A Rap Show That Rap Show Haters, Wouldn’t Hate: Tah Phrum Duh Bush and Coole High – Tag Team Delux Recap

You don’t even like rap that much anymore.

Not since the days of De La Soul or Tribe anyway. And you don’t get out much, even though you live in New York City. Definitely not to a rap show.

Hip hop is boring these days. You don’t even really listen to the radio, and anyway, it’s all Southern shit. Some of the new NY guys are good, but overall, nothing you hear really appeals to you. Live shows are usually a two hour waste of time spent standing around.

They just don’t do it like they used to.

But then your buddy calls you up. One of his co-workers is a rapper, and is doing some kind of show at Kenny’s Castaways, a Bleeker Street staple. “Nothing crazy, should be fun,” he says.

You groan, “It’s Thursday.”

He’s playfully dismissive. “Who are you, my grandpa? Look, it’s an 8:30 show,” he tells you, “Plus, these guys are great.”

“Rappers aren’t great anymore,” you remind him, playing up the grumpy old man vibe. “Rap sucks nowadays, especially in NY.”

“Man, we’re in our mid-20s,” he reminds you, “Stop sounding like my dad. I’m telling you, there’s good stuff out here. Come through!”

He’s a good friend. You don’t get to see him much.

So, you go.

Kenny’s Castaways is a railroad apartment-like bar, long and narrow. You walk to the back performance area. It’s no Hammerstein Ballroom, but it’s not closet-sized either. 50 people could hang back there pretty comfortably.

Before you can enter the back area, you are greeted by a young lady at the ticket table. She wears a placard on a lanyard. It’s marked ‘STAFF.’ An interesting bit of professionalism, you think, for such a small venue.

A stage sits at the front, with some seating along the sides of the standing-room area. Overall, a nice, small, intimate space. “Perfect for singer/songwriters,” you think, “but not for having to watch boring rappers standing two feet away. Hope they have breath mints.”

You pay, $10, standard fare (though had you known of the show ahead of time, advance tickets were cheaper). You’re handed a large manila envelope, as if you were a spy, and it, a dossier. You’re used to collecting a  pocketful-worth of 4×6 glossy postcards when out and about, but this is different. You look at the merchandising tables that are set up. There are CDs. T-shirts. One artist is selling a book (!). There are many STAFFs helping out. Other folks are mingling, talking, laughing. Many know each other, some don’t, but all are pretty friendly looking.

Nary a screwface at this well-organized rap event. Refreshing.

The warm up DJ is setting a great vibe. Spinning mainly NY-centric rap classics, DJ M-TRI is composed and casual behind the ones and twos, smiling and nodding to folks on the floor who are also familiar with him as an MC, working alongside partner DJ Leecy T. M-TRI has a swift hand on the cuts and great taste in tunes, handling the pre-game music duties perfectly.

But now it’s showtime.

The theme to Rocky begins playing. The MC of the event, Ciph Diggy, is also an actual MC, but tonight he is strictly playing the host role. Along with the triumphant trumpets, he begins simulating Sylvester Stallone’s intensive training regimen in the legendary boxing flick, though quickly, and humorously, he succumbs to the effects of a slightly less conditioned body.

The improvisation is for a reason. The theme of the show is a Tag Team boxing match, with headliners Tah Phrum Duh Bush and Coole High, along with opening artist MeccaGodzilla (aka Ravage, also aka Ryu Black), set to trade blows with imaginary and symbolic “wack MCs.”

You do a double-take.

“Wait, there’s a THEME?” you ask your friend.

He nods, knowingly. You smile a little, watching Ciph Diddly flailing around in attempt to regain his physical composure.

“Well, that’s different,” you whisper.

Ciph Diggy energetically introduces the opener. MeccaGodzilla is his name. They say he is big in Japan.

“That’s what she said,” you mutter, to no one in particular.

MeccaGodzilla, rocking two impressive multi-finger wooden rings, each spanning the combined width of his knuckles, ignites into a passionate and lucid acapella. He speaks with the crowd. He proudly proclaims his allegiance to Long Island. “That doesn’t happen often,” you think to yourself, recalling with fondness the slew of legends that have emerged from the proverbial 6^th borough.

