In a world so quick to worship the latest trend, it’s nice to know that there are people out there that still remember the roots, especially in a genre like hip-hop that has felt in recent years like it was stabbed with a diamond-encrusted ice pick and left to bleed out in the gutter. Never before have I seen a genre collapse so thoroughly and become so artistically bereft as hip-hop did in the last ten years; which is why I lost my damn mind when I heard The Cool Kids.
Coming out of Chicago like a breath of fresh air, the Totally Flossed Out EP and its cousin The Bake Sale, were the type of back to basics, reductionist rap records that made it feel like hip-hop’s new day had finally come to call. Even though in a lot of ways they were throwbacks to the '80’s-style party records that MCs used to bump on the block to make a crowd gather. Simple structures, booming beats, a lot of bragging. A stellar formula when done correctly, and The Cool Kids proved that they had done their homework (or at least made it look like they were well-versed).
Fast forward to Monday night, to the bar at the bottom of the Roseland, where I was about to see The Cool Kids play a swagger-packed set for 200 of their style-wild disciples. A night of great music was fated to descend upon the Portland landscape, but for me and Ian, it almost didn’t happen.
My day began with a sense of excitement. It had started up inside me in the early hours of morning and I took that excitement from my room, to my job, and then up to the will call podium to claim my ticket.
“Colin McLaughlin and Ian McNeil with melophobe,” I said.
“You’re not on the list,” she replied.
Fuck.
With my excitement now smashed and served by the lady behind the box, all that was left to do was for us to wait like a couple of jack-asses by the wall, until a promised amendment to the list came in. So we waited and sat there talking about random metal bands, complete with me acting out guttural impressions of metal acts I had seen at the Roseland, watching colorfully dressed kid after colorfully dressed kid walk by with ticket in hand.
To make matters worse, we could plainly hear the first opener take the stage, which left us wondering if we would actually get in at all. We started to make plans to stay there through The Cool Kids set so I could write a review about how the show was from around the corner, and Ian could take pictures of us goofing around in the lobby. Luckily (though I’m sure that might have been a more amusing review to read), we didn’t have to do that, and made it inside for the second opener, an LA trio that went by the name of PAC DIV.
They came out looking like they had just fallen out of a High Times photo shoot, their eyes barely above a squint. But when the bass ramped up and their DJ dropped the beat, they were anything but impaired, showing themselves to be junior executives of the playful rhyme. In terms of mic control, theirs was one of tradition: one rapper out front, and two on accentuation duty. And when a verse was over, they traded and another got the spotlight, which was used to either light blunts with some help from the front row lighter brigade or barrel out a string of syllables impressive enough to make me want to go out and get their album.
Their style fit perfectly into the frame of a Cool Kids show, employing the same gravity-shaking bass lines and young man thought selections as the Chicago 2. This wasn’t “I’m gonna get a gun and cap somebody” shit, this was “Where’s the girls? Where’s the weed, where’s the sick beat?" music. Which is perfect for Portland, or at least the part of Portland they were in, where the kids were probably driving Momma’s Range Rover to the show and only hate cops because they take their beer and finely crafted glassware. It helped foster a good vibe and a lot of exaggerated arm movements from the neon-soaked crowd, and I had to add my own laughing head nods when one member (who reminded me of Redman), yelled out “Got your girl with me, I’m so player/pullin' hoes since Bo Jackson was Raider.” And since I love “Bo Knows” flows and the crowd did too, we cheered for them all the way through their too short, 30-minute long set. I'd welcome them back in a second.
The Cool Kids entered with big smiles and PAC DIV’s DJ behind them, ready to damage our eardrums with their trunk-rattling beats. Chuck Inglish was baked city and Mikey Rocks was bounding around the stage as they tore into a few selections from their upcoming “debut,” When Fish Ride Bicycles. The new songs weren’t as immediately likeable as anything on The Bake Sale, but I have a feeling that they’ll be like the slow-burners on Gone Fishing, biding their time until they hit your top 25.
The set really opened up the moment they dropped the bass line for “Gold and a Pager.” It was toned down, and the ‘Kids were spitting it from center stage, looking out over an army of arms pointing skyward. Chuck swiveled through the verse, reciting his lines in front of a half cooked version of the beat, building up the tension as he went. But once he got to the hook, he dropped his voice out and the crowd threw back, “A little bit of gold and a pager!” A switch had been flipped and the crowd roared. The DJ responded by giving up the rest of the beat; filling in the blanks with that chopped voice and sleepy siren sound that make the record so memorable. And from this moment on, it became one big snowball through The Cool Kids’ greatest hits.
“Mikey Rocks,” “A Lil’ Bit Cooler,” “Bassment Party,” “Black Mags,” “Pennies” anything you’d want to see, they played. And what you’re left with after listening to all these songs, besides the assurance of a good time, is the realization (or reminder) that part of the fun of the Cool Kids lies in how relatable they are. It’s like listening to your friend rap, if they were good. “How gangsta is that? Not gangsta at all.” They don’t pretend to be anything other than normal, and that’s part of what makes them seem original. Bentleys for bikes, champagne for Street Fighter sessions; it’s really about as wholesome as a Fresh Prince record when you think about it, it’s just a lil’ bit cooler than anything Will has to offer.
All in all it was a fun night and it ended with a youth-led stage invasion, which worked because of the combined powers of all the non bar-bound attendee-types like "intoxicated youngster" and "overactive rap-a-long kid," and "joyfully bouncing 8 year old." A tip of the hat goes out to the 8 years olds, though, because they give me hope for the generation coming up. They’ll be the next ones reviewing groups like The Cool Kids and spouting off diatribes like, “it appears as if they are actually rebelling back to the origin.” So look out for that, and hey Cool Kids, drop the debut already!
