AESOP ROCK
NOVEMBER 7, 2007
THE ORANGE PEEL, ASHEVILLE, NC
WORDS & PHOTOS: LOUIS DILLON-SAVAGE

Bones chatter in the front row as the stacks, big enough to have been constructed from the very stuff of hyperbole itself, breath rhythm into the hall. Even from back stage where 'Sup is interviewing supporting act Black Moth Super Rainbow, it is clear that Aesop Rock has not merely arrived, but emerged -- in the way of a man trailing by the wingtips of a still-smoking phoenix. Through a foot of concrete, I hear the crowd go wild.

At this point your correspondent feels the need to make confession: I am a fan. It would be remiss to not admit that the sensationalism of above paragraph is, in part, a product of my own excitement. However, any level of enthusiasm for seeing an artist like Aesop Rock must be tempered with uncertainty about how the music can translate to the stage.

Aesop Rock is a unique and complex artist, whose oeuvre ranges from big beats and anthemic chants to a lazy kind of misanthropy that emerges from delicately fragmented bongos, yo-yo'ing double-bass and isolation-evoking exotica. Long time collaborator Blockhead manipulates opera singers, making them to wail like ghosts in the distance, while Aesop's flow ducks in and out of gaps in the beat as if navigating the cityscapes that dominate his imagery.

One could argue that Aesop's impressionistic rhymes are uniquely suited to surviving the violence that concert listening can do to finely crafted poetry. On the other hand, the hardest-dying fan knows that Aesop's finest moments were never intended for rocking blocks; his is music for broken pavements and spitting skies.

Aesop is Aesop for his introspection, his fractured bass-lines, cynicism and ability to capture the alienation of modern living. Pessimistic he ain't, however, as euphoric moments abound in the music whenever the defiant determination of Aesop's persona forces the listener to scale the scrap-heap and look down at the world.

Wisely, it is from this healthy back-catalogue of anthemic material that most of the live set was drawn. Fellow Def-Juxer Rob Sonic tagged along to help cover the stage, and the two synchronize well. Aesop hunches over the mike, grimacing as if his campfire stories come from a burning flame inside, while Sonic fills out the choruses and pumps up crowd.

The pair are high energy, bounding around the stage and drawing together to emphasize choruses and certain verses. The on-stage collaboration and rapport builds a communal feeling around the music, a shrewd move for a show that could easily have felt like an hour-long poetry slam with only one contender.

Although the music is lifted enough to survive the atmosphere, the delicacy of the production simply cannot translate, and as a result the music devolves into a sort of puddle of bass, with the occasional melodic loop to ripple the surface. Blockhead's subtler touches; distant wails and sputtering bongos; are, unfortunately, lost.

The on-stage moves are evidently choreographed, but tight and natural enough to pass, and Aesop's interaction with the crowd never feels forced. He is warm and even playful; "I'm a people person," he quips at one point, before lamenting how lonely his DJ gets. DJ Big Whiz provides the obligatory nod to the old-school by responding with a brief intermission to show off his turntabalism, which, as it turns out, is extremely competent.

Sound quality at The Orange Peel is excellent. The bigger sound and straighter beats of the later albums wisely dominate the set while any concern for Aesop's lyrics is dispelled: every word is as clear as an Antarctic sky.

As the set progresses the crowd gets wilder and draws together, slapping backs and grinding hips, and one of two words are on everybody's lips -- "Coffee" and "Daylight" people are shouting -- calling for the two most accessible representatives of Aesop's new and old material. "We're going to play on more song" Aesop says, coy, "and if you like it then maybe we'll play one more": everybody knows what's coming.

For the last two tracks, the dance floor becomes an epileptic echidna: fists pump, arms wave and the more enthusiastic try to touch the roof, four meters above. Some restrain themselves to the headbang-with-arms that is the indie-rocker's hip-hop disguise, but you could count the number of people not moving without taking off your shoes. The show was ultimately handicapped, if not flawed, but Aesop is a canny performer, and clearly understands the merits of the big finish.