Mos Def
The Hi-Fi, Brisbane
Wednesday 26 January 2011
Despite all the controversy surrounding this tour –
unexplained absences, a no-show in Adelaide, frequent shuffling of tour dates – the man known as Mos Def clearly has a sense of humour about it all. Like a child who know he’s in trouble, but can’t resist tossing another stone, the American rapper appears 20 minutes after his scheduled start time, singing a line about
“Better late than never”, over and over. And the crowd loves him for it. Think about the shit any of us would cop, were we to fail to appear at our jobs and not even bother to explain why; plainly, we wouldn’t stay employed long. Yet here Mos flaunts his disregard for living his life by the standards of others. He walks to the beat of his own drum. As much is confirmed after the show, when a Hi-Fi staffer – who’s been alternating between the bar and the band room all night – tells me that the rapper only arrived at the venue 10 minutes before his set. And that the massive rider demanded for Mos and his entourage remained untouched.
Tardiness and greediness aside, a compassionate element is revealed early in the set, when he thanks the crowd for “spending your money, but most importantly, spending your time” to be here, and he gives a shout-out to everyone affected by the Queensland floods. It doesn’t scan as mere tokenism, and such sentiments are well-received. Dressed initially in a grey jacket and white dress pants, before revealing a white dress shirt and thin black tie, Mos seems completely comfortable on stage; he splits his time between singing and rapping, though his strengths undoubtedly lie in the latter. Here in Australia to tour his 2009 release
The Ecstatic, the setlist leans heavily on tracks from that release. Album opener ‘Supermagic’ is up first, and its delivery is dulled a little by the low level of his DJ’s decks; so too ‘Twilite Speedball’. It’s not until around four songs in that the soundman bumps the backing track up to a sensible, room-shaking volume. ‘Auditorium’ appears early, and is eventually realised as the set’s high point: built around a killer string sample and a circular call-and-response chorus (
“What it is? / You know, we know / What it is”). Mos revels in the moment by leading the crowd through an a-capella take on the closing vocal melody.
‘Pistola’ is a fine example of his apparent latter-day preference for singing over rapping, and the difference in crowd response between that tune and early material like ‘Hip Hop’ is obvious: the people came to hear the man’s rhymes, not his so-so singing. Likewise, there’s an inexplicable couple of minutes where he walks over to a drumkit and hastily bangs through one drumbeat, then adopts another and raps over the top of it. It’s no small kit, yet he’s all snare, hi-hat and bass drum. Chalk it up to another his unnecessary, diva-like demands. He doesn’t touch the kit for the rest of the set. His DJ misses a cue in the opening moments of ‘Cream Of The Planet’, and admonishes himself over the microphone. Mos opts to hit the first couple of verses a-capella, and it feels like the first – and perhaps, only – spontaneous decision in the whole set.
Strip away all the extraneous bullshit and ego surrounding the man’s work, and the simple fact is that he kills on the mic. (
“Listen, life is fantastic / Beautiful and traffic / Plain, classic / Long as I'm alive, I’ma never stay rapping / Psyche, super-nice!”). He ends at 11.26pm on ‘Travellin’ Man’, a 1999 collaboration with DJ Honda, having taken to the stage at 10.17pm. Instead of thanking the crowd or clapping to show his appreciation, like most acts do, he does this awesome thing; he slowly points his index finger at as many faces in the crowd as he can, singling each of us out and expressing his gratitude without words.
Two minutes after he leaves the stage and the curtains are drawn, the soundman packs up his shit and leaves, which removes the possibility of an encore. But the crowd doesn’t move, and the whistles, cheers and applause reach crescendo several times. Who could resist such fervent respect for their art? Mos Def, apparently, who’s probably already on his way back to the hotel. The house lights stay down for around ten minutes all up, adding to the audience’s confusion and uncertainty. It’s not until someone takes to the mic from behind the curtains and tells us that the show’s over – and that the afterparty is taking place across town – that we file out. Both satisfied and left wanting.
Andrew McMillen