Concert: The Roots at the Yunfeng Theater

 In the city where a menu with five distinct ethnic dishes passes for culinary fusion, The Roots fit in more smoothly than might be expected. On April 16 at the Yunfeng Theatre the group that self-markets as a musical genre called “hip-hop/soul/funk,” carried out a feat that distinguishes them from every other hip-hop group in the world: they played Shanghai.

The Roots are hip-hop’s version of a jam band. They’re the String Cheese Incident with afros and bass lines. They play all of their own instruments, a method as foreign to rap as modesty and monogamy. While this alternative approach makes for a more authentic live-show experience, the group never delivers the same punch as their studio-produced brethren. During an impressively long run that began in the mid-90s, The Roots have outlasted many eras in rap: gangster rap, g-funk, dirty south “crunk,” white rap and even 2Pac and Biggie — the two standard bearers of the genre. Attribute this longevity to ever-popular tours rather than to tepidly successful studio releases.

By 8:45 every American in Shanghai had arrived at Yunfeng, crowding the old communist military theater.

The show started off soft and sluggish. The performance was a crowd pleaser, indulging listeners in all the classics. Almost imperceptibly, Shanghai natives drifted in and gradually filled the venue, building momentum as they did. For sure, some energy started flowing, but the current ran askew ––cut scene–– jerky, robotic, Shanghainese grooving.

Mid-set, The Roots embarked on an all out audio montage that credited artists who’ve enjoyed more renown, more popularity and more radio time. Household names like A Tribe Called Quest, Wu-Tang Clan, Salt 'n Pepa and Talib Kweli were all channeled through frontman, Black Thought (Tarik Trotter). Apparently, these tributes are a common facet of The Roots live-performance phenomenon. However, in Shanghai, a place all but devoid of mainstream hip-hop (and no, the Black Eyed Peas are not rappers), the effort struck me as a metaphorical attempt to establish some hip-hop “roots” in China –– although not an acoustically riveting experience, at least the montage provided a conceptually pleasant afterthought.

I exited the venue (hearing 100% intact) and accosted a few concertgoers for overall impressions of the show: “I thought it was really good,” said one New Yorker. Sensing that I sniffed for a meatier analysis, he added, “and it got better as it went on.” This assessment left me wondering just how much draught Heineken the reviewer had consumed “as it went on.” Another critic dubbed The Roots, “The Dave Mathews of hip-hop.” This observation sent me reeling. Had I ever heard a remark as effete as it was baffling? Did this analogy signal a genuine idolizer’s reverence? Or, had I encountered a kindred spirit; a soul whose loathing of the Dave Mathews Band rivals my own?

A late night computer-addiction session revealed that The Roots open for DMB this summer.

As the show wrapped up it assumed a steady, agreeable stride and I reached a pseudo-zen state of sustained contentment. But much like the frosted-tipped, mailbag toting alternative dudes that pepper this planet, the concert left me speculating as to why some folks just can't hit that a little bit harder. Ultimately, if you’re listening to rap music in search of a poignant (or hilariously ignorant) message, a brain-rattling beat or a sample that pays homage to the great R&B singers of the 60s and 70s, you’re simply barking down the wrong Roots.

-Melanie McGanney


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