Some first-row fans clamber to the front of general admission concerts only to sing their favorite songs and take a photo soon to be uploaded to Facebook and Twitter.
Others, like the guy at the Lupe Fiasco show at the Koger Center in 2007, make the performer notice them.
“Shout out to my man with the dreads,” Fiasco, a Chicago rapper known for his affiliations with Kanye West and Jay-Z, said.
The guy with the dreads was rapping every word. His stretched-out arm, with the palm down, fluttered like rappers do when they’re reciting their lyrics to a beat. It was like the guy in the dreads was performing, too.
The guy was Preach Jacobs.
“I knew all the lyrics to the songs,” Jacobs said. “From a musician’s perspective, I get excited when I see hip-hop heads in the building. Not just young college girls. To have people that look like you that get what you’re doing, I understand how it is.”
Columbia is getting Preach because he’s giving the city something to get. The rapper, writer and party promoter is melding hip-hop into the local art scene. He’s presenting the genre — commercially recognized for its callous violence, drug peddling and store-bought swagger — as an art form.
At Mo’ Betta Soul, the monthly parties he hosts, Preach gives hip-hop fans — no, music fans — a snippet of the culture. He embodies the ethos of hip-hop in its purest form, and that’s not something one can fake. Because in hip-hop parlance, real recognize real. Read More »
