Words by Braden Rapp//Illustration by Jorge Tapia
Plight is, like, the basis for music. Why else would we have so many songs about sexual frustration? We hear these songs with open ears because they speak to our own personal frustrations and experiences, no? It’s stupid to be pointing something like this out, I realize. Everyone knows that, so please do accept my apology. However, it isn’t such a bad thing to re-mull over, especially in the case of hip-hop/rap, a genre whose rise is more plight-based than probably any other.

Now, I am in no way qualified to dole out my understanding of why that is and/or the historical ascension and subsequent descent of the genre’s progenitors. And sure, most of my information is probably from spending hours with VH1’s “And You Don’t Stop” miniseries documentary. As an expert I am just not formidable, and I won’t try to be. That is fine. I have pawned it. I have rudimentary knowledge of the path which has been beaten, and I am aware of its importance. I also recognize that the important tales that garnered the greats their respective spots in music’s annals are rarely what is touted within the saturated mainstream of today’s take on said genre. Not that they don’t still exist within hip-hop’s confines. They do, and as stupid as it sounds…I think that MC Chris proves it.

I know he is just for fun, right? He has the funny voice, the funny songs, the funny album titles. It’s kitsch, sure, but within that there is a lot of truth. Of course not like that of hip-hop’s oppressed minority origins, but in a lonely, self-deprecating/aggrandizing/aware, jocular nerd sort of way. I assume some of that novelty (or most) is what he is going for. Although, for all his jokes about video games, geeky namedropping, and weed allusions there are equally as many spits of bullying, rejection, and spells of bad luck. Trivial hardships, for sho, but just because that is recognizable doesn’t make them any less poignant. MC Chris is speaking to a set of middle class white kids who played Zelda instead of football, sat out the dances, and now are edging adults who still watch cartoons and feel no shame for it. We have a plight too. It may be stupid, but it’s terribly bourgeois, and Chris Ward helps us understand that.

He says, “White Kids Love Hip Hop,” into the mic from underneath his trademark ballcap. I say, “We do!” (but only when it’s good, of course) Not that he would need me to tell him that. I think the fact that he fills a venue in fucking Nebraska is a pretty good indicator, he thinks so too. Not to mention the way his fans diligently interact with his call and response games. I was surprised, frankly. I have been to several shows since I’ve lived in Omaha that I would expect to draw a fair amount of people, yet upon arrival, I get greeted with an unfortunately empty venue. This is not how the MC Chris show rolled. I guess I just underestimated the people here. A sea of rap hands proved just how wrong I was.

This is precisely what MC Chris deserves. I’m sure by now we all know the basic skeleton of what he has to offer, and if you have been exposed, you’ve likely made your judgment. His style isn’t for everyone, granted. But if the naysayers ever had some nay to say about his prowess, I would strongly advise them to take in one of his performances. His flow is immaculate. He manages to staccato every syllable with an accuracy that I would wager to be one of contemporary hip-hop’s best. The beats over which he lets fly are rumpshakingly phat at best, and at worst they are just plain infectious. The delivery of each of these aspects is nothing short of artistry. I realize these facets are all also wholly indicative of his albums, but seeing him pull it off in person is fantastically affirming.

If mad skill isn’t enough, there is always his ability to, as he puts it, cheer up sad dudez. Banter appears to be a main component in his up-cheering. It includes references to the sad scenario of not being able to afford a 360, the specifics of a game (you can play it at home!) in which you create/name your very own sex acts, and referring to audience members with delightful epithets like my new favorite nickname ‘snuggybear titty’. These moments of smiley interplay were interspersed with a heavy dose of tracks from his newest album “Dungeon Master Of Ceremonies” and most certainly many of his catalog’s best, ie: “Robot Dog” “Tractor Beam” “Evergreen” “Ten Year Old” “Robotussin” “ Fuckin’ Up My Xmas” “Geek” “Fett’s Vette” et al.

If that couldn’t cure the ailments of a thousand sad dudez, he also, upon audience cajoling, broke into what seemed to be an impromptu version of my (and I imagine most people’s) introduction to the man’s undeniably fantastic rhymes. MMhmm..the MC Pee Pants classic “I Want Candy” was belted forth over the clapclapclaps of a whole room full of fully aware whippersnappers. It was truly a moment of transcendence. As for the inherent impromptu-ness of that song, I have no idea. It seems to me that MC Chris would be hard-pressed to ever play a show sans that song, but what do I know. Perhaps the illusion of such off the cuff bouts of wit and crowd pleasing exposition are what makes Chris an expert cheer-upper. His understanding of what makes his audience laugh, feel, smile, and actually want to participate in his hijinx are what makes him an honest to god hip-hop artist. He not only understands the plight of those whom he is speaking to/for, but he lives it. Never is this more evident than when you see him have to discreetly take an inhaler hit mid-song.