Can A Sista Rock A Mic? Most of the Time, Yeah
This summer must be a particularly frustrating time to be an unsigned hip-hop artist. The southern rap offensive continues with wave after wave of purp-sipping, leaning, rocking and snapping singles which, although from time to time laudable, tend to wear thin (though they do make for some amusing YouTube fodder). So while Young Joc is telling us where it's going down (apparently the mall, though I was recently at Pentagon City and the place was dead), countless unsigned artists might go by the wayside because they don't hail from the ATL. To be both an independent artist and a woman only confounds the problem, as for the most part, women in mainstream hip-hop are relegated to either singing hooks or prosaic sexual crowing, a la Lil' Kim. But the women of the B-Girl Manifesto, an all-female, DC-based artist collective have founded the Can A Sista Rock A Mic? Festival (now in its second year) to eschew the mainstream archetypes and strive to show off who they are and what they do, Billboard expectations be damned.
I had a chance to attend the Saturday evening show at R&B Coffee, only one part of what was a weekend-long festival. Though the festival is at its heart a concert, organizers had gone beyond simply setting up a place for musicians to play and an audience to listen. The performances were located not within the coffeehouse itself, but outside in a roomy back yard. A heaping, complementary barbeque buffet and some tables and chairs were set up before the stage. Artists, organizers, and paying audience members, plates in hand, hugged, laughed and chatted, making the entire thing feel more like a cordial summer cookout than the comparably austere facilities of the 9:30 Club. Artists emerged from the audience itself before stepping on stage, without any of the formal reverence one is accustomed to at most concerts. Though of course this casual concert ethos was probably as equally derived from the relative obscurity of the artists as it was from the deliberate attempt to organize a congenial homeyness and an emphasis on simple enjoyment, the effect was appreciated, and immediately effective.
Philly's Rhapsody and band Tangible Truth were the first act up, and though her brand of syrupy spoken-word-singing tends to verge on the lethargic side, Tangible Truth's instrumentation was phenomenally lively on its own, particularly the tight percussion of drummer Bakari. She started off her set with the words "I'm convinced; hip-hop's mama had to be a poet…" If so, she and those that followed her that night hadn't fallen far from the tree. The debate over what is "really hip-hop" almost always ends inscoffs, aspersions, and caps-locked tirades when discussed on the internet, but suffice it to say that whatever brand of the highly mutable genre was present on Saturday, it seemed almost quaint when compared to the contemporary norm. Sometimes nothing more complicated than a simple poem spoken over the guitar and percussion, both Rhapsody and following MC Princess of Controversy delved into the issues and themes usually associated with another debated term that tends to roll eyes: "conscious" hip-hop. (A term usually slapped onto any querulous rapper whose political message is something more complex than "fuck the police.") Rhapsody and the Princess of Controversey dipped into the standard lyrical content: poverty, education, and the oft-exhorted plea for "positivity." Though the two employed disparate verbal styles, their wordsmithing was for the most part, pretty good; Princess in particular proved herself to be a very capable MC, reminiscent of Queen Pen from the 90s, and Rhapsody's voice was sweet enough to keep listeners interested.
However, the most remarkable portion of the night was the time a young Washingtonian by the name of Alison Carney spent on stage. Carney was introduced as having won a recent R&B talent search conducted by Roc-A-Fella Records, though she was still somehow unsigned. Okay, I thought, so she won a contest. I'm sure Jay-Z has to cast the net pretty wide before he can pull in a Teairra Marà every so often. While that may be true, Alison Carney is no mere amateur night champion; Carney delivered a performance worthy of a deal with the Roc itself. She immediately reminded me of a broader-voiced Amerie, belting without breaking or resorting to the usual American Idol Whitney Houston counterfeit. Her impetuous, peaking voice practically begged for a summery Rich Harrison beat behind it, though her band, Solystik, provided a fabulous substitute, including some breezy Neptunes-esque keyboard work. While the show also included some quasi-political poetry performances of varying cogency (I'll admit the few angry lines railing against "the oppressor" made me gulp) and a display of visual artistry inside, Alison Carney stole the show, finishing off her act with a vivacious cover of the Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams" which ensured her conferment as the unquestionable star of the show.
Since they cater to fans of a more rarified sound, the Can A Sista Rock A Mic? venues may never become the same attractions as shows at 9:30, or even smaller venues like DC9. But based on not only the throroughly worthwhile musical exhibition, but the overall pleasant evening experience, anyone even remotely interested in any of the manifold subgenres performed should take the time to sit down for one of next year's shows. Spoken word poetry or soul-funk melodies may not be your bag, but I defy anyone to sit down with a plate full of macaroni and cheese and pulled pork, listen to a procession of talented singers and live bands do their thing on a warm night, and not enjoy themselves.
More information on the artists involved can be found at the B-Girl Manifesto website
