RUN-DMC / PHOEBE ONE / DEEJAY PUNK ROCK
Beats Reality, Birmingham Que Club
This is a gig I’ve been waiting for for a long time. When I was 12, and wanted to go to my first concert, I asked my Dad if he would take me to see Run-DMC, Public Enemy and The Beastie Boys. He said no, unsurprisingly, and took me to see Huey Lewis And The News instead.
So understandably, I’m quite excited. However, there is a feeling of impending disappointment during the pre-show entertainments. Presumably some kind of old skool celebration, these consist ofthe usual collection of skating, graffiti, BMX and kung-fu flicks providing the background for a bunch of DJs and breakdancers, and already there are warning signs- one of the decks is humming, the bass bins keep cutting out and any time one of the breakdancers does something flash, the record skips. Guest DJ, the could-be imposter Deejay Punk-Roc, is obviously getting pissed off with it by the time he introduces support act Phoebe One. The much-touted (by herself) ‘UK-style’ is not particularly evident, the dodgy mid-Atlantic accent belying the actually quite intelligent pop-feminist rhymes.
After Phoebe, Punk-Roc is back, dropping remixes of his own tracks alongside old skool favourites, but runs into trouble when he mixes into The 45 King’s ‘The 900 Number’- two Kangol-hatted bouncers step onstage, take the needle off the record and Punk-Roc is outta here, for reasons which are unclear, save for the fact that Run-DMC appear to be imminent.
It’s a big build-up from Jam Master Jay, and when DMC and Run have finally made us shout loud enough, it’s into a double whammy of the Nevins remixes. It’s nice that they get them out of the way so they can concentrate on their own stuff, but something is very, very amiss. It isn’t just the horribly anaemic PA that only begrudgingly delivers the bare essential kick and bass, losing Jay’s scratches and many of DMC’s rhymes, but it’s the guys themselves. Jay is the only one to have retained his original charisma- hat and sunglasses still very firmly in place- whilst DMC sounds more like the bloke from Cameo than the King Of Rock. Run himself still has an unparalleled delivery, but is starting to take on the appearance of a padded-out Eddie Murphy in ‘The Nutty Professor’. They are a vaguely flabbier shadow of their former selves.
Mind you, even with a PA that could be outdone by my clock radio you cannot fault the show. These guys have been doing this for 15 years now, and it shows. All the best tracks from their two best albums are here, steering clear of their embarrassing God-Rap patch; ‘Sucker MCs’, ‘Peter Piper’, ‘Walk This Way’, ‘Tougher Than Leather’, ‘Mary Mary’, ‘King Of Rock’ and ‘Beats To The Rhyme’ are all present and correct, albeit widely spaced out by the regulation Old Skool call-and-response interludes, which are great fun as long as you’ve checked your dignity into the cloakroom and are prepared to wave your hands in the air like you just don’t care.
Unfortunately, by the end of the show they seem to have given up on the music completely, choosing instead to plug Adidas and their own tour merchandise and show off their kids. They leave the stage with a massive rendition of ‘It’s Like That’ done their way, but by this time the crowd’s attention has started to wander. An entertaining evening, to be sure, but spoilt by too much money and too many egos.
