Thursday, January 15, 2004
I don't often attend hip hop gigs. There's an element of ludicrosity about going to see Eminem and Fiddy prancing around a stadium, and an element of fear that keeps me away from more underground events. It was with slight trepidation that I went to Cargo last night. Featured Infected no.1, who claims to have some street credentials, had advised us that, since everyone would be carrying guns, we had to apologise swiftly if we bumped into anyone, and never ever stare at anyone. As it turned out, there was plenty to stare at.
Cartwright's Law of Fashion, states that with for every thousand miles you get from New York, the peak of fashion is delayed by a month. By way of example: trucker hats entered the millinery zeitgeist in NYC last January and were already overblown there by May; they gained popularity in London in early summer, and are so passe right now; in Cape Town though they are still tout-la-rage. Based on Cargo in mid-January I can safely predict that Cape Town will be donning ridiculous flat brim baseball caps by April. In fact I had forgotten how fond of headgear hiphoppers are. Apart from the ubiquitous flat brim caps, there was a whole array of bandanas, fluffy visors, even beanie/cap combos.
I went with Tom MacRae (the script writer, not the song writer), and the GF (I need a spousal pseudonym, a la Belle de Jour and A. A. Gill). We missed the support acts while indulging in fine wines and nibbles. We did hear some fine beat boxing when the decks briefly failed, and while enjoying Bajan Mules (Cockspur rum, angoustura bitters, ginger beer, nutmeg.) an un-named MC freestyled over Mad World to much applause.
Tony Rotten and his "Rottonostra" colleagues didn't make the stage till way after midnight. It was a great set. Loud loud beats, fluid rhymes, and a really up for it audience. My more bourgeois companions were amused when mid-set Tony shouted out:
"Fingers in the air for Kim Howell, the culture minister who don't know nuffin about culture."
But by then I was already intoxicated enough to roll with the preposterousness of it all. The set finished with a blinding rendition of "So Rotton", principally sung by a fired up crowd. Only 14 days into January, but barring a Nirvana reunion this was probably the best gig I'll see all year.
Cartwright's Law of Fashion, states that with for every thousand miles you get from New York, the peak of fashion is delayed by a month. By way of example: trucker hats entered the millinery zeitgeist in NYC last January and were already overblown there by May; they gained popularity in London in early summer, and are so passe right now; in Cape Town though they are still tout-la-rage. Based on Cargo in mid-January I can safely predict that Cape Town will be donning ridiculous flat brim baseball caps by April. In fact I had forgotten how fond of headgear hiphoppers are. Apart from the ubiquitous flat brim caps, there was a whole array of bandanas, fluffy visors, even beanie/cap combos.
I went with Tom MacRae (the script writer, not the song writer), and the GF (I need a spousal pseudonym, a la Belle de Jour and A. A. Gill). We missed the support acts while indulging in fine wines and nibbles. We did hear some fine beat boxing when the decks briefly failed, and while enjoying Bajan Mules (Cockspur rum, angoustura bitters, ginger beer, nutmeg.) an un-named MC freestyled over Mad World to much applause.
Tony Rotten and his "Rottonostra" colleagues didn't make the stage till way after midnight. It was a great set. Loud loud beats, fluid rhymes, and a really up for it audience. My more bourgeois companions were amused when mid-set Tony shouted out:
"Fingers in the air for Kim Howell, the culture minister who don't know nuffin about culture."
But by then I was already intoxicated enough to roll with the preposterousness of it all. The set finished with a blinding rendition of "So Rotton", principally sung by a fired up crowd. Only 14 days into January, but barring a Nirvana reunion this was probably the best gig I'll see all year.
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