this fantastic alter-ego is four years old or four millennia young. Whatever the case, there was no shortage of adoring twenty-something females ready willing and able to play Eos to this emcee whose works including exex and Leftfielder offered a beguiling blend of the supine idealism of bag puss and the finicky grouchiness of Professor yaffle. Whilst the energy generated during Sage’s set carried through undiminished, the composition of the audiences for the two emcees could not have been more different. Whereas Sage was faced with a sea of predominantly male fanatics hanging on (and pre-empting) his every word, The Weirdo Magnet proceeded to exert an irresistible allure on young and attractive women, genuinely enthralled by this outlandish maestro’s every word beat and scratch. As well as being an emcee/producer/deejay in a league of his own, Buck65 is famed for his story telling - and on this score, he did not disappoint. His explanations of the origin of the adjective “gung Ho” and his account of Pythagoras’s contribution to Western culture were both Fascinating and funny - but I suspect about as reliable as a history lesson by Southpark’s Mr Garrison… Even if women formed the bulk of the audience, one man proved to be an integral part of Buck65’s set…Not me…or Nikesh…or Solo1…or Undercover’s Deputy editor – somebody called Paul Burgess who, we were repeatedly informed, “is an idiot!” Anyway, in addition to the mildly disappointing sound quality and that repetitive heckling, Buck also found himself bedevilled by the aftermath of Sage Francis and his chlorophyll-filled minions. Sliding to and from his deck on a mushy carpet of the night’s vitamin-E rich supporting cast, Buck65 rounded out every track he performed with a bout of scratching. However, in spite of the fact that the tracks that make up Talkin’ Honky Blues adhere more closely to orthodox song structure than his work ever did before, the use of scratching to end every song failed to mask how most of these cuts lacked structured conclusions and so tended to stop dead without warning. To end his set, Buck65 decided to earn his keep as the night’s only non-Lex Records act by cramming as many namechecks to the label as is humanly possible during his closing banter.
The final slot of this night’s triple-bill was filled by a band lead by multi-instrumentalist producer and deejay, Boom Bip. As if somebody had rubbed a prog rock Aladdin’s lamp, the air slowly filled with a prolonged eruption of sound which soon settled into an even lava flow of intense improv music. Unfortunately, whilst his sprawling musical marbling has proven ideal for late-night radio sessions and CDs, the work of Brian Holland and his band offered nothing to keep people standing in the hall eyes front. Boom Bip may use hiphop composition methods and production aesthetics as a launch pad for a magical prog rock mystery tour, but his set lacks a much-needed focal point to retain listener attention once the track has left this launch pad. If he had been the filling in a sage/buck sandwich I would have been more eager to stand around but this set could be enjoyed just as well from the comfort of the albeit now closed bar areas.
