Op.Ed.: Smoker’s Club Tour Toronto

RESPECT.‘s Peter Marrack got out to the Smoker’s Club Tour in downtown Toronto, and reports back with his findings…

In an old BBC interview documenting Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, late American author and journalist Hunter S. Thompson remarks, “I have no idea whether you think you’re making a film about [Raoul] Duke [Thompson’s fiction character/ego] or Thompson… I’m never sure which one people expect me to be, and very often they conflict… I’m really in the way as a person. The myth has taken over… I’m not only no longer necessary, I’m in the way. It would be much better if I died.” Which is exactly what HST did in the Forward to The Great Shark Hunt, a collection of his finest works. HST’s Raoul Duke character, the drug-enticed meddler with a freakish appetite for the Truth, who starred in Fear and Loathing, and a number of earlier Thompson works, had finally exhausted itself, and exhausted Thompson as a person. HST continually felt pressure to do drugs, behave erratically, and drink to the excess, in order to satisfy the image/brand he had created for himself in Duke. The two entities ultimately crossed, or rather, the man and the monster became one.

A similar affliction, the adjoining of man and his image, can be witnessed in the world of hip-hop, where artists like Rick Ross are pressured to behave like their musical personas, whether that means packing guns, doing drugs, or even assaulting people. Right around the time the hip-hop community, spearheaded by 50 Cent, accused Rick Ross of assuming a fraudulent stage identity, channeling former drug kingpin Freeway Rick Ross, Ricky Rozay ordered a violent assault on popular DJ and hip-hop personality, DJ Vlad, who suffered nerve damage as a result of the incident. I have to question, was this William Leonard Roberts II (Ross’s government name) who ordered the assault on DJ Vlad, or was it a desperate rapper looking to regain credibility by personifying the character he created for himself? In other words, where’s the fine line between man and his myth, and where do the two identities intersect? These are no doubt valiant questions to be considered within the realm of hip-hop culture… so as to provide insight into the stage presences of rappers like Method Man, who have spent so much time on-stage over the years that their identities, personal and public, have become almost inseparable, a la Hunter S. Thompson.

When my intern (and botanist) Drago and I arrived at the Kool Haus in downtown Toronto, to cover the Smoker’s Club Tour presentation of Smoke DZA, Big K.R.I.T., Curren$y, and Method Man, we immediately crowded the press booth to receive our badges. Of course, there was no record of any correspondence between RESPECT. and the press office, besides written proof I held in the palm of my hand, on my BlackBerry. After several minutes of hassling, “RESPECT.?” “You’re from RESPECT.?” “Don’t they operate out of New York City?”, we finally received our deserved badges, two photography access passes, although neither Drago or I carried suitable SLR cameras. After all, I am a writer, sometimes a journalist, and at hip-hop shows, or really any musical performance, journalists are treated like villains. And not even cool villains, like the Joker or the Sandman, but pests, rodents, cockroaches, vile rapper-wannabes capable of exposing the ugly and not-so-glamorous side of the hip-hop hustle, rap racket, per se.

Once inside the venue, Drago and I approached the merchandise booth, which displayed an assortment of JETS, Wu-Tang, and Big K.R.I.T. gear, along with a brand out of New Orleans, sponsored by Curren$y and his crew, called Sikkis Clothing. After some friendly debate and shirt sizing, I strolled away from the booth with a new green Sikkis tee… almost on the house, as I strolled away from the merch dude without paying. “I wondered whether you were gonna pay the guy,” chuckled Drago, but my attention, rather my ear, had already realigned itself with the stage, and one surprise performer I recognized from his Reagan-era drug anthem, “Light Up”. Rich Hil, dressed in a vintage Led Zeppelin tee, green army slacks, black boots, and dirty brown locks down to his shoulders, rocked the crowd with a suspicious amount of hype, reminiscent of his basshead buddy The Weeknd. Rich Hil performed “Be Here”, “Light Up”, and two unreleased Lex Luger records, one on which Hil refrains, “ring-a-ring-a-roses, a pocket full of posies.” It’s an infectious jam. When I ran into Rich backstage, adorning a shiny black Support Your Local Drug Dealer jacket, led by his beautiful girlfriend Krystal Martos, he paced a straight line to the tour van, halting briefly to say ‘what up’ to an opening act from Toronto, who was handing out free tapes to the headliners backstage. Rich turned out to be the only performer to give the dude a morsel of his attention, while the rest of the crews pretended he didn’t exist.

