The excitement was tangible as I walked towards Fresh Fest; a traveling swarm of anticipation and enthusiasm.

As I got closer to Ntelos it was obvious that this was going to be a really big night for a lot of people. The crowd happily stood in line to get into the party, dancing along the sounds of DJ Bee creeping into the pink sky (the theme to In Living Color), and letting the joy of the night wash over them.

This, my friends, was a hip hop show.

And not just any hip hop show; the line-up for this year’s Fresh Fest – Chubb Rock, Biz Markie, Big Daddy Kane, EPMD and Slick Rick & Doug E. Fresh – was the soundtrack to my early love affair with this music. It was not really an “old school show” – most of these artists really peaked in the early 90s – it was more of a celebration of the lost era of hip, before everything went all thugnificent but after it was just a disco party (“Create rap music cuz I never dug disco”).

It’s all somewhere between old school and true school, but I’m not sure there’s a name for that yet. We’ll just call it a party.

Big Daddy.

Once inside Ntelos the air was electric. Hometown DJs Bee and Baby Drew worked the crowd into a frenzy with classic hip hop joints and familiar call and response routines (“Burn, motherfucker, burn!”). The crowd never sat down. The mood was joyous and problems were for tomorrow. When Chubb Rock sauntered onto the stage to the beat of “Treat ‘em Right” with the crowd singing along, the intensity increases and this place was just getting warmed up.

Chubb Rock, as always, was a gracious host and served the crowd some official hip hop treats and catered specifically to the over 30 set that he knew came out in droves. [On a personal note, Chubb is one of my favorite rappers and is criminally underrated. His style and cadence were just too ahead of their time in 1990 and, while he had a few radio hits, people just never really understood what an amazing emcee he is. By the time hip hop had caught up to Chubb’s style he had already been pushed aside as an old school act and relegated to hyping crowds for nostalgia tours.] So, while it was great to see one of my favorites dominate an enormous crowd of party-goers, it would have been nice to hear him rap more than the first 16 bars of “Robocop.” But maybe I was the only one to notice this oversight because the crowd at Ntelos was happier than a kid in a sneaker store when The Chubbster left the stage after a few words of wisdom that really summed up the crowd’s mood:

“I come from an era of hip hop where we didn’t call women the b-word and I wasn’t an n-word,” he said. “And now it’s painted over with a giant paintbrush that makes it all look like buffoonery.”

But, alas, it’s in every rappers nature to brag and Mr. Rock was no exception as he set the crowd ablaze with his final words of the evening. “But my Masters Degree is hanging on my wall. Peace.”

Oh, a different era indeed.

Biz.

And the party was just getting started. As the crowd danced and stomped Biz Markie took the stage. The clown prince of The Legendary Juice Crew took the crowd down memory lane with a medley of all his hits. As we sang along to “Picking Boogers,” we waved our hands in the air like we just didn’t care and we all caught “The Vapors.” Biz knew what we wanted and he wasn’t going to deprive a hungry crowd of hip hop fans of the hit they all love. But I have to wonder how he feels about “Just a Friend,” though. He stopped the beat in the middle of “The Vapors” to go into the “Just a Friend” hook. The crowd went wild, everyone was jumping up and down and singing along as off-key as they could. This is the third time I’ve witnessed the “Just a Friend” phenomenon live and it still makes me laugh and fills my heart with hope, but I have to guess that The Biz secretly hates that song. True, it put him on the map and is the reason we still know his name, but it also is a gross misrepresentation of his style and takes very little skill to execute. He doesn’t even do the verses anymore. He just did a sing-along on the hook with an enamored crowd before saying goodnight and heading offstage. But not before hyping Yo Gabba Gabba Live, son!

Now the crowd was really all in. Chubb Rock got us on the hook and Biz had reeled us in. Now it was Big Daddy Kane’s turn to turn up the heat. With the spotlight glaring and the ladies screaming, he stormed the stage like an angel pimp, his all-white attire blinding the adoring fans up front. With beats blaring and hands waving he reminded us all why he is still regarded as one of the greatest. He took us through hit after hit after hit with suave and finesse. He had the ladies singing along to every word of “Smooth Operator”; he had the fellas bearing witness to every self-righteous boast of “Ain’t No Half-Steppin.”

A consummate showman, Kane reminded us all of what hip hop could’ve/should’ve been; so many dope songs, so many catchphrases and big hooks and so many choreographed dance moves. No wonder the ladies love him more than Cool James. Big Daddy Kane can throw it down on the dance floor and set it off on the mic.

Doug.

I shouldn’t have to tell you what Ntelos looked like at this point. The place was a powder-keg giving off sparks. Everybody was dancing and smiling. People were spontaneously hugging each other like long lost relatives and doing the Roger Rabbit for no particular reason. “Are you enjoying yourself?” the girl next to me asked. Before I could tell her yes, indeed I was, her boyfriend leaned over and said “Here, I got you a beer.” Who are these people? Before we get into the finale, I need my soapbox:

I know a lot of people don’t get hip hop. I get the screwface from a lot of dear friends when I go on a tangent about the merits of Wu-Tang and the social importance of Public Enemy, but Fresh Fest only reaffirmed what I feel about this music. As misunderstood as it is, real hip hop music is love. And a real hip hop show is a family reunion with people you’ve never met. When hippies try to explain a Widespread Panic show to me I feel like this is what they’re talking about. Only instead of Jam bands and twirling hippie gals it’s DJs and a bevy of bouncing booties. This crowd was in love with the music and the energy and each other. Ntelos had become a fire hazard because everyone had stormed the aisles seeking more room to dance. This powder-keg was ready to blow and Slick Rick hadn’t even hit the stage.

**

Unfortunately, there was a line-up change that meant Doug and Ricky would be going on before EPMD. Not that the crowd minded a bit, but you have to feel bad for EPMD. Going after the headliners is hard enough, but going after THE headliners is another burden entirely. I mean, EPMD did what they do, business as usual and whatnot, but they couldn’t compete with what Slick Rick and Doug E. Fresh did to the crowd.

Doug E. took the stage as unassuming as some kid doing sound check. The Get Fresh Crew casually took over turntable duties from Bee (who killed it all night, he’s a local treasure), and Mr. Fresh just kind of started rapping with no fanfare, sporting his new hipster/Thriller-era MJ look. I didn’t even realize it was him at first, but as he went through some tunes and beat-boxed like a machine there was no doubt that The Show was right in front of me. He took off his coat and cleared his throat. His routines were flawless, taking the crowd through hip hop medleys and playing a game of hip hop fill in the blank (“I eat my Corn Flakes with a… fork!?”) this thing was gonna blow at any minute. And then it happened.

Rick.

At ten minutes to 11:00 Slick Rick appeared on stage. Three minutes later he uttered the words “La di dadi,” and it happened. There was this glorious explosion of happiness. Everyone was singing along, girls were squealing, the group of guys in front of me put their arms around each other and jumped to the heavens in unison and the couple that got me a beer just had to start making out. Goosebumps were inevitable. This wasn’t hip hop anymore, this was a religion and I was drinking the Kool-Aid. For the rest of the set the crowd stayed that way, cheering along as Doug E. did his rendition of “Teach Me How to Dougie” and bouncing along to every single beat like their lives depended on it.

But what really summed up the night for me, what really showed the importance of this beautiful night of love and unity expressed with reckless abandon, was Slick Rick’s updated version of his very classic line. He says, “I’m 45” and the crowd yells “STOP LYIN’!”