Q-Tip / Cool Kids

First Barack Obama and now this? Shit. Actually, Obama’s voice made a brief appearance right before Q-Tip’s set commenced, presumably to warm up the crowd on a particularly frigid Chicago evening at the upscale House of Blues. I don’t remember what speech it was or what the rhetoric concerned, which is odd because I hadn’t had much to drink and usually the President-elect’s spirited timbre stamps his words on my brain with the reliability of a mechanized mail sorter. Though I suppose my feeble mind can only drink in so much awesome, and The Abstract came out with Big Gulps full of it, graciously passing it out to every individual in the crowd with sincere eye contact and a smile.

But I’ll get to Tip’s transcendence in a moment, since moving chronologically is the best way to provide some due praise to the Cool Kids. It seems somewhat fitting that the Cool Kids be on a tour in support of a video game (2k9), though their minimalist, bass-heavy approach evokes Atari or NES more than PS3. Chuck and Mikey were characteristically congenial, bouncing around on stage, each the other’s hype man. While their studio work relies a lot on winks and a certain slow-motion swag, their show was refreshingly kinetic, focusing on making their music an exercise in inclusiveness. The Kids ripped through their ever-developing canon’s highlights—“Black Mags,” “88,” and the like—imploring the crowd to jump, sway, and rap along with the hooks, and we obliged exuberantly. Further proving that no one better wields nor understands the Cool Kids aesthetic more thoroughly than they, the conclusion of their slight opening set saw them trotting out a new incarnation of their steez, a slo-mo ballad revolving around a fetching female vocal sample and little else.

What ensued after the Kids’ set can only be described as something akin to a religious experience. Now, granted, I’m not a born-again, but Q-Tip was channeling something immense in his exhaustive hour and a half set. The first half hour alone was impressive, Tip’s commanding stage presence evident as he rapped through some Renaissance cuts, letting out a few soulful yelps during the hooks. Then “You” dropped, and he evoked some preacher vibes, shouting and gesticulating at individual crowd members, righteously shouting “We do this for you and you and you!” From the mouth of, say, KRS One, this might have been annoying, but somehow Tip rendered it utterly stirring, perhaps his sweat-drenched brow implying that he stood firmly behind such pulpit-speak; no bullshit.

Most sets don’t reach such fever pitch at their apex, but Tip kept the temperature at a boil, running off a couple of Tribe classics (“Electric Relaxation” and “Scenario”) before bursting into the bass-heavy “Vibrant Thing,” which inspired even the dominantly gawky white kid crowd to attempt half-dances that probably would have inspired eye-rolling from anyone less gracious than Tip. Which is the crux of the entire live Q-Tip experience, really: dude is all about the crowd. Every bit of adoration heaved at the stage that night was not just reciprocated, but downright fucking amplified by Tip’s showmanship.

“Award Tour” seemed to wrap things up, with Tip dancing on top of a woofer, reaching out to the balcony observers, the entire floor transformed into a full-on orgy of appreciation and positive vibes. Hopping off his perch, letting forth a full-bodied screech, Tip bowed and we attempted to commend him in whatever manner our meager hands and throats could. Then the Knux (Tip’s extremely serviceable accompaniment for the night) burst into “Life is Better,” which I was not aware I even liked very much until I (and every other person in the building) was singing the chorus to it in full-throat for a solid five minutes. In the middle of this unbridled joy, he slipped into the crowd, shoving the mic in people’s faces and letting them serenade him—because, y’know, he loves us, and we’re his equals, and the human spirit is beautiful, and all that wonderful stuff Q-Tip so obviously believes because, shit, no one else can stir a roomful of strangers like he.

After circulating through the crowd he climbed back on stage, gave a gracious grin, and exited, leaving weak knees in his absence. Clay can attest, my legs weren’t functioning well afterwards. So we stumbled to the exit, mouths bereft of words, in, like, the best moods ever. All of the above is just description; a flimsy pixel in a panoramic masterstroke. What I mean to say, in so many words, is: thanks, Q-Tip.