Ain’t Nothing Like The Old Skool…

I suppose there is something more than appealing about walking into a concert and the show is already starting and you weren’t late. Well, I suppose in modern concert time we weren’t late. And for some reason or other I didn’t feel like I was in a concert. I felt more as student entering a lecture hall. Kool Moe Dee was on stage giving a lesson on battling rhyming. You know, Professor Kool Moe Dee…he used to live downtown…

Soon, Kurtis Blow would hold a class on kinesthology. Now, I’ve seen Maize in concert doing jumping jacks and performing high levels of cardiovascular exertions, but watching a quinquagenarian not only break dance(superbly I might add), but also go on to host the entire night, it does something shameful to the internal lazy bastard. Especially since out of the four or audience members asked to come onto the stage to form the cipher with him, only one would get an A in my opinion. Ah…I heard the overly analytical cries of “what would the others have gotten?” Let’s just say I’m affecting the kinder and gentler Owl…You’ll have to call or dm(twitter talk for ‘direct message;’ a form of “private” conversations on twitter) me for more details.

A mature and pulchritudinous(in every since of that term) MC Lyte graced the stage. If I was still rating my professors, she would have gotten a 4.0. Without having to jump off the stage, or yelling any indecipherable cadences, she held the audience in sway and injected it with a degree of energy most people have to snort charlie sheen to reach. As part of the class assignment, she assigned a crowd participant to recite her verse from Self-Destruction. A sister, she must have been from the honors class, grabbed the microphone with authority and spit the bars without a pause for breath or a lapse in memory.