Remember that gig when Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix were on stage together playing the back catalogue of Chuck Berry and Fats Domino? Nah me neither, because shit like that never actually happens. So imagine the look on the vinyl nerds’ faces when DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist, two of the finest turntablists to ever touch wax, held up the private collection of hip hop pioneer Afrika Bambaataa like it was the Ten Commandments. Ironically, the music of Afrika Bambaataa has become sacred text to artists sampling and cutting their way through life and this Renegades of Funk tour was to be a celebration of that, a recognition of all the man has done for the history of music.
Arriving on stage at the unsociable hour of 11.15pm on a school-night, the two brothers-in-arms created a twee visual effect with their matching sweatshirts, Shadow had “SURE” emblazoned across his chest and Chemist had the word “SHOT” labelled across his. The set began not on the decks, but on the mic with a lecture of sorts, with Professor Shadow explaining the significance of Bambaataa to not just hip hop, but to breaks, funk and music history as a whole. He made sure everyone in the room knew the gravity of the event that had himself and Cut Chemist in the same room as the Godfather of Hip Hop’s record collection. And closing the sermon, a spoken word record began a countdown and suddenly we were in the world of Afrika Bambaataa’s 60-year-old crates.
The set was a journey, from West African tribal beats to New York blues to Caribbean congo to West Coast jazz, they played deep cuts that must have had support act and Northside Records kingpin Chris Gill salivating onto his record bag. But for what was a fantastic show in theory – two of the greatest living DJs spinning the vinyl of one of music’s frontiersmen – collapsed in its execution. Their downfall was that the two DJs are so adept at their craft, they couldn’t help themselves from doing what they do best, which is scratch and cut the life and soul out of every record they play.
It didn’t help that the crowd sucked. It was a Wednesday night and The Espy was split between people who were off their chops from hours of drinking while waiting for the DJs and people that were tired from three days work, with another two dauntingly ahead of them. Sure & Shot fought against this, rallying the crowd at several points through the gig, but it only tired us more. “C’mon Melbourne, these records will never be played here again.” We all knew this, but every single time we had ten seconds to find a groove in a track, and their nimble, fast fingers would scratch it beyond recognition before dropping another slice of experimental space-jazz.
For once, the novelty of being in the same room as greatness had worn off, the experience itself was lacklustre and what was a tantalising gig in theory could not translate into a live performance.
BY CHRISTOPHER LEWIS
LOVED: God and Jesus in the same room on six turntables.
HATED: Crowd energy being akin to a morgue.
DRANK: Post-mix Sprite from the Maccas down the road.
