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Patriot Games Holiday wrap-up: tit-tassels, Euro muesli and Talib. Green Dragon’s American Revel-ution
“It’s great to see all you true patriots here,” yelped the “American Revel-ution” host as he introduced a burlesque dancer with “Beat Bush” plastered on her soft underbelly. Nationalism was the theme, and, from the billowing bedsheet Declaration of Independence replica to the DJ’s selection of pro-American rock joints, Green Dragon’s 4th of July fiesta was bacchanalia slathered in red, white and blue. Clad in 3-cornered hats, breeches, sashes, scarves and zesty vests, the street performance group served up Brooklyn Lagers and roasted wieners for a crowd eager to indulge, given that the event’s profits were said to be going towards dethroning King George. The highlight of the evening was the toppling of a looming George Bush effigy that rode atop a WMD missile. Dubbed Fort Ticondarevel, the venue was a rooftop space in South Williamsburg, an area that has only partially succumbed to the diaspora of Bedford’s unwashed hipster masses. The neighborhood has the ever-fleeting flavor of subdued gentrification -- old Puerto Rican men sip Coors Light from Styrofoam cups in front of Rawkus Records murals aside fledgling Thai restaurants. In fact, many of the revelers assembled at the Green Dragon party seemed remnants of the pioneering group of artists that made Williamsburg fertile soil for the monster-in-Filthmart that it has become. Devoid of the practiced disengagement found 10 blocks north, these were 35-year old artists who drank Pabst while changing their infants’ diapers and older Caucasian women with George Clinton dreads and glitter-splashed grills. It was fucking earnest.
The MoMA’s weekly summer dancefest popped off on July 3rd with DJ sets from West Coast underground heroes Madlib and Peter Butter Wolf. With lines stretched around three sides of the block, it was a remarkable phenomenon for those unaccustomed to the turf: people arriving up en masse for something in the putrid land of Queens. Beneath a bamboo latticework rigged with cooling mist jets, thousands mingled in the dusty courtyard or sprawled in a sandy side antechamber as the powerful soul system belched bass. Madlib was first to spin from the elevated DJ tent, delivering an amiable blend of old school Hip-Hop, soul classics and break-beats. The crowd, a muesli of Euros, Neo-Soulers, indie Hip-Hop heads and sandaled artsy types seemed to enjoy it, but responded more forcefully to PBW’s array of up-tempo drum-heavy dance tunes. A minor stir was raised when a trio of glittered-up Magic the Gathering types made a semi-circle and went nutso with hula-hoops. Later, a girl with very low-slung jeans was gazed upon. A Turkish pushcart torched grizzled kebabs outside the gates and Brooklyn Lager was served inside, but at $5 a cup the party never turned into the beer brannigan we craved (luckily for us, the buy-ticket-to-get-beer gambit eliminated any sweaty employees from earning a tip). As darkness fell, the weary throngs scurried off to the 7 and G trains, wary of staying in the Q-Boro for more than several hours. See the PS1 site for the summer schedule.
There’s not much to do in Crown Heights besides shovel down foil cartons of oxtail and parasail down Classon in your knitted Rasta cap. So when Talib is performing over in Brower Park, you might as well troop over and see the pipsqueak. As part of the summer CityParks concert series promoted by Snapple and slippery-fingered developer Bruce Ratner, the Blackstar emcee was brought out to rap for a decent gathering of his Bucktown brethren. Bucktown, you say? Yes. And there were erstwhile Brooknam Boot Camp counselors Mr. Smif and Mr. Wesson alongside a camouflage-chameleoned Sean “Ruck” Price doing their famed BK anthem. Talib, whose voice oddly vacillated between raspy and wounded Cocker Spaniel, delivered requisite energy – but the crowd only seemed familiar with “Get By”, “Move Something” and that song with his name in the hook. While he stuck mainly with older material, Kweli did proudly announce that a new track entitled “I Try” was produced by Kanye West and featured Mary J. Blige. Unfortunately it might as well be “Get By III”, as it was reminiscent in both sound and feel to his original and that Dilated Peoples’ single with the KonMan: more hatin'-ass anti-drinking inspirationrap. Still, a free show is a free show, and we’ll even probably go see fucking Arrested Development in two weeks out of pure convenience. Read more articles in New York » |
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