While backstage, I also managed to approach Dutch, manager to the JETS, as I had previously organized an interview with Curren$y’s homie and tour-mate, Trademark Da Skydiver, an impressive stoner emcee responsible for a string of mixtapes entitled, Issue #1, #2, and #3. Trademark lumbered off the JETS tour bus high as a bird (I doubt from second-hand cocaine powder), and proceeded to humor me with a relatively inconclusive interview. He even refused to smoke a free Canadian doobie… not to say I still don’t fuck with the dude. Here’s how the interview went down:

I wanted to ask you, I talked to Lex Luger about two months ago or so, and he said you were his boy, you guys were working on something.

Yeah.

I haven’t heard any of them yet.

Actually I got caught in doing a project, me and Roddy working on a project now, coming out November 29th.

Yeah, Jet Life.

Yeah. But me and Lex definitely cool. That’s my dude, you know what I’m saying. We definitely going to cook up some shit and make it happen. Because I got caught up with the Jet Life shit, so I had to tackle that, but definitely, be on the lookout for some Trademark and Lex Luger shit, for sure.

Yeah, he told me and I was pumped, because you guys go hard on the “B.M.F.” record.

Word, word. Definitely.

You guys smoke any Canadian weed yet?

Yeah, man. Beaver Kush. Yeah, I’m stoned right now.

Besides Jet Life, you working on anything else?

Yeah, I’m working on a solo mixtape, dropping for free. I’ll be working on Issue #4 to come out sometime in February.

Back inside the Kool Haus, a relatively large venue along Queen’s Quay, done up in all-black with a neon marquee, Smoke DZA nursed an extra-large doobie, warming up for his set. Unfortunately, Big K.R.I.T. would be a no-show in Toronto, for reasons I’m still unsure of… So DZA, dressed in dark blue denim, a grey concert hoodie, and a winter toque with ear flaps, took to the stage next, rocking the floor with one of the heaviest, knocking beats of the night, the Lex Luger-produced banger, “Loaded”. As expected, a handful of Lex Luger beats, The Alchemist-produced “BBS” off Curren$y’s Covert Coup, and pretty much every RZA beat, trounced the speakers and commanded the audience better than the lesser-known productions, and for good reason.

Next to perform was fan-favorite Curren$y, along with Young Roddy, Trademark Da Skydiver, and Smoke DZA, who was invited to stick around for the entire JETS gig. Rolled out on the stage prior to the performance was a large suede couch, as well as three projection screens designed to mimic Curren$y’s living room back home… as the New Orleans emcee wore a cast and could not stand up on his own two feet. It’s definitely a testament to the talented emcee when charisma alone, minus the physicality of bounding around stage, can carry a performance, which Curren$y succeeded in doing. Throughout a sufficiently-tight set, drawing from both Pilot Talk’s, “King Kong”, “Michael Knight”, “Hold On”, Covert Coup, “BBS”, among others, Weekend at Burnie’s, the DJ Drama-assisted Verde Terrace, and Smokey Robinson, Curren$y invited some of the most-animated and cutest girls from the crowd to join him up on the couch. Two of the chicks, an asian broad in a cut-off that exposed her brown tummy and bellybutton piercing, and her co-conspirator, a tipsy brunette with black nylons, gyrated together on-stage, grinding to the groovy tunes of Ski Beatz and co., threatening tour fixers with a potential repeat of the Akon fiasco from 2007. Nonetheless, Curren$y’s profound charisma and commanding personality kept the increasingly-raucous crowd at bay, even as the real hip-hop heads yearned for that nostalgic Wu energy they’d dropped 40 bucks online or at the door to witness. Unfortunately, it would be another hour or so before Tical blessed them with his presence, as he was caught up on the tour bus. Would ish be worth the wait?

