Spread the Rash (Day 17)

Rash working the geriatric ward

                 At 7pm we rolled into Assiniboine Park, Winnipeg’s version of Park Lafontaine. It was not the mere desire to stroll that we went, but to see our new rapper friends perform at the park’s outdoor venue. Approaching the stage, we noticed a sea of lawn chairs and greyed heads before us. This was not the environment I expected for a rap concert. 

Some had trouble staying awake

                As Rash took to the stage, I grew fearful for him. One poorly placed f-bomb would cause outrage and moral panic before this sort of crowd. But he did well. He ventured out into the crowd and performed other onstage antics to the amusement of many. Some expressed disapproval, but others were grooving to the beats and even throwing their hands in the air. His last song, "Cocaine Cowboy", was a risky choice, but the message at its heart resonated well with the crowd. It was about how his sister had dated a coke head. The song helped me understand the inner workings of Rash, a man I have found easy to misinterpret. It was also remarkable to hear him express his feelings so coherently, something that rap allows him to do. After he was finished, he instructed the audience to check out his tumblr which had the unfortunate title “spread the rash.” 

Abstract Artform rockin' and rapping

Fresh Kills winning over the next generation

                Relic, Fresh Kils, and Abstract Artform all performed sets that did well given the crowd. Their lyrical content was appropriate: their raps emphasized regional and national pride as well as their country roots. Indeed, Abstract confided in the crowd that “I may look really hip hop, but I’m from a small town in Manitoba. I’m just like you.” As they performed, I wondered if hip hop could ever do well in this demographic.  Given their response, it could. But performing for such an audience would deny these rappers the ability to express themselves and talk about their lives which don’t conform to any naive middle class ideals.  

Relic's rapping won me over to the genre

                We followed the rappers to their next and more appropriately located show. It was at a bar in the bottom of a youth hostel called Lopo. This was the first real hip hop show I had ever been to. As the crowd arrived, I got a better sense of the scene. People wore a mixture of ghetto duds and college hipster outfits except for one guy who resembled Jesus. The rappers seemed in their element this time. The intimate nature of hip hop shows impressed me the most. It often felt like they were rapping to me. Their energy was also infectious. I had been feeling fatigued all day; however, by the end of the show, I was ready to seize the coming night. 

Working on my hip hop face

Outside with Abstract, Rash, and Relic

                We all returned to Abstract’s pad, well equipped with beer to fuel mayhem for the coming evening. It started off slow enough, mingling with the rappers and their posse, discussing subjects such as music and their children. Rash even gathered us all together for some real talk, during which he called Matt Dowling—with no desire to cause offense—“the least hip hop guy he had ever met.”

                Naturally, things started to get out of hand. Rash had found himself in the company of the girl from the previous evening.  They did not waste any time,  retreating to the recording studio, which was doubling as his bedroom. This was much to the displeasure of one of her friends, a small but fiery girl with a thick Manitoban accent. Motivated out of loyalty to her friend and some sense of a woman’s moral imperative, she decided to put a stop to it. 

                She descended on the bedroom with a fury and put an end to their fun. It was unclear if this was during or pre-intercourse. The muffled sounds of fighting echoed from the room. Although I couldn’t see, witnesses reported that she punched Rash, over six feet and 200 pounds, in the face repeatedly. She emerged out of the room with her friend, bra in hand, who could only mutter “fuck my life” as everyone looked on. 

This guy looks like Spencer.

                At this point it was 4 am. Given that it was a Tuesday night, Abstract decided it was time to sleep. The four of us hung out on the porch for a bit while GD was lying down in the tent. Then Matt decided it was time to expel some fluids from his stomach. When he was finished, he returned into the tent. GD was concerned that he had kneeled in dog shit which was littered throughout the backyard. Matt went in the tent anyways. 

I could hear the muffled sounds of the struggle that ensued. It appears that Matt had GD in some sort of headlock: “Do you like that?” he taunted. Silence ensued for a few seconds afterwards. Suddenly, Matt flew out of the tent like projectile vomit onto the concrete pad. He had loosened his headlock out of pity and GD had seized the occasion. I’m not sure how the rest was settled, but Matt was back in the tent shortly after.