Above the Clouds

"Above the crowds/ above the clouds/ where the sounds are original/infinite skills create miracles/warriors spiritual/above the clouds raining down/holding it down" -Chorus to Gangstarr's Above the Clouds

I sit on a shaded, miniature bench in the Sports Park on this splendid Sunday morning so reminiscent of the finest day summer has to offer back home. My journal is spread out, my budget pen ready to wield my imprisoned, impassioned feelings and thoughts barely able to contain themselves within any longer, my lemon-honey green tea (iced) standing at attention ready to quench my unrelenting thirst. Flea is sprawled out, patiently waiting, having already relieved herself several times during our walk alongside the canal. I've only had a couple of hours of sleep and yet I feel energized, as if I've slept for ten hours or more. What could possibly explain this phenomenon of not being tired despite a clear lack of sleep?

P P P P P P P Premier P P P P P P P Premier... P P P P P P Premier...

Anyone who has heard a Dj Premier mix tape will recognize. For those poor souls who haven't even heard of Dj Premier (inciting me to wonder what planet you live on) - or Primo as he is known in the game - he simply is the best hip hop dj/producer of all time. You won't find many heads contesting that one. "That's a bit of a pretentious dj name, don't ya think?", was one comment I heard during the week. When I thought about it, Jay was right. It is a braggadocious name. But bigging up oneself is simply part of hip hop. And besides, I challenge anyone to name better dj. With countless classic singles, albums, remixes and beats under his belt, the man is a true champion in the hip hop game. And though it was our birthdays and not Christmas, Dan and I couldn't help singing it, "Dj Pri-mo's comin' to town". And we wondered just what sorts of treats he would be bringing in his vinyl gift sack...

I try desperately to keep my expectations to a minimum. After all, to be perfectly honest, Primo's beats have become somewhat formulaic as of late. And besides, the ghosts of too many disappointing hip hop shows from the past continue to haunt me in the present. The doubts creep in like fog. Won't it be expensive to go all the way up to Taipei just for one night? The cover will be hefty as will be the drink prices. And then there's the fact that the bill is lined up as Premier with emcee Big Shug. For all I know, Big Shug has just released a mediocre album and that's what will be featured. Maybe Premier's set will be cut short and therefore not worth the time and money? Or what if he forgoes the real to play crap club hop - crowd pleasers for the predominantly hip hop unitiated Taipei audience?

(I'm constantly amazed at how my brain works, conjuring up such ridiculous doubts before even experiencing the event. And if it's not thinking of the worst, then it's doing the opposite by fantasizing about the ideallic outcome. Either way, it always seems to stray from the now. Positive or negative, it's clearly dangerous to plant the seeds of expectations. )

But any doubts I had were erased on Friday afternoon when I went into the Shining Radio studio to do my weekly radio show.* An hour long set of DJ Premier produced music was enough to convince me that I had to go. Shit, DJ Premier in Deep Concentration alone was enough to slap me back to the present. Sure, part of me wanted to go for nostalgia's sake. Is that wrong? Is it so wrong to hear the music I love even if it is old school? So long as I don't cling to it, depend on it, and still get turned on by recent joints then I reckon it's healthy. As the day of the concert approaches, one by one, doubts are washed away as swiftly as the incoming tide erases footprints from the shore.

We are giddy on the four hour trip up to Taipei, maxin' and relaxin' on the comfy deluxe He Shin buses. The seats are so broad and massive that even Mr. Incredible's frame would have no trouble snuggling comfortably into them. Small piece of advice though: steer clear of the free water. And once we arrive into the big city, us country bumpkin Tainanians can only stare wide-eyed at the large, bustling boulevards and the fast-paced vibe. We ease into Taipei the right way before deciding on some food at a trendy hot pot spot.

By the time we arrive at the Luxy, it is busy and there is already a sizeable queue. The square-shouldered monkeys in grey suits and girly ties who work the door oversee the queue with painted stern looks. Whenever I see them, I can't help but scoff at these ogres who look and act so ridiculous, almost always giving themselves an air of self-importance. We try the old act-like-you-belong bud-in near the front of the line but we are caught by one of the monkeys, who promptly sends us to the back of the line. "But don't you know who I am?", protests Dj TwoHands. Sorry Dan, no one knows you in the big city. As luck would have it, we coincidentally arrive just after a flock of young Taiwanese hotties wearing practically nothing. Is this a punishment or a reward? Michele is not as impressed as the boys are by this circumstance. Before long, however, they are handpicked to the front of the line by one of the monkeys so our innocent gawking is short-lived. It's been ages since I've had to wait in line to get in somewhere, highlighting the fact that I don't get out much anymore... In any case, after waiting in lines during freezing cold January weather back home, the mild low twenties temperature is certainly bearable on this night.

