“Rap won’t save you!” MC Mike Mictlan roared to the capacity crowd inside the on Friday night. The verse from “Game Over” on the group’s self-titled 2008 release could have easily boomed from a charismatic-styled Pentecostal preacher warning about the dangers of rap’s pathways to self-destruction. After all, a girl had just jumped on stage and repeatedly escaped the grasps of security, perhaps hoping to be cured of palsy, blindness or, more likely, possession by the spirit of Jack Daniels.
With lyrics like “itap all the fame, itap all been done, itap all been fixed, itap all the same,” we think the song more probably refers to the limp, overblown hype infusing much of what is considered hip hop today. And preaching was not required. As with almost every song the group performed, the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd sang the lyrics in unison, extended arms waving in praise, patting strangers on the back and screaming into each other’s ears about the thrill of seeing the group live.
Doomtree was together again — as in all seven members on the same stage: Paper Tiger, Lazerbeak, P.O.S., Dessa, Mictlan, Cecil Otter and Sims. And, for those inside the Marquis, this was cause for joy. About to enter its second decade together, Doomtree, along with Rhymesayers, have helped create and inspire the vibrant Minneapolis hip hop scene. As labels, crews and families, they embody the essence of the DIY ethic. However, with each member also deeply involved in their own projects, the chances of fans catching them all on one tour are slim.
The energy that filled the room at Friday’s show can’t be matched by many acts. Some might say there is power in numbers on stage, but many large hip hop troupes pass from MC to MC with a bluster of self-reference, introductions and gratuitous “yo, yo, yo’s.” Not Doomtree. They’re as crisp as a barrage of punches to the midsection, surgical in their precision, and they never let up. With Paper Tiger driving the beats and Lazerbeak adding MPC, the collective’s MCs awed the crowd with their technique and lyricism, with P.O.S. even mixing in a dazzling freestyle here and there.
The words were sharp enough to cut across a wide swath, from industry tribulations, “Say itap a nose job/As in she got it ‘cause she knows somebody/I’m paying dues in red blood and borrowed money,” as Dessa rapped in “Drumsticks,” to attacks on sanctimony, with Sims firing lines like, “Bullet holes in our civilian clothes” or “You did your part/You gave $100 to NPR/Saying you’ll save the planet/When you won’t save your neighbor.” Stories also emerged: the claustrophobic solipsism of a musical prodigy in “The Chaccone” from Dessa’s solo album, “A Badly Broken Code;” or the challenges of equality in a relationship from “The Wren:” “Justice is just a rule of law/So hold down the magician/The beautiful assistant/Should get her turn with the saw.”
But itap also worth mentioning the crowd’s role in driving the night forward with gusts of energy and communion. Early in the show, Micitlan swept the mic stand into the crowd and reeled it back after a few verses, declaring, “Hello, we’re friends now.” The fans erupted in what was only one of their many interactions with the band. Rap still may not be saving them, but, after experiencing a show like this, who’s to say they’re in need of it?
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Denver-based writer Sam DeLeo is a published poet, has seen two of his plays produced and is currently finishing his second novel.
Sean McGill is a local photographer who closely follows and documents the hip hop scene locally and nationally. See more of his work .
