There are many forms of filth (and varying levels of honesty) in the aboveground rap scene these days, but more often than not, it’s hard to take rappers seriously. There are too many cartoonish actors in the game. A misogynist with gold teeth and an AK-47 doesn’t shock anyone anymore. And the old school players, the real gangsters and pimps who found their way into suburban bedrooms via tape decks, are now streaming into family living rooms via mindless cop shows, Hollywood movies and brand name headphones. They are millionaires who only see the street through the tinted filter of a limo window. It’s cliché to say hip-hop is dead, but I think it’s fair to say it’s grown up (or devolved) into something that would have been inconceivable when Straight Outta Compton was released in 1988. ScHoolboy Q is not one of those actors. He is straight up gutter. He embraces the label ‘gangster rap’ and thrives on spitting street tales with chunks of asphalt into the face of anyone who gets in his way. ScHoolboy Q is a true ‘gangster rapper’.

ScHoolboy hails from South Central Los Angeles and is a key collaborator in the Black Hippy crew. He is also signed to Top Dawg Entertainment. He shares these attributes with the hip-hop artist Kendrick Lamar, but that’s where the similarities end. Kendrick is a self-described ‘good kid’ who adapted to his environment as a form of survival. He is a poet who put pen to paper to express the rage he felt at having grown up in the hood. He has a unique style that builds on the forefathers before him, yet sounds nothing like the rap that came from the streets of Compton in the 1980’s. I prefer Kendrick’s style to that of ScHoolboy Q, but I also understand why people gravitate to Q’s no-bullshit style. ScHoolboy doesn’t seem like he’s playing a part. He doesn’t seem to be using hip-hop as a ladder to a career in acting (or becoming a CEO). I’d put my money on his mugshot ending up on a Most Wanted poster before the next blockbuster billboard. I’m not a huge fan of his music, but I can appreciate it for what it is. It’s ugly, offensive and dangerous. It’s what gangster rap is supposed to be. His performance at Feed The Rocks had a rawness to it that most of his peers can only fake in the studio. He performed the set without a hypeman and his heart was in it. He didn’t tell us to throw our hands in the air, or side to side, or any of that tired bullshit. So I’ll give him that. But I do think it was ironic that tracks like “Gangsta”, “Fuck LA” and “Blind Threats” were being performed at an event that benefited Gang Rescue and Support Project (GRASP). 

“It was just me and my niggas, we was trying to survive
But we would never make it out alive
We living to die, oxymoron
Hope to get to heaven ’til that day arrive
Running through the ally, hope the bullet don’t collide
Car window shattered, glass on my right side”

Sure, you could argue that ScHoolboy’s songs are supposed to act as a deterrent to a certain lifestyle, but his videos tell a different story. I don’t know the story that led to the aftermath of his performance at Red Rocks last Thursday night, so I won’t place blame or pretend that I do, but I will say that I’m not exactly shocked that it involved gunshots, a police chase, and the lockdown of one of the most beautiful venues on Earth.

We were making our way around the side entrance into the Upper North Lot when we noticed the flashing lights down by the Trading Post. It was a disappointing site to see after such a perfect evening on the Rocks. Lily Fangs and Turner Jackson got the party started before Nas came out to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Illmatic with the power and professionalism he’s carried for the past two decades.* Flying Lotus had a style to match his light show and he managed to hold my attention far longer than any electronic show ever had before. The weather was perfect, and besides a pretty violent girl fight, the crowd was amazing. We were just discussing how lucky we were to live so close to such a venue when we came up on some girls who were buried in their phones — they looked up at us and said “there’s been a shooting”. As they were recounting their Twitter feeds, I realized the flashing lights were coming from the north as well. All entrances seemed to be blocked by police. And that began the fifth act of the night — 4 hours of lock down.

The outline of red brake lights across the horizon made it clear that the uninformed were trying to leave the venue in droves. We decided to sit still for a bit and assess the scene before committing ourselves to a place in the line of stationary vehicles. We put Illmatic on the iPod, cracked the ice chest open and settled in for what was sure to be a long wait. 40 minutes later “It Ain’t Hard To Tell” came to a close and the traffic hadn’t budged an inch. The rumours were flying though. “It was Nas who got shot.” “No, it was ScHoolboy.” “There was another shooting downtown — at 6th and Kalamath.” “Were they related?” The kid in the tie-dye shirt next to us didn’t have any information, he was too busy riding out his mescaline high, but Twitter was full of first hand accounts from people who knew nothing. The ghetto birds were in full effect — flying too high to actually see anything, the spotlights seemed to fade into the ether well before hitting the ground. They did add to the dire atmosphere though. Red Rocks Park & Amphitheatre had become one big crime scene and we were all potential witnesses…even though no one had seen a thing.

