December 29, The Pearl
“Hovie Sinatra, baby. Old brown eyes, baby,” Jay-Z crooned as he ended a rousing Saturday night Palms set that, at times, seemed more like Jay-Z Presents ... Everybody Who I’ve Helped Make Big.
There was Vegas-bred singer/songwriter Ne-Yo, perhaps his biggest signee as president of iconic hip-hop label Def Jam—he’s since relinquished his position—followed by Jay’s Roc-a-fella cohorts Memphis Bleek (a marginal talent who got a deal because he and Jay are from the same ’hood, Brooklyn’s Marcy Projects) and Beanie Sigel (a Philadelphia troublemaker and onetime heir apparent to Jay’s throne). They dropped first-verse-only rundowns of their best posse cuts, including the hypnotic, neck-bouncing “Change the Game,” then dutifully got out of the way so Jay could move the crowd.
Though he’s closer to 40 than 30, it was clear that Jay’s time away from the booth hasn’t sapped his swag, on which he coasted for nearly two hours, controlling the crowd with a smoother-than-thou steelo—a B-boy poise meant an ill punchline was coming—and sounding studio-perfect, unlike some rappers who try to pass off adrenaline as showmanship.
Looking butler-ish in a white jacket and black tuxedo shirt and slacks, he deftly rode reconstructed rhythms created by the ?uestlove-led Illadelphonics, the same group behind the live music for his eponymous MTV Unplugged performance. Either as a fan-friendly gesture or a breather, letting the crowd recite whole verses from several titles in his “suitcase full of hits” worked. Normally cheesy, the egoism played off well, with fans screaming, “I got 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one” as if that bitch were standing next to them. Even lesser-known songs like “U Don’t Know,” a hustler’s anthem rekindling Jay at his hungriest since his Reasonable Doubt debut, inspired lip-synching, cocksure poses and mock gunfire.
No doubt the night’s biggest surprises—hinted at during radio-station promos—hip-hop soul queen Mary J. Blige and superproducer/emcee Kanye West generated as much frenzy as the headliner. Blige hit ear-ringing notes as she covered a few of her inner-feminist-releasing songs about loving me right or not at all. Stickler for albums sold that he is, Jay offered praise for the success of Blige’s Growing Pains, which came out last Tuesday. “Six hundred thousand in your first week!” Jay enthused.
But it was West who damn near stole Jay’s show, drawing standing ovations for “Good Life” and “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” and repeated daps from his idol/mentor. For much of the night, Jay’s ex (or is she?) Beyoncé nodded her head and Shakira-ed her hips in a form-fitting dress from a second-floor balcony seat. It only seemed logical that she would saunter on down for their Bonnie and Clyde duet “Crazy in Love,” putting sprinkles atop the cherry burnishing the icing on the cake. No dice.
In the end, the Def Jam resignation—“to take on new challenges,” Jay says—might prove prescient. He’s an artist. Artists create. He couldn’t possibly be content pushing pencils. Maybe, like continually unretiring Oakland rap legend Too Short, who was on hand, Jay can’t resist the pull of the booth, the allure of the stage, the competition. The way he pulled everything together on this night, making it all work toward his glory, he earned the right to call himself hip-hop’s Sinatra.