Ghostface Killah propped up his saggy performance Tuesday night at the Barrymore Theatre with tributes to the most famous association of his career, the Wu-Tang Clan, but the muddy sound mix, the disappointing crowd turn-out and his crew's poor presentation couldn't save it.
No more than 400 people came to see Ghostface, filling less than the half of the Barrymore. It's the third time this week that a hip-hop and rap show in Madison has seen disappointing turn-out (both last Thursday's Sean Kingston/Twista show and Friday's Ludacris show barely filled a tenth of the Coliseum at the Alliant Energy Center). It's hard to understand why -- all are certainly well-known enough to sell more tickets. Poor promotion certainly had something to do with last week's chaotic shows at the Alliant Energy Center, but established local promoter True Endeavors booked Tuesday's show, and Ghostface is one of the most respected emcees out there.
The people who did turn out Tuesday were clearly excited to pay their respects to the man, and chanted and jumped through much of the hour-long show. They enthusiastically greeted his solo songs, like "We Celebrate" off 2007's "The Big Doe Rehab," but any invocation of Wu-Tang received a mass raising of the "W" hands (which, from the back of the theater, made them all look like cultists saluting their leader).
Ghostface soaked it up. He had a constant gleam in his eyes and seemed happy to be onstage. At one point, he treated the audience to an impassioned dissertation on "hip-hop nowadays" and the good ol' days of Tupac and Ice Cube. To whistles and cheers, Old Man Ghostface told the crowd, "I can't take what's being made for hip-hop nowadays."
In general it was tough to understand most of what he said or rapped, partly the fault of the awful sound mix, which kept on getting louder and louder until it reached an uncomfortable nostril-vibrating volume at the end. But the bloated crew on stage was also to blame. Besides his two sidemen and a DJ, a bunch of randoms bounced around the stage, giving the show a chaotic feel. It was often hard to pick out Ghostface's voice amid all the shouts and doubled-up raps, which ultimately castrated any power from the songs.
The low point came when women from the audience got invited onstage to dance. About eight scrambled up. They looked desperate, not sexy. By this point, the show had mainly devolved into song medleys and off-key sing-a-longs.
The audience seemed increasingly less interested, and as the show ended, most people headed immediately for the exits.
A couple of openers -- including New York emcee Skyzoo - didn't fare much better than Ghostface, and seemed more preoccupied with name-dropping and announcing repeatedly that their albums were "in stores now" than actually putting on a damn show.
The only performer who walked away from the entire show absolutely shining was the first opener, F. Stokes, a Madison- and Chicago-bred rapper now based out of New York. He and his DJ Vinnie Toma owned the stage for a full 45 minutes -- no flab, no hangers-on. Stokes' style is sincere but impish, and intensely personal without closing in on itself. If more rappers took his lead with their live shows, maybe more people would come out to hip-hop shows.
