I left SOB’s last night feeling disheartened. Wale was the featured act, and while his top billing may have been deserved, it appeared as if someone told him that.
Making good on the endorsement from a trendsetting record producer like Mark Ronson, who serves as Wale’s patron and big name backer, is a tall order. Par exemple, Wale graced the stage after two of Ronson’s other acts. Rhymefest was the opener, and with his swallowed words, made little impression with the self-interested crowd. The complexion of such a hip group of listeners might put off any performer. There were more colorful outfits in the front row, and more media know-it-alls in general, than Rhymefest was likely to see elsewhere. Moot point. I’m sure Rhymefest has done well with hipster crowds in the past but, in the present, he’s just not as hip. His performance was sincere, specially made for a small group, and fell just short of approval.
Daniel Merriweather, the Australian soul singer from Ronson’s Allido team, made his presence known with the Dap Kings playing fierce trumpets just behind him. Ronson and company have mastered the art of flipping timeless soul tempos into contemporary pop flair (see: Amy Winehouse). Merriweather performed “Stop Me” injecting some of the pained yells that every soul song needs for authenticity over Ronson’s modest bass guitar. It was a well-received guest spot from the NY-to-UK Boy King of the record industry. In that one moment, you could tell he would last much longer than any of the acts he showcased. In fact, before Wale arrived on stage around midnight, Ronson said thank you to the crowd and to “CMJ or whatever the fuck this is,” which may have been arrogant but absolutely sounded justified.
Wale looked to break the tension of the crowd. His late arrival didn’t do much in the way of that. His UCB band mates were absolutely poised, coming in where the Dap Kings had left off as show-stealers. But Wale himself suffered from Swagger Syndrome, his voice barely audible over his percussive team, and his effort seeming to waver as much as his tipsy body motions. Having seen Wale do his thing on the YouTube channel, I watched on expecting a better show as time wore on. It never happened that way. Instead, it dragged on toward midnight with a few very pointed dance tracks punctuating things as the crowd thinned. The new class of rap artists, conferred greatness by their internet audiences, local buzz and eager writers, has much to learn about staying power. Wale is no different. His mixtapes, from 100 Miles and Running to the Mixtape About Nothing, have been good appetizers, but he’s too high on the hog to realize he has done nothing significant. Part of me hopes a performance like this dwindling one in New York will wake him from his swagger nap. He has too much talent to leave anything to the imagination.
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