Something about this feels familiar. I’m standing outside the Henry Fonda waiting for the press list to make its way to the box office so I can get the security guards to stop staring at me and gripping their metal detection wands in a manner I’m not the least bit comfortable with. One of them attempts to outsmart me by asking all sorts of questions about my press cred. I turn the tables and have him asking all about the world of musical journalism with a wide-eyed look of wonder. I feel like a pro, until 5 seconds later when Sage Francis’ manager and guitarist Tom Inhaler comes out to say hello and I veer hard into starstruck paralysis. With puppy dog devotion I tell him I saw them here on the last tour, right here at the Fonda and we did an interview to boot. “Oh, Cool. Thanks for coming out.” He disappears. I fear that I have scared him away. My journalistic poise is beginning to slip and I haven’t even picked up my ticket.
The Fonda is one of the best, if not THE best, venue in Hollywood. Seating is plentiful but intimate, and the crowds are always enthusiastic. Despite one belligerently-loud girl who couldn’t stop shouting, the atmosphere was perfect. And that’s exactly what you need for Buddy Wakefield. Buddy is a slam poet, probably the best slam poet currently performing. He speaks in elegant riddle and still manages to pack a fierce punch in every piece. He moves like a snake-worshipping Shaman, slithering in place, punctuating the air with quick jabs. And so I’ll suggest a Buddy-related YouTubin’ trip, and leave the rest to the man’s own words, “This is brutally beautiful. So are we.”
Alias took the stage next. As one of the original Anticon crew, it’s clear that his craft has gone through years of sharpening. He also managed to strike a chord with that side of the crowd that was into throwing up “rap hands,” which actually ended up being stage left. Alias paused only briefly between lightning-fast rhyming bouts, with the longest break being a discussion of what sounded like an easily dismissed beef with an artist he chose not to name. Whoever it was, they sounded like a chump. Alias wrapped up his set with “Divine Disappointment” an amped-up (even by Alias standards) anthem that had even the rap-hand impaired chiming in on the chorus.
Buck 65, a.k.a. Richard Terfry, has always had an enigmatic relationship with the States. His last album Secret House Against The World avoided a US release entirely. The Halifax-born rapper/turntablist (and almost pro baseball player) has received the mixed blessings of hearty comparisons to both Tom Waits and Everlast for his thick, gruff voice and deep ruminations against semi-rural backgrounds. He hasn’t toured the United States much, so I counted myself lucky to be there to see him. He took the stage in a neck brace, which he later explained was the consequence of an accident he’d been in earlier. It’s unclear whether this was a true statement or not, since he said he was performing against doctor’s orders and then took the brace off shortly thereafter. I was pleased to hear him do “Roses And Bluejays,” an ode to his father, so close to Father’s Day. In true hit-parader fashion, he threw down a medley of songs at the end which fully encapsulated sections of every song the fans could want to hear. But the climax of the show came during “Kennedy Killed The Hat,” which Buck prefaced with a challenge to the crowd to perform whatever dancing and tomfoolery was necessary to mess him up during the song. A dedicated showman, his ridiculous dancing topped anything the crowd could muster.
Sage Francis. I wish I had something to say that was insightful or cutting or even remotely more interesting than “Wow.” Most underground rappers who even hint at philosophizing on their own art come off sounding more pretentious than Prince Charles at a chili cook-off, but somehow Sage makes me feel right there with him. In tune with the Father’s day theme that was blooming, Sage dredged out some sadly reflective songs about his own papa with “Going Back To Rehab” and “Crack Pipes” hitting back to back. He also debuted a pair of ridiculous dollar-sign shades which went perfectly with the chorus of “Good Fashion,” “All they ask is why I wear these glasses, and all I can tell them is ‘Hell, it’s good fashion.’” Barn-burners “Damage,” “Escape Artist,” and “Climb Trees” were all at their razor-sharp best, and Sage busted out a not-often-seen “Broken Wings” for what I assume was a shout out to me personally (that song gets my tears forming every time). “Slow Down Gandhi” proved to me once again how irresponsible our government has been with the lives of its bravest citizens and the ignorance it continues to display as how to solve that issue, “You need to cut the noose but you don’t believe in scissors. You support the troops by wearing yellow ribbons? Just bring back my motherfucking brothers and sisters.” After a set that was a perfect mix of old albums and new, he ended with a Buddy Wakefield-backed version of the feel-good-when-you-feel-sad anthem-for-pretend tribute to the Man in Black, “Jah Didn’t Kill Johnny.” Holler at your boy, indeed.
http://www.myspace.com/sagefrancis
http://www.myspace.com/buddywakefield