Ghetto Red Hot, Friday 18 November 2005 @ Havana, WGTN.
We rolled into Havana a little later than intended to find Kerb in full swing busting out Oochie Wally - nasty-nice. Looking fine in the matching hat-wristband combo, Kerb went on to deliver a highly danceable mash-up covering all the genres promised by the flyer.
Reflecting a truly eclectic set, we got Al Brown's Here I am Baby back to back with what I like to refer to as the 'get the fuck up song' from Pharoahe Monch - though I'm not quite sure how he pulled that one off. The spinning of some big tunes like Cutty Ranks' A Who Say Me Done and the B-Man's Who Am I upped the party vibe, along with busting out Elephant Man's Pon de River two times inna one set. Pure party.
Next up was Art, who seemed reluctant to put down his beer and get his talented ass up on the decks...but once up there it was all on. He treated us to some gems like Frankie Paul's Worries in the Dance together with some Art classics such as Rugged Wid It from Roots Manuva and Seanie T. He also dropped Supercat's Ghetto Red Hot, the song after which he coined the gig, while the cats on the floor danced on strong.
Last in the line up was the stoney-faced master Rhys B, who launched us into a smooth, seamless, focused set which brought in the roots and grounded the gig. My notes for writing this review start to diminish and become illegible at this point, but I think we heard some Burning Spear and Jr Reid, and I know we heard the classic Picture on my Wall from the Natural-Ites. Mr B's close-to-flawless set served to remind us of where this music came from and what it can stand for, lest we get too busy with our drinkin', dancin' and smokin' and forget.
After the boys had all done their stuff we were treated to more of the Art and the Kerb, keeping things cozy on the dance floor and even inspiring a bit of a dance-off at one point and a smidgen of random live drumming from some guy in a fur-lined hood who wandered in on his way from somewhere to somewhere.
All in all Ghetto Red Hot proved pretty hot indeed, and thankfully not too ghetto. Shifting the music to Havana's out-the-back-shack proved a great idea, but it's a pity more of the punters didn't venture away from the dig's main areas to witness the legends that they'd paid the cover charge for.
M*Pop.
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