The Luxy's core is alive to the entropic energy unique to that time frame just prior to live shows. I feel as if it is Christmas Eve, I'm 6 years-old and I can't sleep a wink. The suspense! Even though I have a hunch as to what Santa will give me (after all, I've written an extensive detailed letter outlining my wishlist), the wait is killing me! A local dj is warming up the crowd. He is a good mixer and is clearly enjoying himself up there; however, he's playing the clubtastic hip hop joints for which I normally don't have much patience. And yet, in light of what's to come, I can ignore the ignant lyrics for now while concentrating on acclimatizing myself to the hecticity buzzing all around me. Finally, at around midnight, the opening Taiwanese acts take the stage.

I believe the first group is from Taipei. Not bad. And following them is Tainan's very own MC Dawgy. He's a large boy with kinky big hair. He reminds of Phat Al so I take an instant liking to him. Accompanying him are his dj and another rapper/singer to feed off of. He more than holds his own up there in front of a demanding audience. Of course, I don't know what he is saying. Even if I catch the odd word, that word could have a number of meanings. And beyond the standard Mandarin meaning, what hip hop slang does it symbolize? Maybe it's a good thing as it'll spare me the details of hearing how good he is, how many women he bags after each show and the beatings he duly administered to the other sucka emcees before the show. I can take the emcee bravado if it is put in a creative way - or, if the beat is nice - but when they're clearly taking a piss, well, I have no time for that crap. As far as Dawgy is concerned, I'm keying in on his flow. After all he is a poet and you can hear whether or not he's got a sense of timing and rhythm. And he's got it. Also, it's an amusing challenge to see if I can catch some of the Chinese and even more amusing to try to distinguish between what's Mandarin and Taiwanese. It occurs to me that due to the commonality of identical sounds and words, Chinese has to be one of the easiest languages to rhyme to.

And then it hits me - again. Hip hop is a worldwide phenomenon. I have heard groups from Scandanavia, Japan, South Africa, Brazil etc. and even here in little Taiwan the trend has caught on. There must be something to this music my jazz-obssessed Dad could not tolerate - even when I introduced him to some of the best hip hop jazz fusions (Buckshot Lefonque project, Fresstyle Fellowship). But he was a purist and purists are less inclined towards accepting experimentation. The roots of hip hop steep in creative expression. Especially for youths who have that ravaging desire to break free from the molds forced upon them by society and family, hip hop allows them to release. It's a plausible reason why hip hop is popular among all socio-economic classes - the basic need as human beings to be creative. And what's more, whichever of its elements - djing, emceeing, breaking (dance), graffiti writing - you look at, each one demands spontaneous creativity. In my mind, this spontaneous ability to create is the most underrated aspect of hip hop.

But we've seen her suffer through much change. She used to be young and pretty, with a great sense of humour. Recently however, she has become crusty, aggressive and uncaring as she reaches puberty. She now acts like the teenage rebel who doesn't know herself, who has grown up too quickly, and, unable to face that reality, feels inclined to mount fronts and defenses in order to protect her softer side. Thankfully, there are still some artists out there - names like Talib Kwali, Mos Def and Common, The Grouch spring to mind - who aren't afraid to point out its softer sides and often even make a point of doing so in the name of education.

Another influential hip hop educator is DJ Premier. In an industry obssessed with being real or fake , Gangstarr has always professed keeping it real. Although he didn't preach, Doctor Primo came to deliver a lecture in hip hop 101. Never afraid to speak his mind, he came to Taipei intent on educating and enlightening the Taiwanese crowd. He is more than just a dj and producer. He is well of hip hop knowledge whose source originates from deep in the underground.

The set

Before I talk about the set, a little anecdote:

New York City, June of 2004, 2 hours after the famed power outage.

