The Roots, Carling Academy, 17 Dec
if only they'd dig a little further into their own back catalogue rather than that of an entire genre
| 10 Feb 2007
Plan B has sure got an eerie knack for producing grinding diatribes about the concerns of his local estate: he twists his face into a crumpled
sponge as he chants the chorus to 'Kidz' and the instrumental elements
of his sound gradually take shape until he's playing with a full band,
he himself battering seven shades of shit out of an acoustic. Like
Everlast sans the tranquilisers and dodgy back, the uneasy alliance of folk-rock-rap is once again hauled into thought by these grimy, candid tales from suburban hell. B may see-saw between righteous protagonist and swaggering menace, but this is nevertheless a solid set, as he neatly stabs his flag down at the summit of "that" Radiohead sampling track ("muthafuckas wouldn't give us clearance to record it," B spits) in order to win over a significant bulk of these soiree seeking Roots followers.
As the towering ?uestlove wades through the artifical mist, it promptly becomes The Roots' job to take the reins and drop some proverbial dynamite on the Academy. With what has swiftly and almost undisputably come to be regarded as the album of their career - Game Theory - in the can, you'd think they'd consider more than four tracks worthy of playing. Maybe if the mysterious figure who bears a curiously strong resemblance to the estranged Dice Raw - who Black Thought continually tries to encourage to the mic - would stop skulking about back stage and step forth, there would be another dimension. It's not a new criticism, but Thought still very much needs the lungs of one of his former associates - be it the raw power of Dice, mind blowing mouth racket of Rahzel or stern meanderings of Malik B - to compliment his occasionally monotonous drawl.
Attentions quickly divert from the sublime chimes of 'In The Music' and the Philadelphian crew's party up breakthrough 'The Next Movement' to a deranged megamix featuring such abstract unlikelies as The Police and Dr Dre. Of course, this is all the finest of fun and that The Roots can so easily replicate these sounds reaffirms the effortless skill that they possess as both musicians and entertainers. Still, it would possibly make for a more satisfying show if they'd opt to dig a little further into their own dextrously terrific back catalogue rather than that of an entire genre. [Dave Kerr]
sponge as he chants the chorus to 'Kidz' and the instrumental elements
of his sound gradually take shape until he's playing with a full band,
he himself battering seven shades of shit out of an acoustic. Like
Everlast sans the tranquilisers and dodgy back, the uneasy alliance of folk-rock-rap is once again hauled into thought by these grimy, candid tales from suburban hell. B may see-saw between righteous protagonist and swaggering menace, but this is nevertheless a solid set, as he neatly stabs his flag down at the summit of "that" Radiohead sampling track ("muthafuckas wouldn't give us clearance to record it," B spits) in order to win over a significant bulk of these soiree seeking Roots followers.
As the towering ?uestlove wades through the artifical mist, it promptly becomes The Roots' job to take the reins and drop some proverbial dynamite on the Academy. With what has swiftly and almost undisputably come to be regarded as the album of their career - Game Theory - in the can, you'd think they'd consider more than four tracks worthy of playing. Maybe if the mysterious figure who bears a curiously strong resemblance to the estranged Dice Raw - who Black Thought continually tries to encourage to the mic - would stop skulking about back stage and step forth, there would be another dimension. It's not a new criticism, but Thought still very much needs the lungs of one of his former associates - be it the raw power of Dice, mind blowing mouth racket of Rahzel or stern meanderings of Malik B - to compliment his occasionally monotonous drawl.
Attentions quickly divert from the sublime chimes of 'In The Music' and the Philadelphian crew's party up breakthrough 'The Next Movement' to a deranged megamix featuring such abstract unlikelies as The Police and Dr Dre. Of course, this is all the finest of fun and that The Roots can so easily replicate these sounds reaffirms the effortless skill that they possess as both musicians and entertainers. Still, it would possibly make for a more satisfying show if they'd opt to dig a little further into their own dextrously terrific back catalogue rather than that of an entire genre. [Dave Kerr]