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Ahh, sunny San Diego, what a place. Since graduating
from high school I have lived here for five years. In that time, I have
developed a complex love-hate relationship with this city situated in the
Southwest corner of the United States. The things I love about it include
the weather, the beaches, and the women. The things I hate about it are
mainly the people that inhabit the city (this would have to include the
women as well) and their opinions about life, music, and politics (and their
sports apathy). LFG impresario Joe Kostelnik, who also lived here for five
years, once called it a “cultureless pit” and that term could certainly sum
up some of my more angst ridden feelings about the city. Let me tell a few
stories to illustrate the lack of basic cultural knowledge and appreciation
that permeates this sun drenched town.
I remember about three years ago being at a late night
drunken gathering with some friends and, on the TV, the newswire announced
that Ken Kesey had passed away. Astonished and drunk, I forwarded the
announcement loudly to the rest of the room. NO ONE knew who Ken Kesey
was!!! There were close to 15 college students present!!! I (and hopefully
most of you) was well aware of who Mr. Kesey was when I was nine years old.
I got one more for ya. You see, when it comes to hip
hop this is a city where Cee-Lo is neither a dice game nor a musical artist,
but rather an opening act for the Roots. This in itself is no crime, but
what is a crime is when the divine being that is Cee-Lo is forced to endure
frat boy chants of “ROOTS ROOTS ROOTS” during his act from a bunch of
people who only know who the Roots are because of Cody Chesnutt Kravitz’
admittingly entrancing guitar strums and hook on The Seed 2.0. This is a
land where Good Charlotte is an up and coming rock band instead of an
insult. Specifically, when talking about music and hip hop, the
appreciation is lacking. The musical taste is more along the lines of Jack
Johnson and Sublime by the beach, with techno, some hip hop hits, and white
boy rock elsewhere.
But alas there is a new hope amongst the wasteland, for
in the last year a club humbly named L5 has emerged from a sea of spiky hair
and wrist watches to bring some real hip hop to San Diego. At L5, on a
Friday night, for $10 the starving hip hop fans congregate to see the likes
of Too Short or Whodini. On other nights, L5 has played host to Slick Rick,
Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth, and, every once in awhile, a little guy named DJ
Premier likes to come through and spin records. With no dress code and a
more ethnically diverse crowd than most anywhere in the city, the only thing
that reminds you that you are in downtown San Diego on a Friday night is
when you go to the bar and have to pay $8 for a mixed drink. But no matter,
drink heavily beforehand, slam a few in the car, and arrive at midnight,
which is what I and my accomplices did last night.
And that’s because last night, June 5th,
2004, the Blastmasta himself (KRS One) graced us with his presence.
Arriving on stage at a quarter till one, a rambunctious crowd of 300 or so
greeted KRS with the kind of applause that a hip hop legend deserves. Up
front, sweaty, drunk fans were jockeying for key positions, hoping to get a
pound from the teacha himself. Disappointingly, there were a few near
scuffles mere steps away from the stage, where a message of peace, love, and
knowledge was being preached. But no matter, KRS is at hand.
Looking wide-eyed and thin, KRS bounced straight into
“The MC” and then “MC’s Act Like They Don’t Know” (a common 1-2 opening for
him). Surprisingly, KRS didn’t have his own DJ, and the house DJ got the
thrill of his life. KRS let him know it by turning the knobs himself a few
times so that the crowd could clearly hear every one of his lyrics. With a
catalogue so vast to choose from, a KRS One show is never a letdown. He
played old hits like “South Bronx,” “Criminal Minded,” and “Love’s Gonna
Getcha,” as well as later day singles like “Step Into The World” and “Ah
Yeah!” And he talked. Not much, until the end, but more on that in a
second. The energy of the hour and 15 minute plus set was incredible. The
crowd once again surprised me with their lyrical knowledge (the first time
was at the Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth concert where I felt like a new jack),
chanting every word of a verse from “Why Is That?” off of KRS’ Ghetto
Music album, where the genealogical history of Abraham is traced back to
Shem (KRS claims that the bible says that Shem is black. He then proceeds
to connect him to Abraham).
Of course, the old school legend freestyled endlessly,
touching on topics like President George Bush and the war (surprisingly,
he’s against both!) and the popularity of Kanye West (a sublime diss of
sorts, followed up by “I’m not hatin”). And then came the lecture. Really,
a KRS one concert is always a lecture. During one freestyle, he said he had
been studying theology for 23 years, and that he lectures at the Harvard
Divinity School and the Professors keep their mouths shut. He talked about
the need for hip hop doctors, lawyers, politicians, etc. But finally, he
decided to speak. Bush and the war were the topics of the day, and the
crowd applauded mightily as he spoke about how the tel-lie-vision recruits
young men and women for the armed services. His anti-Bush and anti-war
diatribe was tame and well received. However, two or three people near me
flipped him off the whole time. One was an ugly, chubby white girl who I
tried to say something to; her boyfriend was visibly embarrassed. The funny
part about this was when KRS would say things supporting the troops or
something about self empowerment, the middle fingers would quickly retract
only to come back out when the topic returned to George Bush. He did slip
in a line claiming that Bush himself was responsible for 9/11.
After this long intermission of sorts, KRS walked off
stage and over to a table to sign his new CDs on sale for $10. The great
thing about this was that he kept rhyming, first doing “A Friend” and then
“The Style You Haven’t Done Yet,” and I’ll be damned if I didn’t see the
pudgy white girl that was flipping him off 10 minutes earlier buy his CD and
get his autograph.
The moral of the story is this; First off, KRS is great
and even though San Diego is a “cultureless pit,” there is one place
downtown on the corner of L and 5th (original name) right near
the new ballpark where hip hop enthusiasts can congregate to hear great
artists and party till 4 in the morning (after the set, a DJ comes back on
until 4). Once you step inside, it’s like stepping into a whole new world,
one where the passing of Ken Kesey is mourned, and KRS one will always be
the teacha’. Oh yeah, Samix, you missed out. Peace, and Knowledge STILL
Reigns Supreme Over Nearly Everybody.
-Colin O’Dell
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