Oh Das Racist. You're everything I heard you were live, and nothing I heard of you on record. On record, your incisive, erudite, jokey, and sometimes utterly bullshitty rhymes make my head spin. Live, you yell at me until I feel as drunk as you look.
But I had been warned. If Sit Down, Man is a party that feeds the mind, the Das Racist live show is a party that does everything in its power to damage it. I make no wagers on what combination of substances brought the three MC's to the conditon they were in at Emo's on Friday night (except the ones I saw being lit right in front of us on stage), but whatever it is, it's part and parcel of their all-encompassing relationship with and commentary on contemporary hip-hop.
If their too-smart-for-their-own-good rhymes mess with hip-hop by being alarmingly good, their show messes with the audience by seeming to taunt, "You've made idols of us: now look at who we really are. Welcome to our party." They're jumping around on stage, doing pushups, laying down, sweating buckets and missing lines all over the place. But are they having the time of their life? Sure looks like it. And if you don't watch yourself, you might just end up doing the same - just grab an extra beer or five before you get involved.