It is Friday night and we're out on the town looking for something to do. But New York is uncharacteristically - and I hesitate to use this word, but damned if I have to - lifeless. Folks is just staying in their cribs hibernating. After circling around in a cab for anything that looks decent, we finally spot a joint that looks like it has potential. We eagerly jump out to check it out. The small placard out front has the following written in obscene yellow chalk: DJ Premier, $10 cover. I can't believe my luck. I approach the bouncer and ask him if it's for real. "Don't make me pay $10 to see some Primo impersonator, now!". "Come on bro, I ain't frontin', he retaliates. "My man Primo is down there right now spinning some live shit."

I figure a $10 gamble to catch Premier simply spinning in a small club is well worth the risk. Actually, for the little time I spend in NYC, it's worth about $50! When I walk in, sure enough, Primo is up there on the decks. My man Ian goes straight for the bar but I'm not worried about drinking right about now. I mean, the Dj Premier is up there on the loonies and twonies!!!! He mixes in the next song with Primo timeliness and tastefullness. He puts the record back in its sleeve and then I'm suddenly concerned by his next action. "Um, why is he putting all of his records into his carrier box? He's not packin' em away... It can't be...." But it too is. Noooooooooooooo! So close! The bar is dead, he got paid so it must be time to get back to the lab. As Primo passes me, I do the only thing I can do: stick out my fist and say "Yo Primo, respect". Sure enough, he gives me a pound and walks up the stairs and out the door. Secretly, I hope the contact with his hand will somehow transfer some of his dj magic into me through osmosis.

And now, two years later, I'm once again in the presence of the master - though cirumstances are much different. This time, rather than a quaint NY club, I am here in a jam-packed megaclub in Asia. And more importantly, he is taking out his needles rather than putting them away. After the Taiwanese acts, the same loal dj has taken over to play a few tracks while Primo readies himself. As a budding dj, I can't help but put myself in the other dj's position. Can there be any more pressure when mixing than having a legend standing behind you getting ready to take over. My hands are jittering nervously just imagining it was me. Involuntary poop in the pants about...now. I can tell my man is a little unnerved as he isn't quite as loose and carefree as he was an hour ago. Can't blame him. At last he steps up, bringing several records with him. Xiao Jei's and xieng sheng's, the moment you've all been waiting for...

First, a short speech to address the crowd and then he asks us if we're ready. Hmm, let me think about that one. Let's see, I've been listening to the last ten years of your music non-stop in my Ipod all week long, so, yeah, you could say I'm pretty much ready. And by the way, can't you see the Angel Falls of drool flowing from my lower lip? And then the classic beat from "MC's Act Like They Don't Know" drops and we all know that it's on - Primo is in the house!

The first set is nothing but early nineties hip hop classics. One after another, the beats that have made us giddy throughout the years are slapped onto those spinning wheels of steel mixed in Primo's sublime and unique style. The length of each song depends entirely on the next one; some have a short-lived playing time, a mere bar or two to give us a tease of what could have been. It's as if, through his selections, Premier is saying, "Careful not to get too attached because guess what other little surprise I've got in store for you." That's the sign of master. Let them know what they're missing and even hurt them with it intentionally so that when you drop the next one, they'll be even more excited for it. Plus, it's a cunning technique to sow seeds for the next time...

Meanwhile, Primo is making sure we are still with him by encouraging crowd participation through command and repeat. People are slags for being told what to do and I'm no exception. I feel like one of my kindergarten students and Primo is the teacher. Whatever you want me to say, I'll say it. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. Why? Because it's fun and I'm mad for it!!! Oh, here comes another intro to a classic and I'm jumping up and down again in frenetic anticipation. Normally a somewhat subdued dude, I am up there consciously losing it and not giving a damn who sees me! And despite playing footy all afternoon, I jump higher now than I did for any of the headers during the game. Often, it takes only a few notes before I erupt with joy at the prospect of another classic. And not only does he know the words to every song he plays but he unashamedly sings along with them loudly into the mic, encouraging us to do the same. This goes on for an hour or longer before he graciously allows us to rest by inviting Big Shug onto the stage.

Thanks to Big Shug, I had a buffer with which to catch my breath, pee, claim my complimentary drink and wriggle my way back near the front. Big Shug is, well, hai hao (so-so). He's a big boy who likes to talk about being big. Yet he lacks the originality or the stage presence of a gifted emcee. He's not terrible yet neither is he inspiring. I can only assume he is Primo's boy. Primo makes sure to support him as best he can; doing his best with what he's got to work with. This is nothing new however, as he's often worked with emcees whose skills aren't on par with his production talent (um, can you say Group Home).

