News-Letter

Underground hip-hop scenester Sage Francis gives a performance not befitting his classy, formal outfit.(John Lichtefeld) [Click to enlarge]

My friend Z and I got to the Ottobar about 15 minutes after doors open (8:15 p.m.) and, after a quick check-in, enter the warm, smoky club to mingle with the 40 or so people that had gathered before the show. We meandered over the merch stand set and up by the bar and chatted with the acts who were pawning their own product for $8 and $10 per disc.

The show wasn't supposed to start until 9 p.m. or 9:30 p.m., for those acquainted with club time, so I roamed the cozy main floor looking for posters to snatch up as room decorations. I've been to the Ottobar at least six times now, and I was still impressed by the general atmosphere of the building itself; there was a distinctly Ottobar D.I.Y. attitude that permeated every corner.

The interior was all flat black with indie rock, punk and underground hip hop posters thrown up haphazardly on every wall. The bar was stuck in the back, in a little niche where many of the acts prepared for their shows. That night, I met co-headliners Grand Buffet, an emcee team from Pittsburgh, by the bar. The skinnier of the duo enthusiastically shook my hand and offered to chat after the show, while his partner (who I was unaware of at the time) continued to sell off CDs to the enlightened crowd.

At almost exactly 9:30 p.m. (a rarity for most independent shows), the oddly named Mc Lethal (pronounced Mac Lethal) took the stage and ripped the mic with skills well beyond what was expected of the opening act. When he came out, I expected nothing more than a little free-styling and maybe some joking about underground anti-hero Sage Francis as the main act, but Lethal came on strong with opening volleys that mimicked Eminem's ability and Brother Ali's content.

His beats were on a CD player (that served as DJ until Joey Beats took control of an MPC later in the evening), and his solitary presence allowed subtle weaknesses in his voice to come through loud and clear over the mic. Still, I stood in the front row amazed with the ferocity of his performance and the lyrical dexterity he possessed. The only real slip-up Lethal allowed was during a song describing his mother as a thug. The chorus was kind of weak, but the real problem came several songs later when he confessed that his father beat him, his brother and his mother and blurted that his mother died from one of these beatings. The crowd seemed to let this quirk slip by, but the contrast between the two songs really killed the emotional power of the later track. After leaving the stage warm with a cheering crowd, Lethal made his way back to the merchandise table where I caught up with him, bought his CD and asked him about the tour. What I didn't know before I got to the show was that this was an activist tour whose primary motive was to "rebel against Clear Channel," in the words of an excited emcee. We talked for a little while longer and then moved on to the inevitable secondary purpose of his rhymes: removing G. W. from office. Complementing Lethal's attack of the incumbent president, a voter registration booth was set up and offered free mix CDs for those who registered. I quickly did my patriotic duty and then headed back for Grand Buffet.

I had never heard of Grand Buffet, but they are from my home town of Pittsburgh and fairly well-known around New York and on the East Coast. As soon as they got on stage, they confirmed their place of origin (which of course I had to cheer along with), and judging by the audience reaction, they are well known in these parts. Their show was high energy and completely off-the-wall with semi-satanic lyrics and stories of tree houses matching up to white boy breakdancing and shout-along choruses. At various points during the act, the Jackson (the skinny Irish guy) literally climbed the sides of the walls and laid across the amps Snoopy-style.

Their lyrical style was something like a match between Jack Black and Cex, and their beats reminded me of the crazy electro funk of Gold Chains (the San Francisco rap crew.) By the end of the set, some of the energy and power had worn off, but it was still a triumph for the hip-hop dry 412 area code (that's the 'Burgh for the uninitiated) and noted that I should buy the CD or at least make some effort to download their tracks.

I decided to keep my spot as the crowd got rowdier in expectation of Sage's arrival. When the man finally arrived on stage, he was with a live band of two guitar players and Joey Beats (the young producer and fellow rapper from Sage's Non-Prophets crew), all of whom were dressed in various degrees of formal wear. This is when the crowd separated; those who were Sage fans went nuts, but those of us that were just there to try him out or to support underground hip-hop in general were left cold. I was definitely a member of the latter group, and to be honest, Sage didn't earn another fan last night. Its not so much that he was bad or that his musicians were untalented, it's just that he's nothing new.

As a fan of Atmosphere (who appeared at the Ottobar last semester), I've already heard "emo-rap", and where Slug's delivery is poignant and tight, Sage's doesn't catch at all. Joe Beats's instrumentals were unremarkable, a fact made more apparent when Sage's best song of the night was produced by the wonderful MF Doom and was simply played on CD while Sage was rapped along. Everything combined left me wondering how professional these guys really were, and the only way I can really describe them is mediocre. I guess there's a reason why groups like this still haven't broken out of the underground scene. Real hip-hop fans will just have to be sure to catch Slick Rick at Ottobar on the 21st!

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