Review: The Worst Show Ever

I have been to a lot of bad shows in my life. I have seen inept bands, bored crowds, evil bouncers and all the rest. However, it wasn’t until last night that I attended a show that I can officially call the worst show ever.

Six hardcore rap acts were on the bill. I showed up right away, knowing the one I wanted to see the most, Danny Diablo, would be playing early. Two hours passed before any musical action took place. In those two hours, I learned that two of the groups on the list would not be playing. I didn’t know whether to be bummed or to rejoice that I would not have to sit through a rapper named Boondox, whose shtick was that he was country and wore a straw hat.

While I waited among the throngs of fifteen year old male Insane Clown Posse fans, I watched them swagger as if they were tough. I listened to them talk about how the bouncers at First Avenue in downtown Minneapolis sucked because they wouldn’t let anybody smoke pot. I listened to one of them explain how one of those terrible bouncers once punched a jugalette (Apparently, this is the term for the female ICP fans, since the males are called jugalos.) in the face for saying the N-word. This sentence was uttered with a straight face. I watched them spend their allowance money on huge piles of CDs and T-shirts by the headlining act, Necro.

Two hours after my arrival, Danny Diablo appeared onstage. I’ve been listening to this dude’s music for nearly a decade, from his old hardcore band Skarhead to his new thug core hip hop stuff. He’s earned my respect by injecting everything he does with an intense level of testosterone. He makes the musical equivalent of bulging biceps and bench presses… oh yeah, and punches to the face. So, imagine my surprise when all five feet and six inches of this guy stepped onto stage wearing a fur coat that looked like a hand-me-down from a destitute grandmother. I accepted it and moved on, realizing that if anyone’s masculinity could overcome such a serious obstacle, it was Double D’s.

Unfortunately, his masculinity couldn’t compensate for what came next: A four song set, featuring one song that wasn’t even his, but one spit by his buddy, Ceekay. Even worse, it was four poorly-performed songs. He was just rapping over a copy of his CD and the CD was turned up so loud that I couldn’t actually hear him. For all I knew, he might not have even been rapping. He might just have been mouthing the tough guy lyrics. Actually, I take that back, he was definitely rapping. That was made abundantly clear by the fact that the CD was scratched and skipped several times during each song, leaving his rapping out of sync with the music. Each time, he shot a confused glance at the dude working the laptop computer behind him. Between songs, he asked if we liked hardcore. The dozen or so kids who had gathered seemed like maybe they did, but that didn’t cause Diablo to do anything hardcore. Instead, he apologized for the botched set. I’d rather hear him apologize for not living up to his reputation for musical beat downs. Blah.

Forty-five minutes later, the next group hit the stage. Actually, the next two groups hit the stage. At least, they were listed as two groups on the flyer. When they introduced themselves, they used at least three names: “We are Psycho Realm, Sick Symphonies, Street Soldiers, etc.” What kind of nonsense is that? You can only be one group and you should only be billed as one group. Maybe I’m just old fashioned.

The odd part is that their rhymes were tight. This was an old school Los Angeles group, considered legendary by some. They sure didn’t act legendary. They acted bored as hell. Maybe they were embarrassed by the tour they were on. Amazingly, some people in the crowd started getting into it. After four songs, I started to see some energy. I thought maybe they were going to turn things around and the night was going to start going in the right direction.

Instead, half of the crowd started chanting for Necro.

“Are you guys psyched for Necro? Okay, we’ll play one more and just get out of your way.”

As promised, they blew through one more tune before disappearing backstage. The fifteen minute set gave way to another forty-five minute wait.

Finally, Necro came on.

I was prepared to not like Necro. He’s a fat, big-eared sloth with a speech impediment. Still, he’s got something. He whipped the crowd into a frenzy fast, thanks in part to a hyper sidekick named Mr. Hyde. Everyone seemed to love his raps, which consisted of sick rhymes about choking people with tampons and, frequently, monotonous shouts of “Death Rap” or “Murder” or some such nonsense. I started to get into it. I started to enjoy myself.

Then the bad really started. The misogyny, homophobia and general asshole-ness just poured out. Now, I’ve enjoyed entertainment that contained these features to a lesser extent, but never have I been bludgeoned so intensely with them. I felt like I was suffocating in worthlessness.

After an array of murder-oriented tunes, he played one of his porn raps off an album called “The Sexorcist” or something like that. He invited the ladies in the crowd to come up on stage. All five of them did. It started out innocently enough, with him doing his rhymes and the girls dancing around. Then he had the crowd start with the “show your tits” chant.

The girls didn’t comply. The chanting got more intense.

Necro decided to help things along. He lurched up behind a cute Asian girl and started rubbing his gut, and whatever hid below it, against her. He grabbed her boob and squeezed. Maybe the fact that this girl was wearing a very tight tank top that said “I heart fucking” across the chest made him think that he had special permission to touch. He decided that she wanted to show some more skin. He took the liberty of lifting her top, revealing massive fake boobies. She hid them quickly as the crowd of puberty-ridden dudes cheered through their drool.

The song faded down and Necro stopped rapping. An awkward conversation commenced between the slug and the babe. Obviously, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but there was a lot of pointing backstage and her shaking her head negative before she finally just bolted offstage and disappeared altogether.

He took a break from the sex rhymes to do one of what he referred to as “the rugged shit.”

This didn’t last long. He segued back into the dirty stuff by having the crowd chant the word “porn” over and over again. Then he got the remaining ladies back on stage. The Asian chick was noticeably absent.

He bragged about how he always brought out the babes. During the song, he forcefully shoved one of them to her knees to simulate oral sex. After going along with it for a second, she fought to get back to her feet quickly, blonde hair all disheveled. Strangely, she didn’t seem too phased by it. Later, she gladly responded to one of the “show your tits” chants from the teenage boys in the crowd.

After that song finished, Necro yelled, “I always bring the good pussy. You all like pussy, don’t you?”

The crowd cheered enthusiastically.

“You better,” he threatened.

I wanted to yell, “I like dick!” I didn’t, because it undoubtedly would have caused me to be attacked by the throng of misguided high schoolers. The last thing I wanted to have happen was to punch someone and get their popped zit goo all over my knuckles.

But there would be violence. The real kicker, the thing I have never before seen in my life, came toward the end of the set.

A kid in the front row started shouting something.

Necro crunched his little blob paws into fists and punched the kid in the face.

Then, as an after thought, he lisped, “What did you say to me?”

Through the microphone, you could hear the kid sobbing a bit as he said, “You’re the shit. You’re the shit.”

Mr. Hyde, Necro’s crony, tried to pull the blob away, saying, “No, man. That’s your fan. He loves you.”

Necro’s response: “Oh, I thought you said ‘You AIN’T shit.’”

He went on to explain that you don’t dis him while he’s on stage.

The kid didn’t leave. He stayed right there in the front row, shouting along to the rest of Necro’s retarded songs. How much do you have to love a rapper to do that after they punch you in the face? Too much.

I stuck around to the bitter end, not able to take my eyes off this ridiculous display. Then I rushed to my car, took my Danny Diablo CD out of the stereo and put my Gwen Stefani CD in.

(Necro, Psycho Realm and Danny Diablo played at Station 4 in St. Paul on 1/15/08)