Now it's Primo's turn again. He takes the mic once again and declares in his steadfast way that he is going to take us back to where hip hop all began. Back to the roots is it? The tingling, the shivers and the newly secreted adrenalin are all instant reactions by my nervous system, responding hastily to the information my brain has processed: in short, here come the breaks!!! So, if he is going back, way back, which song do you think he begins with? Go on, I'll give you a guess. Louis Armstrong? Cab Calloway? Good guesses but we aren't going that way back. Apache? Ooh, another good guess. What was that? Herbie Hancock's Rockit? Best guess yet. Many a dj revert back to the immensely popular Rockit video where they first saw the scratch performed by DJ Grand Mixer DXT as their inspiration for wanting to dj. Well sorry, but you never had a chance. And don't even try to tell me Tears For Fears was your next guess!

Ok, now I can feel you starting to disbelieve. What does Tears For Fears have to do with hip hop? Well, let's not forget that Premier is a hip hop producer, and the only thing a hip hop producer looks for when he or she is making a beat is the sample; as in, a bar or a sound to use found on any given record, no matter how random it may be. Consequently, anything from country, to classical, to 80's pop to Hawaiian ukelele ensembles are game to use in a beat. Primo came to teach that there are indeed no boundaries when it comes to the heart of hip hop. Because it's all about the music. Throughout the remainder of the night, he would refer to what's real and that attitude didn't let up even when he played ACDC's Back In Black, Queen's Another One Bites The Dust, Steve Miller's The Joker, Blondie's Rapture, Rush's Tom Sawyer (a dj fav), Pink Floyd's The Wall (I would have chosen a different Floyd track myself) and even Nirvana's Teenage Spirit wasn't a stretch. And we haven't even touched the funk and soul classics like Jimmy Castor's It's Just Begun and AWB's Pick Up the Pieces and some James Brown joints just to name a few. He drops one bomb after another and I get more excited with each one again. A personal fav is Bob James' Nautilus, a track I had mysteriously been pining for recently...

Then it's back to hip hop to close it out. First a predictable yet always satisfying dedication set to all the fallen rappers. Big L, Ghostface Killah, Biggie, Tupac and Big Pun. Then it's time to show off some of the newest joints. For the finale, I decide to join my buddy Jordan, who has planted himself front and centre. Premier's set is so long (3+ hours) that a good chunk of the crowd has already evaporated by now. We are directly in front of the bass speakers. I'm wading in the intense vibrations the bass-heavy track is providing. And when he throws on the second last track, Dead Prez' Bigger Than Hip Hop, the vibrations intensify tenfold. For all those who are familiar with the song, need I remind you of my location? It certainly gets my vote for one of the sickest bass line in hip hop's story. Jordan and I flash each other a knowing look before hunching over and surfing our heads right down with the beat, lower and lower, until that seemingly fathomless and unending/no beginning bass line shimmies throughout our entire bodies.

Primo then closes out the set with a classic Gangstarr track and, with a bow, he announces that he is done. What? Only 3+ hours? That's it? I'm joking, of course, as I honestly don't think I can take any more. And yet, unbelievably, the drunken Taiwanese youths are demanding more of him. While they chant, "One more, one more", I independently counter it with "No more, no more". When you get hit with the real deal for three hours, jumping, screaming and goin' buckwild with every ounce you've got to give, then the tank becomes empty at some point.

I go up to see Dan, who is now sitting on a stool, rubbing his knee tenderly. Poor Old Man Dan. His bum knee is acting up from all the leaping and bounding. I sink into the seat next to him. "That was an epiphany", he says, practically teary-eyed. Speechless, breathless, I can only nod in agreement. He and I will surely reminisce about this one while playing cards when we're in our eighties...

Xie xie Primo for temporarily lifting me above the clouds, keeping me suspended in time and, most importantly, for blowin' up the spot.


* give a listen, especially you West Coasters at http://fm881.stut.edu.tw:8000 (you will get many ? because it's in Chinese. Click on the third icon from the left (3?) to listen.
Live on Fridays from 1-3 PM local time and rebroadcast Sundays at the same time)