Prince's Trust Urban Music Festival : London Earls Court
Let’s hope that next year things might be more evenly matched...
Picture the scene: swarms of pre-pubescent girls excitedly clutch Lemar posters,
pimp-limping white boys half-cut on Alizé generically mumble "Y’get me, blud" and the heavy scent of skunk saturates the hormone-filled air outside. Yes, Wiley might wonder what to call it, but whatever the idiom of choice, the indefinable genre that is urban finally gets a whole weekend to itself. A melting-pot of musicality sees soca, soul, garage, grime and hip-hop – both US and UK – all found on the bill.
Set over two days, with blessing from Buck House, no less, the festival is a sold-out success, although pity the poor performers in the tumbleweed time-slots. Limited afternoon audience aside, the high-wire grime of the Ludacris-alike Durrty Doogz more than ignites a spark, while
TY’s organic groovement even gets a hand or two
in the air.
Things don’t really get rolling, though, until
early evening, when the panty-wetting antics
of ATL and Cassidy slither onstage to a now-packed auditorium. Eschewing the flexing of muscle, Dizzee Rascal’s east London Ebonics keep things nice and murky, although the crowd seem a little uncertain of how to react
to Streets’ scruffy stylings. Mike Skinner doesn’t appear arsed, however, as he nonchalantly wanders around swigging brandy
and musing about fit birds.
Inevitably perhaps, you can always count on the Yanks to steal the thunder. Despite a couple
of US no-shows, on Saturday it’s all about the bootylicious Beyonce and her dazzling display
of arse-shake, fireworks and special appearance by the Clyde to her Bonnie, Jay-Z. On Sunday meanwhile, Mos Def’s wily wordplay is well received, although it’s Alicia Keys’ pitch-perfect piano renditions of ‘Fallin’' and ‘If I Ain’t Got You’ that impress the most.
Still, there can only be one star. Headlining on both nights it’s the sunglasses-sporting Jay-Z’s superior spitting that effortlessly steals the show. The blinged-out rap royalty strides onstage to deafening cheers, and the throwing
up of various hand signals (something to do with record label Roc-A-Fella, apparently). ‘Big Pimpin’ is as bold as its title suggests, while Rick Rubin’s guitar-heavy ‘99 Problems’ gets feet flying from the floor. From breath control to crowd control, the retired rapper reiterates why he is indeed ‘God MC’.
As the kids patiently file out humming "Ho-va, ho-va", their Lemar posters exchanged for Jigga ones, it’s clear that while the UK has much to offer musically, it is, for now at least, all about the US. Let’s hope that next year things might be more evenly matched.
Hattie Collins
pimp-limping white boys half-cut on Alizé generically mumble "Y’get me, blud" and the heavy scent of skunk saturates the hormone-filled air outside. Yes, Wiley might wonder what to call it, but whatever the idiom of choice, the indefinable genre that is urban finally gets a whole weekend to itself. A melting-pot of musicality sees soca, soul, garage, grime and hip-hop – both US and UK – all found on the bill.
Set over two days, with blessing from Buck House, no less, the festival is a sold-out success, although pity the poor performers in the tumbleweed time-slots. Limited afternoon audience aside, the high-wire grime of the Ludacris-alike Durrty Doogz more than ignites a spark, while
TY’s organic groovement even gets a hand or two
in the air.
Things don’t really get rolling, though, until
early evening, when the panty-wetting antics
of ATL and Cassidy slither onstage to a now-packed auditorium. Eschewing the flexing of muscle, Dizzee Rascal’s east London Ebonics keep things nice and murky, although the crowd seem a little uncertain of how to react
to Streets’ scruffy stylings. Mike Skinner doesn’t appear arsed, however, as he nonchalantly wanders around swigging brandy
and musing about fit birds.
Inevitably perhaps, you can always count on the Yanks to steal the thunder. Despite a couple
of US no-shows, on Saturday it’s all about the bootylicious Beyonce and her dazzling display
of arse-shake, fireworks and special appearance by the Clyde to her Bonnie, Jay-Z. On Sunday meanwhile, Mos Def’s wily wordplay is well received, although it’s Alicia Keys’ pitch-perfect piano renditions of ‘Fallin’' and ‘If I Ain’t Got You’ that impress the most.
Still, there can only be one star. Headlining on both nights it’s the sunglasses-sporting Jay-Z’s superior spitting that effortlessly steals the show. The blinged-out rap royalty strides onstage to deafening cheers, and the throwing
up of various hand signals (something to do with record label Roc-A-Fella, apparently). ‘Big Pimpin’ is as bold as its title suggests, while Rick Rubin’s guitar-heavy ‘99 Problems’ gets feet flying from the floor. From breath control to crowd control, the retired rapper reiterates why he is indeed ‘God MC’.
As the kids patiently file out humming "Ho-va, ho-va", their Lemar posters exchanged for Jigga ones, it’s clear that while the UK has much to offer musically, it is, for now at least, all about the US. Let’s hope that next year things might be more evenly matched.
Hattie Collins
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