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a (not so) great review of LA's show from Urb's blog site
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Sage Francis
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Joined: 30 Jun 2002
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a (not so) great review of LA's show from Urb's blog site  Reply with quote  

http://www.urb.com/permalink/923/Sage-Francis/Buck-65:-Human-the-Death-Dance-Tour.html

Hollywood, Calif., June 15, 2007 – I walked into the Music Box when Sage Francis’s opener and long-time friend Buck 65 was begging the crowd to cum on his face. Apparently not to many in my proximity have heard this request before. Context unknown, I moved toward the stage. From afar, I thought the Nova Scotia native was wearing an awkward white scarf. Turns out it was a neck brace. I didn’t question dude’s somewhat-unsettling demand, so why ponder if he’s defying doctor’s orders? I reached the partition separating the sick fuck from his fans as he broke into “Roses and Bluejays”. Now I’m a fan of Buck 65, but I haven’t seen nor heard him since his mid-day, main stage set at Coachella two years ago. “Roses and Bluejays” is the only song title I know, which made my arms rise in unison with an absorbed front row. The cum-ready-crowd really went nuts when dude removed the brace and rotated his neck with ease. The uninjured Buck continued to intersperse his subdued set with “did you know on this day in history” type shit, which didn’t enrich my brain as much as I hoped it would. Either I’ve learned too much and everything’s lost its mystery, or I had one too many jack and gingers at that point. Buck’s washboard beat box, rousing turntablism, and charismatic filler was enjoyable, sure, yet his presence seemed reserved especially after Sage emerged.

Sage took stage bearing Elizabeth Taylor glasses and calculated madness. His confident articulation was matched with manic gesticulation and revolting antics. During the second or third song (I was taking great notes), he removed his shoe, hung it from the mic stand and spit a wad of phlegm on the toe. Dude then smeared the spit-covered shoe across his cheek while spitting eloquence into the mic. Revolting, right? The last time I saw the poet from Providence he was fully clad in camouflage and Rick Rubin’s beard. Tonight he was pushing a prep aesthetic – a pressed collar and a shave made Sage seem much more friendly than our Coachella encounter years ago. After hitting the audience with some newness from Human the Death Dance, his second and latest Epitaph release, Sage revisited classic-cuts including “Sea Lion”, “Slow Down Ghandi” and, my favorite, “Crack Pipes”. Leading into “Makeshift Patriot”, Sage painted himself in liberal partisanship telling the audience a 9/11 ‘knock, knock’ joke and an anecdote about killing two Texans. In response, the crowd collectively shouted, “FUCK TEXAS”. It was around this collective condemnation of conservative bullshit that I found myself pressed against the far right speaker and so have no idea which song Sage put his massive, dollar-sign shades on for. Unfortunately, I missed the money shot. I put my wrist-band on wrong and, when I passed the partition to get an inferior of Francis, security was on me faster than Bodie on them Hoppers. The closer was delivered not by Francis, but by a spoken-word artist who bears a striking resemblance to the Nazi on Oz. At that point I was near deaf and soaked in someone else’s sweat, yet totally content.
Post Sat Jun 30, 2007 7:24 pm
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