After about an hour, the excitement of the situation wore off and reality set in. We could be here all night. So I walked back through the side entrance and realized FlyLo was still performing. I watched the silhouettes of the small crowd flicker in the Layer3 light show for a bit, happy to be entertained for a small while, and wishing we would have just stayed inside through his entire set. The work day ahead wore heavy on my tired mind as he finally brought things to an end and the last of the crowd made their way out of the venue…clueless to the fact that anything was amiss.

When I got back to the lot, traffic seemed to be moving. We all jumped in our cars, started up the engines and got in line. But it was just a tease. After 15-20 minutes of sitting in one place, I turned the car off and checked Twitter again. Reports of police searching every vehicle leaving the park seemed absurd, but probable. So we parked it again and joined those who had already decided to camp out for the night. It was at this point that I had the brilliant idea of exploring the famous tunnels below Red Rocks. My friends didn’t have any better suggestions, so there was no argument. We made our way back into the venue, which was suspiciously free of police or any kind of security, and found ourselves mingling among the roadies who were breaking things down. After taking a few photos of ourselves on the stage and in the empty seats, we walked backstage.

Halls littered with framed photographs of shows past — dressing rooms built into the rocks — trucks pulling in and equipment loading out — we wandered anywhere and everywhere, unobstructed. I realize the shooting didn’t happen in the venue, but if there really was an armed criminal on the loose, don’t you think someone should have asked us what the fuck we were doing wandering around backstage with stolen Red Stripes in our hands?

We never found the tunnels we were looking for, but our self-guided tour was a lot more fun than sitting around in a dirt lot listening to people blare their horns to make themselves feel better. I’m not sure how long we spent down there, but by the time we got back to the lot, things had just started moving along. I guess the police finally figured out that there was no way of questioning 6,000 people before morning (when they would inevitably have to let people go home). My battery had died from all that Nas, so we jumped my car and got on our way.

Four hours after we left the show, we left the Red Rocks Park. I was in in bed asleep about 15 minutes later. It wasn’t until the next day that I learned that a lone gunman took shots at ScHoolboy’s SUV before fleeing. For some reason, ScHoolboy and his crew also fled in that SUV. Police gave chase (to the victims, not the shooter?) and finally pulled them over in Denver. ScHoolboy was cuffed, but not arrested. He also wasn’t hit. His driver and two people traveling with him did sustain injuries and were hospitalized, but no one died. They also never found the shooter, who was only described as a black man wearing black. 

So that’s the story of what went down at Red Rocks that night. There are plenty of pissed off people, but I’m not one of them. I can’t say if the police handled it right or not, but I also don’t think there was precedent for how to handle a shooting in a mountain park with thousands of people. Maybe they should have had a plan in place. Maybe we shouldn’t have been able to wander around where we shouldn’t have been after such a shooting. But what really matters is that no one attending the concert got hurt. This wasn’t another case of some nutcase shooting up a bunch of innocent people in a public place. ScHoolboy was the target. The reason why might never be known, but I do believe that to be the truth.

I seriously doubt they will find the shooter. Like I said before, ScHoolboy is a gangster. Even if he knows who did this, people like him don’t snitch.  In fact, the only thing we’ve heard from ScHoolboy about the subject came in the form of a tweet at 9:29am. It read “im str8…… dont trip”.  Well, good for you Q, I’m glad. As for me, I was str8 as well, but I was also tired as hell and l8 to my first meeting the next day.

* We weren’t there to see ScHoolboy. We were there to see Nas. His was the superior set of the night, but it will alway be overshadowed by what happened after the show. See here, here and here for recent Nas reviews.

ScHoolboy Q:
Fuck LA
Hands On The Wheel
What They Want
How We Feeling
Druggy’s Wit Hoes Again
Hell of a Night
Collard Greens
Gangsta
Blind Threats
Studio
There He Go
m.A.A.d. City
Prescription / Oxymoron
Man of the Year

Nas:
The Genesis
N.Y. State of Mind
Life’s a Bitch
The World Is Yours
Halftime
Memory Lane (Sittin’ in da Park)
One Time 4 Your Mind
Represent
Get Down
I Can
Hate Me Now
It Ain’t Hard to Tell
The Message
Street Dreams
If I Ruled the World (Imagine That)
One Love
Made You Look
One Mic