Rock the Bells Entertainment Art First Midwest Bank Amphitheatre Tinley Park,, IL June 27, 2009

Like a lid on a boiling kettle, the heat barely contained the anticipation in the air as the salt and pepper crowd bought shirts, mingled, and meandered on the smoldering blacktop. Common was nowhere to be found on the set list in his home town, though his name graced the lineup, but the show went on.

First up on the main stage were The Knux, a group from New Orleans whose music meshes a creole of everything 80’s: hip hop, electronica, and glam rock with a garage band twist. Founding duo Rah Al Millio and Krispy Kream sported tight pants, leather jackets, aviator shades, buttons, eyeliner, and explosive chemistry. Their sound and energy was infectious up close, but was lost toward the back of the hall. They did a good set, singles “Cappuccino” and “Bang Bang” sparked up the crowd.

Chali 2na’s deep drone combined with his height and playful personality to fill up the stage, the melodious flow master and former member of Jurassic 5 announced his upcoming solo album “Fish Outta Water” and previewed a few tracks like “Don’t Stop” and “Love’s Gonna Getcha”—the latter not to be confused with KRS-One’s cautionary ballad by the same name. Chali jump-started the show with a surprising kick of charisma, smart lyrics and a classic, flawless performance.

After a short water break I caught K’Naan, a talented musician of Somali origin whose family moved to New York then Toronto following the outbreak of the civil war in 1991. His music translated fluidly from thunderous Afro-beat to the urgent oscillations of New York raps, punctuated by simple, overarching choruses that highlighted his powerful and melancholy voice. He closed out with “When I Get Older”, a tune centered around a hopeful yet vague promise of freedom which he began a-cappella, gradually increasing the tempo and adding instruments so the refrain echoed hauntingly by the end of the performance.

With not enough time in the day to see Buckshot, Eyedea & Abilities or Sage Frances, I settled for a beer and a hot dog, dubiously worth $17, and caught the end of Slum Village’s set. The mid-90s Detroit trio played a few tunes from “Fantastic.” Four hours in, I was in head-bobbing bliss, and could barely believe there was more to come; I scurried back over to the main stage to hear the hardcore ball-busting, leg-stomping end of Tech N9NE’s set. Though the lights were bright and they wore matching red outfits that made them look like three megaliths from the lawn, their jowly thumps seemed out of place at the festival. It might have been an awkward switch from K’Naan’s smooth-as-honey crooning, or it might have been my impatience for Reflection Eternal, but I didn’t dig it.

During the set change, KRS-One stalled on the mic, calling out “The real hip hop is…” until everyone who didn’t know learned to respond, “Over here!” Aware that he could probably ask for almost anything and the crowd would stand at attention, he called for more female MCs in the scene. Just when the wait was unbearable, Hi-Tech dropped the first beat, and called out Talib Kweli. The show consisted mostly of the 2000 release “Train of Thought”, like “Move Something” and “Eternalists.” They featured a couple of solo tracks from Kweli’s older albums, and a Black Star tune that sorely lacked Mos Def. Kweli yelled out, “Turn the music down and the sound up! I can’t hear my own DJ!” and the show continued with higher sound quality. The sweet-beat Kweli staple “Hot Thing” lit a dancing flame under scores of feet, and “Get by” had people in the isles singing the chorus between their sips of beer and drags of squares. Hi-Tech even took the mic for “The Blast.”

When KRS-One hosts and has to stall for a set change, he preaches good will, the importance of education, samples from his oldest hits, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, he’ll freestyle the history of hip hop. From the early eighties to the mid-nineties, he broke down the most prominent events in hip hop. Around 1996, he needed a beat and called up a beat-boxer from the audience. They only had a minute left, but they made great use of it. A very tangible bridge was broken down between audience and performer with the impromptu collaboration, and the stage lights marked it with strobe flashes.

Big Boi burst on stage with Outkast classics that must’ve tickled the shaved head of the man with the band’s name tattooed in a bold arc across his back I had seen while filling up my water bottle. Big Boi pulled all the stops from Outkast classics: “Rosa Parks,” “Ghetto Music,” “So Fresh, So Clean,” “BOB,” “Ms. Jackson,” and “The Way You Move.” Though the songs are timeless, Andre 3000’s presence was sorely lacking on stage. It was like eating a vegan cookie, the chocolate is always a winner, but you need the butter and eggs to make it delectable. And a dip or two in milk doesn’t hurt. Regardless, the hall spurted more liveliness with every song, because every generation recognized the Outkast staples.

Festival atmosphere infected me. I skipped off to buy funnel cake, changed my mind, checked out a couple Wu-Tang songs lovingly, kindly, almost carefully fired by GZA, then went back to the line. The venture cost me most of The Roots set, though I heard “Respond/React.” It was knee-buckling to see Questlove in action behind the drums, to feel the energy of the instruments just feet away. The sun set to The Roots, and stray raindrops pattered on the lawn.

Rain roused and poured; those with lawn tickets upgraded to seats. I was too busy staring at sound check to look back for lighting in the sky. Heat exhaustion, six or seven hours of surging beats, a star-studded stage glittering with love for the past and future of an art form that began in the confines of poverty, its relevance fed by the despondency and speed of the Brooklyn cityscape had me floating, my extremities body-buzzing with simultaneous anticipation and release. Under the cover of darkness, more bodies moved, and Snoop Dogg’s thick intonation splashed on my eardrums. The sick sweet scent of weed followed right on cue, carried to my nostrils by the wind.

Busta Rhymes strutted onstage, playing a selection of his hits from the past twenty years, slowing the music down and speeding it up to unify the audience’s reactions. “Chicago!!” He yelled, and lightning lit the stage a split second later, in time with the hollers around me. I grooved to the performance in spite of myself.

I had to tread through puddles to get a drink of water, then infiltrated the pit for the culminating set of the day. A man pranced out waving a Jamaican flag in wide circles, and even if your hearing aid had fallen out you’d know Damian Marley was about to come out by the smoke signals. Along with several songs from “Halfway Tree”, Junior Gong covered “One Love” and “Exodus” to honor Tuff Gong, or Marley Sr. The set was striking, Damian lifted his thick, down-to-the-knees dreads over his left shoulder and resembled a lion poised to pounce as he swayed his syllables to the rhythm. His backup singers were both brilliant and hypnotic, dancing while singing in perfect key and unison.

Damian Marley introduced Nas for a duo from their collaborative record, “Distant Relatives.” Though their musical and aesthetic styles are as different as their personalities, the two were comfortable together. They stole glances to check cues, shared a joke in musical interludes, even bickered jokingly when Nas insisted on performing more “new shit,” “That’s why we’re doing this, brother,” he told Marley, with a slap on the back. Nas had his own set as well, mostly picked from “Illmatic” (“N.Y. State of Mind,” “Life’s a Bitch,” and “The World is Yours”), and “Stillmatic” (“Got Yourself A—”, “One Mic”).

KRS-One came back on stage to close out the show. “Remember,” he said. “Peace, Love, Unity, and safely having fun. Go to your cars, put your seatbelts on, don’t give these people a reason!” Fighting sleep and endorphins, I found my car.

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