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First thing’s first. This is an unofficial review. I don’t have any pictures, and I don’t have any reference notes, because I didn’t plan to go to this show. A friend had an extra ticket, and while walking around the lower east side, I got the “Hay jay, I got an extra ticket, but the show starts in ten minutes” phone call. So, of course, I went. But in the interim, there was no time to pick up pen and pad, or disposal digital camera (they have those now). As a matter of fact, the only reason I’m writing this review right now, 11:53pm, is because if I wait until tomorrow, I wont remember anything. Hell, I’ve already forgotten some things on the train ride home. So if at any point this become a mishmash of blah, shoot the editor, not me.

Now for the review. Before Little Brother took the stage at the Highline Ballroom, in New York, to bless us with impeccable rhyming and provocative personalities, the opening act, Minneapolis native, Brother Ali, came stomping to the platform to deliver a message, true school style to the tri-state mass. Brother Ali, isn’t necessarily the cookie-cutter image of an emcee. No chains, no trendy Nikes, no fitted Yankee cap, and no tattoos. As a matter fact he wore a faded gray t-shirt, a pair of dungarees, and, well, regular shoes. He wore a bald head, his skin was powder white and his eyes were visibly red. Not marijuana red, but RED, as in “Brother Ali is an albino,” red.

That’s right, an albino, who apparently almost three quarters of the crowd came to see. Ali, didn’t do too much moving around, but he had a rare swagger, one of confidence, and inner peace. I know that’s a bit mystic for a hiphop show review, but I don’t know any other way to put it, especially at this time of night. He spoke about being blessed, about being happy. His call and response, was along the lines of, “If you love yourself, and you’re happy to be alive, let me here you say…” He did an acapella dedicated to his son. Ali did a song about Minneapolis, and confirmed that there are ghettos everywhere. “Wherever there is a place, where a certain kind of people live, because they cant afford to live no place else…thats a ghetto,” Brother Ali professed. His most impressive piece, was when he discussed his physical appearance. He described his eyes, and his skin, and his frumpy body type, explaining that he has always seen himself as handsome no matter what anyone says. Ali admits that he knows it’s a “weird” thing (his appearance), but assures that it is him, the him that God made. That song alone made every funny looking, pear-shaped, square in the building, poke their bird chests out and pump their fists with the confidence of a thousand adoni. Trust me, I know. I couldn’t stop my noodled arms from flailing either.

New York poured their love onto the stage and shouted their praises to the heavens, with chants of “Ali, Ali, Ali” as if Cassius Clay just knocked out Frazier. But it was Brother Ali who just knocked out each fan, new and old. It should be noted this chant wasn’t one beckoning an encore, rather a chant that came raging after every single song. Every single one! That’s something I’ve never seen in the beast that is NYC, solidifying that Brother Ali is a real force.

At the end of his set, Brother Ali took a humble bow, and walked off the stage with his hands high in the air, and with the same mystifying swagger that he stepped on stage with. It was the swagger of the regular man, with an irregular look, who had conquered an unpredictable crowd.

Next up, was Little Brother. They were great. They always are. Really. Stellar. Check them out in a city near you.