For members of the press, yes. After all, we are free to travel between the floor and backstage – where none of the silly pedestrian rules apply, like No Smoking or No Unlawful Exposure. Those privileged enough to land an all-access press badge, which I got bumped up to after interviewing Trademark, can lawfully run amok backstage, as well as report back to their non-press buddies who want the headliner’s ETA. You know a show’s about to pop off when an artist’s manager and crew begin to linger stage-side.

When Method Man’s DJ and manager arrived backstage at the Kool Haus, I was on my way into a corridor which led to the dressing rooms, and nearly collided with DJ Allah Mathematics. Allah is an occasional producer, and official DJ for the Wu-Tang Clan. Trailing behind Allah was a short Southeast Asian gentleman, and a black woman wearing heels, who would have been Meth’s management. They appeared professional and composed. By this point, I could feel a buzz sweeping over the building, as Meth finally entered the venue. I hurried back to the photo pit to meet Drago, and we awaited Meth’s arrival on-stage. Glancing around, the crowd dynamics had changed dramatically from the end of the JETS set, as a more mature and malnourished Wu following replaced the teenie bangers who often show up for any Curren$y, Big Sean, Mac Miller, or Wiz Khalifa show.

Google Images search: Wiz Khalifa fan

It was an electric feeling when Method Man finally burst on-stage at the Kool Haus, dressed in frayed denim, a Champion hoodie, and a New Era cap fitted over his navy do-rag. Meth was accompanied on-stage by fellow Wu-member and hype-man, Streetlife, whose baggy army slacks and buckwheat boots I immediately wanted. Meth proceeded to launch into a set of bangers and crowd pleasers, including “All I Need”, “What the Blood Clot”, a couple from Blackout! and Blackout! 2, as well as some Wu records, and a brief tribute to ODB, during which the crowd sung a cappella to “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” and “Got Your Money”. However, the most impressive part of the show had to be the interludes, when Meth got the entire building chanting along along with him, “All the ladies in the house say ‘Heyo!’, say ‘Ho! Ho!’”. Or when Allah Mathematics demonstrated his scratching game by tying his shoelaces on the turntables. Or heck, when Meth did the front flip over the pit and landed in the audience. Or when he puffed on a joint, held it on his tongue, appeared to swallow, blew smoke out his nose, and regurgitated the doobie back between his lips. Hell, even Meth’s dancing was worth the price of admission. I could go on forever about the God’s performance expertise, his on-stage bag of tricks, or how I felt guilty about lowering my lighter when Meth ordered the crowd to keep them raised to the sky. I figured I was letting the God down. After all, he had been suffering from food poisoning all day, and now he was sweating buckets, looking (relatively) pale and feverish. Least the audience could do was jump around when the Wu God commanded, right?

If you responded ‘yes’, then you’re probably amongst that clan of five-percenters who believe Method Man is the true embodiment of hip-hop. Meth is raw, mean, uncensored, abrasive. He smokes weed. His beaten-down face is a living testament to the trials and tribulations of oppressed New Yorkers during the 80s. The rageaholic narcissist Method Man portrays on-stage is merely an extension of his former self, Clifford Smith from Staten Island, who came out the bowels of New York already wise to the pre-requisites of hip-hop stardom: drugs, poverty, breakdancing, a love for music, and well, hoes. Artists like Hunter S. Thompson, on the other hand, gained notoriety in their profession by immersing themselves in a culture they were not sufficiently prepared for. For instance, Method Man may have experienced ample hustle-nomics in the hood to prep himself for the music biz, or label politics, however, HST had not experimented with enough hard drugs to hang with the Hells Angels, or LSD Guru Ken Kesey, and come out the other side unscathed. That’s probably why he got beaten to a pulp by a mob of Angels, and later became addicted to speed, mescaline, and acid. HST had created a character in himself – the drug pincher, hell raiser, masochist – who was far enough removed from his former self, that he no longer knew who he was. In other words, HST became his work (as opposed to his work coming from him). He became Raoul Duke, the infamous alter-ego from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, whom Hunter eventually tried to kill off in the Forward to The Great Shark Hunt. “So I suppose my plans are to figure out some new identity. I have to kill off one life, and start another one,” writes Thompson in his book, a line which often reminds me of Rick Ross’s metamorphosis from C.O. to cocaine kingpin. A potentially lethal morphing…

Deuces

Photography by Far Fetched Future

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