Sun beats down on a field of people, mixed races, different colored faces blowing smoke in all directions. Fines nonexistent, free for all yet we remain civil. A magnetic field, we’re pulled towards a common positive.
Hip hop to the rhythm of the beat.
Black Star comprised of mos definitely and Talib Kweli representing the Brooklyn borough.
A gathering of people for a sole purpose, that of a culture and not a style of music.
Crowds rocking to a beat, unintentional tidal wave effect. Words projected to an audience, watch as they bob their heads as they consume cannabis, downing Heineken cans in the midst of the heat ; good times who would contest this?
The kindness of a stranger to douse my t-shirt in water to cover my bald head, contrary to a dread man’s.
Patiently waiting to the kick of drums and woodwind instruments. Altos and tenors, baritones and trumpets.
Knees feel tense as we wait.
A slight mix up, Gza appears from the back. Will Childish Gambino come next?
"Shaolin!", exclaims a voice so deep it resonates through the mob of die hard Wu fans.
The Genius inaugurates his lesson, fingers formed in Ws fly and move from side to side, adjacent to the buildings that make up Governor's Island.
Throbbing fists in the air symbolising solidarity, results of a hip hop veteran projecting tales in New York lingo. Verbal tactics untouched by present artists, it's shameful and embarrassing.
An occasional dragon fly grazes my shoulder.
Recent signee Freddie Gibbs voluntarily suggests a last song. Water bottle in his right, the microphone handled in his left. Narration of the ghetto then he disappears behind the stage.
Rza is the topic of discussion. A content crowd rhymes alongside a figure that emerged in the early 90s, architect of the legendary Wu tang clan.
The constant bob of heads, crowned in caps that fit and snap back.
"The G-O-D" recited in perfect harmony. Touching on superstition growing up with the absence of religion. It only drives a person to question.
Damp hair on a man as he sips his Heineken. Sweat evaporates, the sun strong as it warms Governor’s Island.
Common streetwear is distinguished by style and etiquette, no use of the term "swag".
The sun comes close to its set.
The blue horizon quickly fades into the distance, an array of multi colors. Similar to a beautiful painting, it's undisputedly one of life's beauties.
Sisters feel her music, the embodiment of female empowerment and eccentricity, who else but the beautiful Erykah Badu.
Skin darkened from the sun's highest rise. Grey tank top loosely covers my upper body.
No weaves in the audience, a hundred percent natural.
Patiently, we wait as the sun is setting.
Occasional glances at wrist watches and cell phones.
Low grade only for the mellow feel, ride to the vibe with every pedal on this bicycle, mines got no training wheels.
"Ambassador and Queen of the culture."
Hot 97’s Peter Rosenberg introduces the next performing artist, with sincerity and the utmost respect.
Goosebumps spread throughout as she addresses the crowd, acknowledging the sisters followed by the brothers.
Utter bewilderment as she controls the crowd. Her mere stage presence and attitude radiate through the crowd.
"Is bigger than religion…hip hop!"
“Is bigger than the government…hip hop!"
Repetitions of boom! Clack! As she serenades her following.
Feet trembling from fatigue and soreness, the day begins to take a toll on this body, however the concert has just commenced.
Mos def calmly admires his colleague as she rocks the stage.
Vintage Christopher Wallace and Naughty by Nature, DJ quit stalling!
"Can we talk about love?" she questions. She is Lauryn Hill.
Soulful and passionate, her hand gestures question the audience as they respond with cheers of adoration.
Feel the music as it vibrates off your body.
How come we ain't getting no higher?
Constant requests to raise the volume, annoyed yet she continues. A true veteran of this art form.
"You can get the money, you can get the power!"
Unexpected intermission, sound mixer's definitely lost his job.
In between Lauryn Hill's sound malfunction, to Nasir Jones' well worth the wait performance, to Suns' Steve Nash breaking it down on stage under the Queensbridge set banner, to the lengthy period it took to get off the island on a ferry; the excruciating leg pain and fatigue in both soles; you come to realise it was all worth it.
As I sit under the midnight sky, the backdrop includes an erection of buildings and skyscrapers, surrounded by a body of water. The New York skyline, how beautiful art thou.
Intrigued by the simple fact we share a common interest, yet we are so different.
Hip hop isn't rap. It's a culture that leaves not one single race untouched.
Rap is rhythm and poetry.
Q-tip claims “along with hip hop, jazz is the only form of creativity in its purest form”.
At times, I feel sorry for our youth. Those who grow up listening to the Wiz' and Nicki's, mistakenly consider them hip hop. I say it's hip pop.
The concert was a beautiful experience. We were fortunate enough to witness some of the all time greats live, in the mecca of hip hop. The beauty truly lies in the movement; where individuals of different backgrounds and color are able to coexist on an island.
Start a following, birth a cult. Reach great numbers, start a culture. Attain worldwide status, you have a religion. No longer is it considered a genre of music, but a way of life whether you’re aware of it or not.
That is the beauty of Hip Hop.