MeccaGodzilla runs through his set, speaking on his extensive touring experience in Japan (apparently, he IS pretty big in Japan), talks a bit about his feelings, his inspiration for recent work and his involvement with a fundraising event to send aid to Japan after the earthquake disaster. The crowd was tuned in, and MeccaGodzilla finished strong, culminating with his uplifting and inspirational “Unbreakable.”

Getting caught up in the theme, you say to your buddy, “Nice undercard! Time for the main event?”

Indeed. Tah Phrum Duh Bush emerges from the back of the room, adorned in what looks like a boxer’s robe slash smoking jacket and shorts. He moves through the crowd toward the stage, one fist covered by an oversized boxing glove, the other gripping the microphone, his fans, friends and newcomers all cheering him on.

He is clearly ready to do verbal battle.

Tah Phrum Duh Bush jumps into an rattling acapella, at once alerting all in attendance that this is no mere gimmick show… There are heavy spitters in this match. As he concludes his opening salvo, and the small but highly engaged crowd claps and cheers, the first tag is made.

Coole High appears, sporting a red robe, also with a single boxing glove and a mic, launching in to his bouncy and enjoyable “Who?” which smartly works his name into the call and response chorus.

After that, you couldn’t forget his name if you tried.

Tag. Back to Tah.

This back and forth, complete with costume changes from behind a shoji-like partition at the rear of the stage, continues for the entire event. Throughout, Tah Phrum Duh Bush is smart and clever, you can tell by his lyrics, especially his punchlines. He is enjoyable even when, or especially when, depending on your squareness, he is playfully vulgar with his lyrics. He’s clear on the mic, catches eye contact with every single listener at one point or another. He walks through the crowd. He changes not only clothing, but characters, at one point imitating a sermonizing preacher. He is always up front and personal, in your face, but never overbearing.

It’s fun.

Coole High is simply a cool character, charismatically cerebral. His conversations with the crowd, costumes and call and responses are well coordinated. He oozes smooth, with several jazz-influenced tracks that compliment his style and flow. In another era, and indeed even now, Cool High would be as comfortable at a rap show as sipping on a brandy at the Blue Note, and this inviting aura is clearly infectious. He treats the crowd well, and they respond in kind.

It’s cool.

As if good rappers, good music, themes, costumes and a good crowd (which, by the way, had a better male/female ratio than one might expect), weren’t enough, the creativity of these artists came to the forefront several times, as props were introduced into the crowd, stepping audience participation up a notch. From within the manila envelope, you pull out a giant hand cutout from card stock paper, middle finger displayed prominently, and join the rest of the crowd waving it around to complement Tah’s apropos “Middle Finga.” Coole High hands out ping pong ball shakers, in effect crowdsourcing backup acoustics from the eager crowd.

Yes, even you Mr. Rap Show Hater.

As the show closed, it seemed perfectly timed. Not too short, not too long, with a second set to soon start. “Pretty smart,” you say to your friend. “Two medium-length sets, instead of one big long one. Gives people who are late or can’t make the first one, the chance to see the show as it’s intended to be seen, instead of awkwardly catching it in the middle.”

Your friend agrees, informing you, “Even better, the second set won’t be a duplicate of the first, it’s all different. It’s like a reward for diehards who stay for both!”

During the break, you refill your drink and mingle about. You meet a couple random people, one a fellow MC who goes by the moniker E.E. Delrey (the E.E. for Eclectic Emcee).

While rappers, New York rappers in particular, often have a bad reputation of not supporting one another, it’s clear that Delrey is impressed, unintentionally presenting a summation detailing how you felt about your unexpectedly enjoyable night at an underground New York rap show.

“It’s definitely a showman’s show,” the braided wordsmith states, smiling. “They’re great. It’s impossible to leave here and not have been entertained.”

You agree. For most hip hop heads, no matter their particular style preference, this show would pretty much be a hit.

You smile, still adhering to the theme.

A knockout, even.

VIEW MORE PHOTOS FROM TAG TEAM DELUX
(All photos by Kamia Funchess for Phocus Kam Phototgraphy)