He Didn't Even Have to Use His AK: Ice Cube at 9:30
There are really two Ice Cubes. There is today’s Ice Cube: rapper, actor, executive producer, and production studio owner. And then there is the furious, Kalashnikov-toting iconoclast of two decades ago, whose existence was acknowledged by 2006’s Cube as predating the birth of many among the sweaty throng at the 9:30 Club. I couldn’t help but feel sheepish at that point, realizing that while I was playing with blocks and smearing apple sauce all over my face at the tail end of the 80s, this man, who was only a couple of feet before me, had not only proved himself as one of the greatest rappers of all time, but had taken part in founding one of the seminal epochs of American music history: Gangsta Rap.
Humbling as that was, it did seem odd to me that these two men could be one. For an artist who had both spent an enormously prominent portion of his career spitting lyrical vitriol against the perceived threats of “AmeriKKKa” to be producing and starring in a forthcoming “Welcome Back, Kotter” remake seemed a little hard to reconcile; I can only imagine what 1986’s Ice Cube might think of 2006’s. But creative dichotomies notwithstanding, any fear that the artist Ice Cube is now has in any way faded or betrayed the artist he was twenty years ago were refuted by Sunday’s thrilling, raucous performance.
The first opener was a terrible and utterly forgettable southern rap duo from Atlanta who I have a feeling were only brought out to make sure all the sound equipment had been hooked up correctly. I confess, however, that what drew me to this show was the second opening act of Virginia natives Clipse, whose performance deserves near equal accolade as that of the headliner. Though the drug rap of Young Jeezy has attracted a great deal of tedious philosophizing and undue examination from the Pitchfork milieu, there is no doubt that group members Malice and Pusha-T are recording the most compelling coke narratives since B.I.G. Though they were given only a scant twenty minutes or so to perform, they delivered a smoldering sampling of past and current material.
Opening with the chilling “What Happened To That Boy,” and continuing through to electric Neptunes club hit “When The Last Time,” Pusha and Malice performed with their signature ominous cadence, though the latter’s delivery was a little washed out by excessive volume at times. For Clipse, more so than any other rap group, it is imperative that they avoid simply shouting their lyrics at shows, as so many lesser groups do, as it is this poised, ireful cadence that has always made their tracks so enthralling. But Pusha-T’s patient enunciation and unshakable sneer were perfectly sinister, and when the frustratingly vocal DJ wasn’t chiming in over them, the two rhymed in an outstanding, trenchant tandem. They continued their act with “Roll With The Winners,” a track off their unusually-acclaimed-for-a-mixtape mixtape We Got It 4 Cheap Vol. 2, for which they brought clique compadre Ab-Liva on stage. They capped off their act with a thorough performance of instant-classic “Grindin’” and “Mr. Me Too,” the first single off their long-awaited forthcoming album, Hell Hath No Fury. I was disappointed to see them end, but I have a feeling that given their impending sophomore release and their regional allegiance (there were a lot of excited Virginians in the crowd), they should be back soon, and I hope next time they’ll be headlining their own act.
By the time Ice Cube took the stage I was already fairly winded from doing the whiteboy head-bob throughout the Clipse set, but a hail of Cube’s offstage YEHH-YEAAEEEs perked me up. He had been immediately preceded by a set of fellow West Coast delegates, Tha Dogg Pound, composed of rappers Kurupt, Daz Dillinger, and about eight other guys who, as far as I could tell, were doing nothing more than standing on stage drinking beers and enjoying themselves. They did an impeccable job evoking the romanticized, bygone era of early-90s California with a series of mostly Dr. Dre covers. But their performance did the trick, and by the time Cube took the stage, wearing a Nationals cap, everyone was in the appropriate gin and juice mentality. It would be difficult to give any sort of song-by-song impressions, as the entire set was delivered in an almost single, relentless stream, with perhaps only twenty seconds or so between some songs to say a few words or towel himself off. The almost autobiographical setlist was never rushed, just impetuously performed, and impressively long. It encompassed his entire career, and included a few “exclusive” songs from his upcoming album Laugh Now, Cry Later, which, aside from posters and a large banner behind the stage, he promoted respectably little. Beginning with his N.W.A. roots, he boomed out “Straight Outta Compton” and “Fuck Tha Police” one after the other, both of which are guaranteed to stir up any audience under the age of 50. An especially impassioned performance of the taunting “Check Yo Self,” was equally well received.
While he also included relatively-recent frenetic butt-shakers “We Be Clubbin’” and “You Can Do It,” the highlight of the concert was undoubtedly the musical respect he paid to his own past. With the exception of some brief eulogizing for deceased N.W.A. members, there was little to no introduction or commentary on any of the songs. I feel obliged to repeat that this didn’t ever come off as hastiness; rather, it was boundless lyrical energy that simply didn’t care for any superfluous words. Ice Cube has always been a vocally heavy hitting rapper in the vein of Chuck D, and unlike groups such as Clipse, the overall effectiveness of his music is contingent on his stentorian flow. It was good to see that neither age nor Hollywood has diminished Ice Cube’s artistic spirit, even if his fire is one that burns brightest as a tributary flame of remembrance to the early 90s.