Brother Ali on stage U.S- photo by Curse of Brian (cc)
Brother Ali/Atmosphere gig - Galway June 21st
Such was the synergy of my Saturday evenings entertainment. Arriving at 22.20 on the 21st expecting to be greeted by my eternal comrades Brothers Andy n Kev, my expectations were conflicted due to the bipolar mess that I’ve been greeted with at recent hip hop gigs. From the over-minimal and somewhat lethargic trappings of the Shadow chemist gig to the ostentatious smugness and cliché-deluged image conscientious petulant Kenny Dope. Chin strokers would be a given premium,but depending on the presence and timing,would hopefully fade into the obligatory three to four safe-as-fuck silhouettes known by every rhythmically challenged skinny white boy enthusiast.
On entering the unfamiliar to myself Roisin Dubh, I was aghast at the intimacy, with no sign of a running track pitch-side to separate the crowd from the artists,every action and reaction couldn’t help but influence the proceedings. The deal for image rights had obviously not been signed yet either or the talent on show had taken full advantage of recent sale in Penneys. The Volume of the crowd seemed indirectly related to its size even though its sparseness added to the charm.
Slug And Brother Ali kicked off uncompromisingly void of any introduction or “hey ho’s.” This could well have back fired due to their relative obscurity in Ireland but because of their confidence, aggressive style and Ants’ unique beats which influences seem to range from Dennis Coffey to Dr Dre, every conversation in the room suddenly became redundant. Both MCs’ natural rhyme and rapport was tighter than the lid of that jam jar that perpetually makes me look like a puny degenerate.With so much effort put into sound, cynical intuitive lyrics and a borderline questionable cohesion between MCs, there may have been a blind spot to disappoint but even at my most pedantic I could be indifferent let alone find fault with any aspect of the show.
Hopefully a disgusting awakening was left on any plastic pretenders, without the will or sensitivity to bear arms against the gruelling hours of practice needed (and by default risk of tuberculosis) to reach the dizzying I’m not going to say atmosphere I promise.
Floody
Comments