Danny Brown
It was difficult to predict what Danny Brown would be like onstage on the opening night of the Ottawa Bluesfest.
The self-proclaimed too-weird-for-hard-rappers yet too-street-for-mainstream rappers was on his game, igniting the fervour in a crowd that was disturbingly young. I say disturbingly because I’m getting cranky as I reach my quarter-life crisis, and hearing “stank pussy smelling like cool ranch Doritos” doesn’t make me feel cool but makes me laugh out loud, especially when a bunch of 15-year-olds discreetly vaping weed expertly sing that line in unison.
And although the 33-year-old rapper says some sexually outrageous things, his disparagement of female bodies is outweighed by his evident love for delivering pleasure, at least in the boudoir. This is important in a world where we feel embarrassed to talk about masturbation and female oral sex.
But that’s not all he rhymes about. We also get to know the Danny who lived in Detroit, who hustled, who sold drugs, who doesn’t sell drugs anymore, who is trying to feed his daughter, and who seeks pleasure as respite from the drudgery of his difficult life. One of these odes to pleasure was played, the quintessential “Smokin & Drinkin” which the visibly underage crowd sang along.
By the time Danny reached the buzzworthy Purity Ring collaboration track “25 Bucks,” the alt-rapper seemed tired, and his Mick Jagger-reminiscent (yes, Mick Jagger) rooster strut slowed down, and his jumping was noticeably absent.
Instead, he relied on his signature head shaking, eye rolling, and tongue wagging. And honestly, no one looks as sexy with their tongue hanging out of their mouth as Danny Brown does.
Actually, most people look awful with their tongue hanging out of their face. But somehow, Danny Brown seems to do a lot of things well. Like wearing a Guns ‘N’ Roses t-shirt and leather pants and not looking like he’s stepped out of Russell Brand’s flat in 2005. Or singing about his love of vaginas for an entire album and not being called a heathen. Or thanking you for watching his show and saying “Hi, my name is Daniel,” and laughing like a small child before ending his set.
Scattered Clouds
It’s not very often that you see a post-punk, gothic rock band around these parts. On top of that, it’s not often that you see one pay tribute to the genre exceptionally well. Inside the Barney Danson Theatre was the Lynchian nightmare that is Scattered Clouds, a multi-instrumental three-piece from Hull. Take any prejudice you have against Hull for the cheesy nightclub experiences you have had before turning the ripe age of legal drinking and remember that culture comes from everywhere.
Seriously, close your eyes at a Scattered Clouds show and it feels like you’re at a Bauhaus gig (the band from England, not the architecture). A glance around the room indicated closed eyes and swaying heads. It was universally enjoyed amongst the demographically varied small crowd, as they delivered a blend of Dick Dale-reminiscent surf rock riffs, haunting reverb, and witchy synths. They even performed a trance-inducing cover of Lee Hazelwood’s “My Autumn’s Done Come (Letter to Romy).” If you aren’t already listening to this sonically mysterious and enigmatic post-punk, psychedelic outfit, do so now.
Blake Shelton
The only lowlight of country superstar Blake Shelton’s evening performance was that the speakers would sporadically turn on and off during the first half hour. Besides that, the Oklahoma native made the crowd laugh, dance, and ostensibly led to a lot of jealous boyfriends.
Before playing “Doin’ What She Likes,” Shelton talked about the good boyfriends and husbands he could see in the crowd, who had come out just to make their significant other happy. He then dedicated that song to those “dudes” (his words).
Shelton himself is the other half of fellow country legend Miranda Lambert, and when he sang ballads like “Who Are You When I’m Not Looking” and “God Gave Me You,” his crooning became deeply personal, as he closed his eyes and clutched the mic stand.
Even if you are one of those philistines who claims to “love everything but country,” Blake Shelton is accessible, if not for his lyrics and catchy hooks, then for the covers he chooses to play.
After telling the crowd how great it would be if everyone knew the words, with deep humility might I add, Shelton began to play the classic Michael Bublé cover “Home.” And before ending his 18-song show with “God Gave Me You,” his second-last song was a cover of “Footloose,” which prompted everyone from swing dancing teenage couples to intoxicated mothers and daughters to move wildly to the music, attempting to regain coordination.
Country haters, re-think your stance.
