Newly arrived in Las Vegas, I realized an immediate benefit to relocating to an urban area: live music, all the time. And what better show to take in as my first in Sin City?
We arrived at the Venetian Hotel and Casino around 10:30 on August 18th and headed for the TAO Nightclub, only to find a massive line wrapping around the second-floor atrium. Vegas clubbers, I have underestimated you. Showing up in droves to see hip-hop icons, willing to wait in line for two hours or more…
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But hold on. There were no eager conversations among music enthusiasts in the gathered crowd; no murmured wishes for specific hits to be played during the coming performance. My intuition told me that this crowd largely had no clue who Public Enemy was. But such a line, given the club’s reputation, is standard fare.
I had heard that TAO was exclusive, an “it” place to be, but the decadence doesn’t truly manifest until you enter — women pose seductively, motionless, between the rooms of the bistro and the dance floors; more women — Asian, of course, keeping with the club’s motif — rhythmically writhe in bathtubs while wearing only rose petals. The overcrowded dance floor is situated in the center of bottle service booths, bars where a vodka tonic and a bottled water will set you back more than 20 dollars, and elevated platforms for single ladies to show off their twitching thighs. The sound system blares with an endless medley of modern dance and hip-hop, a few classics from the ’90s (Wu-Tang) and ’80s (Beastie Boys) too sparsely mixed in keep it palatable.
We retreated to the TAO’s 40-foot balcony overlooking Las Vegas Boulevard for respite and a 100-degree breeze. After some time, we returned indoors to find a post with good sight lines aimed at the elevated stage. We were not alone — scattered around the dance floor perimeter, other spectators intently staked out floor space, confirming that even in such a setting, die-hards will show up for Chuck D and his crew.
Finally, at a quarter after one, the house music halted:
“Please welcome our hosts for the evening: Public Enemy!”
Las Vegas’s own Flavor Flav bounded out onto the stage to deafening cheers. Would anyone ever guess that this man is 52 years old? Compare Flav in 2011 to his younger self on Public Enemy’s live DVD, It Takes a Nation: London Invasion 1987, and you’d scarcely believe that 24 years have passed. What can I say? The man still loves to hear you say “hoooo.” After hyping the crowd and introducing Chuck, Professor Griff, and DJ Lord, Flav tugged a chain around his neck and a clock popped out from under his t-shirt. A collective buzz of recognition rippled through the crowd, and Public Enemy launched into their classic 1990 hit, “911 is a Joke.”
Whether recognized by the spectators or merely another night’s entertainment in a city saturated by celebrity presence, Public Enemy owned the crowd. Even Ken and Barbie on my right, who’d been playing grabass and tonsil tennis for the previous hour and a half, gave it a rest to take in the performance.
After Flav’s opening number, Chuck D took over the stage with “Don’t Believe the Hype,” PE’s classic manifesto from 1988’s It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. Appearing limited in lateral movement by the small stage, with vocals sounding somewhat distorted by TAO’s surprisingly inadequate sound system, Chuck, Griff, and Flav still managed to pull off an incredible set borne of inherent showmanship and decades of practice.
“We want to thank you all for 25 years of supporting real hip-hop,” said Chuck D as the four-song set hit the halfway mark. Whether the bulk of the crowd was even alive for the better part of those two-and-a-half decades was irrelevant; Chuck’s graciousness was returned with a roar of approval, the snapping of dozens of shutters, and the glow of raised smartphones capturing the moment.
Public Enemy followed the expression of gratitude with two more classic, politically-charged anthems: “Shut ’em Down” from 1991’s Apocalypse 91: The Enemy Strikes Black, and “Fight the Power,” bookending the performance with tracks from 1990’s Fear of a Black Planet.
If the meanings of the 20-year-old lyrics (or, at least, the spirit of the intent) were apparent to most, it will remain a mystery. But the press members and the well-dressed, wide-eyed fanboys along the periphery of the performance area got an earful for sure; the short skirts and the bros on the prowl on the dance floor got one hell of a party. Public Enemy are equal parts messengers and entertainers, pioneers on both counts, and after 25 years are still on top of both games. After their brief set they thanked the crowd, the party resumed, and we — to quote Chuck D — got the fuck outta Dodge.