sxsw day four: i met ghostface

Four days of walking for fifteen hours a day takes a toll, and right now I’m feeling fairly fried. But I couldn’t go to bed without saying something about the highlight of my week: meeting Ghostface.

First off: the Ghostface/Rakim double-bill was the show of the week for me, and it absolutely did not disappoint. Backed by the phenomenal L.A. group the Rhythm Roots All-Stars, Ghost roared through a healthy cross-section of his mighty, mighty back catalog. On stage, Ghostface vibrates with charisma — his flow is as urgent and breathless as it is on record, and it gained even more heft and velocity when backed by RRA’s hearty funk licks. The show hit a fever pitch early, when RRA dropped the break from “Hard to Handle” into “Ice Cream” and Ghost & his Theodore Unit kept right on rapping, hitting each syllable harder and harder until the whole song exploded with fury and force. Almost as good were the rarely-performed “Biscuits” and show-opening “The Champ,” each of them revealing Ghostface as the old-school R&B artist he truly is.

My hopes were even higher for Rakim, but I have to confess a slight letdown — not an easy thing to say about a living legend. He kept dropping key lines from “Paid in Full” and “Don’t Sweat the Technique,” wrongly assuming the audience would fill them in for him. They didn’t, and so most of his best songs were left blank. He rhymed with a bit less conviction than Ghost, and though I still maintain Rakim is one of the greatest living lyricists, he couldn’t quite get his excellent songs over live.

Halfway through Rakim’s set, my fiancée nudged me and pointed to the wings, where Ghostface was watching the show, bobbing his head and beaming wide. I have a standing rule to never approach artists all fanboy-like, but this was one case where I couldn’t help it. I nervously shuffled over and spouted some sincere but stammery sentiment about Ghost being one of my favorite MCs, and how if he ever needs a biographer, I would leap at the chance. And then, for some reason, it seemed like a good idea to me to give him my business card. I’m sure he found me beyond foolish, but was polite and amiable nonetheless.

Meeting Ghostface has a way of eclipsing just about any other experience in the world for me, but I did manage to see a few more shows in the afternoon. Dropped by the Rosebuds who, sadly, could not seem to get it together for South By Southwest. Much better were the Affair, whose songs are tougher and more dangerous live than they are on record. Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings reliably delivered everything Amy Winehouse lacked, serving up simmering soul and selling it with passion and conviction. Clockcleaner put on a riotous, snarling unsanctioned show late in the evening and the fabulous Thrill Jockey band the Zincs previewed material from their stellar upcoming Black Pompadour for an rapt audience of 10. The Zincs write lovely songs that recall the best parts of the Chills’ and the Bats‘ catalogs. It ended the festival for me on a wonderful, understated note.

Wait, did I mention I met Ghostface?