Walking into my all too familiar bar I felt all too unfamiliar. Immediately I was struck in the face by beats of my past as they rumbled through the Spotlight Tavern in Beverly, Ma. Watching the DJ flip through the pages of his CD book it reminded me of DJs past that would flip with great care through their stack of vinyls. With slight flicks of the wrist an average DJ proved his mediocrity through an unengaged, uninspired DJ set. As the DJ walked away from the stage I looked around frantically for someone else to take control and found no one. Seeing the DJ pass by me, I decided to take the opportunity to express my outrage in regards to the abandonment of his set. In response to my complaints the DJ responded that he “had to take a piss” and that the track was “at least three minutes long”. Clearly agitated by clearly hearing my point the DJ returned to the stage (forfeiting his “piss”) and proceeded to single out your humble author in his Bevis and Butthead shirt declaring him an intolerant. To my readers I must admit, I expect a DJ to stand by his set as it sinks as a true, honest Captain would.
That being said, it was now time for the local lyricists to take the stage. As the large group of five lyricists begin their lines they serve not only to deter would be patrons but any with a basic grasp of the English language as well. A disgusting blend of rhymes weaves a tale of suburban profit in a majorly profitable region. One rapper after another stood before me tasting the glory of the greats such as Notorious BIG and Tupac as they fumbled through lyrics to an oblivious crowd. Sitting and listening to a freestyle resembling that of one who had known actual hardship insults those who are the actual downtrodden.
Once upon a time art reflected life, yet recently, to my chagrin, music has begun to imitate fiction. Perhaps when I reserve actuality to my sub-conscience and drag thin and vaporous lies to the forefront of my mind I will be able to understand and relate to the lines I hear these fortunate few construct as if they were the exact opposite. Until then however, I will continue to go to the heart of injustice and inequality and I am sure to be pleased with the sincerity of its performers.
A faint clap and the rap troupe leaves the stage along side the DJ who stops to talk to people in the crowd while his set continues on unattended. Would anyone pay for this I thought and as I watched him make his way haphazardly back to his setup just in time to mix a sloppy transition into House of Pains “Jump Around” I had my answer.