I’m going to be completely candid here – I am very far from being an expert, or even somewhat knowledgeable about hip-hop and rap. We all have to choose our battles and up until recently, dedicating hours of blog searching time to hip-hop is not something I’ve fought productivity with. Any apparent lack of knowledge, then, is not out of blissful ignorance but out of admittedly ashamed naïveté. I promise, it’s not for a lack or wanting or for a lack of caring that I’m so uninformed. I really just don’t know where to start.
New Year, new ventures though so I’m trying and it’s not all for naught! My developing attention to hip-hop already paid off at The Crocodile when Seattle’s own Nacho Picasso rocked my first (and now definitely not last) hip-hop show. The show was sold out early, as can only be expected for a bourgeoning artist in Seattle’s now nationally lauded “underground” hip-hop scene.
Seeing an artist in his hometown always brings something extra to a show and this was no exception. Nacho Picasso reps Seattle but not as blatantly as some of the more recognized northwest rap artists. He doesn’t namedrop the districts or stand in front of the Space Needle; rather, his sound itself embodies the region and all of its apparent contradictions. His beats are heavy and ominous, conjuring images of this cloudy metropolis on its most hard-to-love days. His lyrics, contrarily, make the occasional light reference to Marvel comics and Greek Gods. (Okay, those are only some of his lyrics; a lot of them are a bit harder than that).
This dichotomy existed in his whole demeanor and performance. Shirtless (and ripped) Nacho Picasso had a very tattooed torso. It made him look super tough. He also wore thick-rimmed glasses, which didn’t make him look super tough at all. He played with the crowd, dancing silly with backing Jarv Dee and throwing Mardi Gras beads all around (sure, making misogynistic jokes about women) but also exuded some serious toughness while divulging some of his darker lyrics. The crowd was nothing short of wholly in the moment.
And in that moment, they were in sync. I can safely say that this crowd was a union, brought together not just by the music but also by the singular cloud of smoke that each individual blunt was contributing to. In light of Washington’s recent legalization, folks at the Crocodile really took neglecting indoor smoking laws to a new level. I don’t think Nacho Picasso would have had it any other way.
