“Hand me something,’’ he said. “Just put it in my hand.’’
Pete Rock dropped a simple break beat. Supernat let the punch lines roll off the top of his head. Someone gave him the watch off his wrist.
“You know I’m nice/ I got a bright watch with a lot of fake ice.’’
The props kept coming. So did the rhymes. Marlboro cigarettes. Glasses. A Philly blunt. A lighter. Of course, he lit the blunt.
It was that kind of show: hip-hop in heavy doses. It was the kind of show where Tech N9ne performed on the same stage as Common, and Necro played to the same crowd as Slum Village. But moreover, it was the kind of show that made you feel like you’d overdose on classic records.
Well into the Slaughterhouse set, where Crooked I, the group’s West Coast member, told the crowd, “I know I’m in Boston, but I know you can throw up a ‘W’ to make me feel welcome.’’
The DJ threw on “Nuthin’ But a G Thang,’’ a West Coast anthem and the foundation of g-funk, and from the first bass pound, the crowd moved with it.
Joell Ortiz, the group’s East Coast member, said, “If you don’t know the name to this song, you can leave the park.’’
It was that kind of show.
You could watch the Roots almost effortlessly put on the best live show in rap on the main stage then walk in on Raekwon touring through certified classics “Ice Cream’’ and “Can It Be All So Simple’’ on the second stage.
For a day, Soulja Boy was a swear word. When KRS-One joked, “You!’’ - the catchy brain worm from the teen rapper’s song “Crank That’’ - the crowd responded with boos.
Mickey Factz approached Big Boi of Outkast rapper to rapper, introducing himself, but at the same time looking like he was staring at a monument.
Before Nas and Damian Marley took the stage to end the night, KRS-One traced the origins of rap and reggae to DJ Kool Herc.
The earthy chemistry between the Queens rapper and Bob Marley’s youngest son was indelible. Nas’s Public Enemy T-shirt stood out more than his necklace. Marley’s dreads hung down to his calves. They were unsuspecting complements.
Nas weaved through a catalog of classics, but bongos accented “NY State of Mind’’ and he rapped the first verse to “Life’s a Bitch’’ over the instrumental to Shyne’s 2000 reggae-rap crossover “Bad Boyz.’’ The hushed stretches of “One Mic’’ were accompanied by Leon Mobley’s soft taps to an African drum.
As a man circled the Ethiopian flag around onstage, a fan waved a scarf-size Jamaican in the crowd. White lights cut from the back of the stage into the audience, highlighting a haze of smoke seen only at concerts and prize fights.
It was that kind of show.
