Being a hip-hop fan in Australia before today’s saturation of triple j feature albums and Spotify playlists was a full-time job. In the late ’90s and early ’00s there was a limited variety of viable, quality hip-hop to be found on mainstream radio or music television.
The internet was around, but there was nowhere near the same amount of websites, blogs and social profiles to discover music. As a music fan, you had to be proactive and you had to hunt. The usual avenues of discovering new hip-hop was either staying up ridiculously late to scour through Rage, or if you were lucky enough to have access to Yo MTV Raps late at night. Or you could track down and randomly select DVDs and CDs at your local record store and pray that they weren’t garbage.
There was no taste testing or protection from buyer’s remorse. It was an expedition. Through the above channels, I discovered Atmosphere and Brother Ali when I was 13 years old.
Scribble Jam (rest in peace) was once America’s biggest underground hip-hop festival, the Comic Con of boom-bap lyricism and turntablism. The annual DVD hosted a smorgasbord of MC, DJ and B-Boy battles as well as graffiti and hip-hop showcases. The rap battles were always my favourite, and via this platform I discovered Slug, of Atmosphere, and Brother Ali. Slug was always reliable for abstract antics and spectacle, whereas Brother Ali was an earnest, passionate and fearless emcee. A couple of years and many JB Hi-Fi overseas orders later and it was 2009 where I first saw the Rhymesayers Entertainment acts perform.
Much has changed for hip-hop since 2009, not just in Australia, but worldwide. With the likes of Drake, Future, Migos etc. crowding the charts and influencing a new generation of hip-hop artists, and with all hip-hop living in easy access on the internet, it becomes easy to forget the days of underground hip-hop where discovering and listening to new releases from international artists was an art form of itself.
Playing at 170 Russel in Melbourne last Friday night, the packed to capacity venue illustrated that Brother Ali and Atmosphere still wave the flag of underground alternative hip-hop, and people are still marching behind them with their arms raised and their fists balled up.
“Who loves their underground hip-hop?” Brother Ali asked and the crowd roared and screamed back. However, the audience wasn’t the classic late 90s variety of fellow hip-hop back-packers but a sea of diverse and loving hip-hop fans. Adorned in a cowboy hat, buttoned Aqua shirt and swinging Islamic beads, Brother Ali the street-preacher stomped across the stage delivering a message of resistance and revolution animated by love.
Delivering all the favourites across his pantheon of works, the emcee and spiritual teacher never missed a beat to update the political lyrics of his previous work to give them a modern spin. Whilst embedding a middle finger to Donald Trump mid-verse through Uncle Sam Goddamn, the crowd cheered and the gesture fitting so well into a ten year old song was testament to why artists like Brother Ali are so vital. Not only was it refreshing to see a lone emcee on stage, no hype-man, just a DJ cutting up the wax in the background, what was invigorating was the absence of arbitrary bravado.
Brother Ali paid homage to countless of his inspirations, dedicating entire songs to the powerful individuals who paved the way for him. The ode to self-love and courage of Forest Whitiker was introduced with a heart-wrenching and humorous story of the movie star’s unlikely Academy Award victory. Influential activist and hip-hop academic Cornell West was quoted at great length in a sermon about the importance of love and solidarity, which set-up a tear-wrenching tribute to the man who the man rapping on stage was named after: the greatest of all time, Muhammad Ali.
“There is nothing you can take away from a person who is full of love,” cried Brother Ali, when relaying the life story of his biggest inspiration, before emphasising why that four letter word is so important during a time where politics, media and the people are odds with each other.
Before stepping off stage, Brother Ali paid homage and respect to the Indigenous elders of the very land we stand on and paying homage to Australia’s own underground Cinderella stories, Hilltop Hoods and Briggs. And then the room went quiet as he effortless switched hats from underground rap giant to passionate and courageous street scholar, sending the room quiet with one hand on the mic and the other on the mic stand as he called for a defiant act against oppression and hate. “I’m not gonna buy fear just because you are selling fear. No fear. We are strong because we are motivated and animated by the reality of love!”
The first time I saw Brother Ali in a Scribble Jam rap battle was when he faced dearly departed underground freestyle legend Eyedea. Eyedea looked like your typical skinny white kid who loved rap music, but his command of flow and his improvised punchline prowess turned the staunchest adversary into a snivelling school kid. When he faced his fellow Rhymesayers label mate, Brother Ali, he was boisterous and fierce but you could tell he was pulling his punches.
The practically unknown Ali took to the stage and the crowd jeered but one emcee on the judging panel stood, raised his hands and vouched for his friend and peer, Slug. When Atmosphere graced the stage, Slug rocking an MF Doom hoodie, you saw the same hungry Midwest emcee who fought and vouched for fellow indie emcees with nothing but clothes, a pen and a notepad to their name. As down to earth now as he was then, Slug simply strolled onto stage as Ant took his position on the decks behind his loud-mouthed counterpart.
“You don’t intimidate me motherfuckers ,” Slug peered into the crowd, channelling Bernie Mac. “Put a smile on your face, motherfuckers.” Slug demanded as Atmosphere launched into their set, pouncing and hopping across the stage while stretching his face with a wide and unadultered grin. It was a performance without pretense or agenda. “This is dad rap,” Slug confessed whilst wiping the sweat off his forehead with his hoodie.
Despite having grown older a couple decades, with a sprawling discography to sift through, the duo hopped from old rarities in Fuck You Lucy, to obscure EP gems like Happymess to the crew’s mega hits like Sunshine. The last time I had seen Atmosphere and Brother Ali was eight years ago but the same sentiment I had then remains now: how is it that two completely different acts, this amazing live are on the same label? As cliché as it may sound, both Slug and Ali are better than their records.
Slug’s booming command of story-telling and abstract poetic imagery soared over Ant’s angst-ridden but sublime piano loops and vocal chops. The walls vibrated and the noise was deafening as they pounded out the epic God Loves Ugly, with Slug demanding, “All the pretty motherfuckers be quiet” to be met with manic screaming and thunderous applause. This crescendo seemed unbeatable until the guitars and drum breaks of Trying to Find a Balance crashed through the speakers. While Brother Ali’s set was politically charged and ruthless, Slug laid his soul bare from odes to broken relationships and alcoholism on Pour Me Another, and tributes to those left behind, You dedicated to his father and Flicker to Eyedea.
Towards the end of the set Slug made it crystal clear that with him there’s no bullshit. “I fucking love you, Melbourne,” and the crowd swooned. “That doesn’t mean I really like you. That means I want to take you all backstage and have sex with you.” He threw off his MF Doom hoody to reveal a Brother Ali t-shirt. “Oh, you like my t-shirt?” Not long after Brother Ali joined his label mate on stage and the duo performed old favourite Missing Teeth before tearing down the house with a back and forth freestyle, channelling their Scribble Jam era.
If you ever had the thought that hip-hop is a young man’s sport, watching Brother Ali and Slug traded bars over Ant’s looped drum tracks to a crowd of no generational demographic, you’d be hard-pressed to deny that underground hip-hop will never die.
