He Didn't Even Have to Use His AK: Ice Cube at 9:30

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.

He tried a couple of tracks from Laugh Now, Cry Later, and while it can be difficult to get into a song you’ve never heard before, the crowd’s reaction ranged from mildly intrigued to simply tepid. I might give the album another chance when it drops on June 6th, but I cringed when he mentioned that Lil Jon had done production work, which seemed like a desperate stab at modernity. Perhaps seeing the audience’s enthusiasm wane a bit after these songs, he himself admitted, “I like new songs, but I love them oldies.” A brooding rendition of the languid classic “It Was A Good Day” followed, as everyone both expected and anticipated; the song has become Cube’s equivalent of Talib Kweli’s “Get By.”

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.