When Kojaque (Kevin Smith) appeared on the dry-ice engulfed stage last Wednesday night, dressed in his token deli-inspired white apron, a Soft Boy t-shirt and the trademark rolled up beanie, a certain aroma of confidence and inspired focus bled out from the but of his microphone and drowned out the sea of eager fans that stood before him.
In amongst that sea of hundreds (possibly even kissing the thousand mark) of fans were the disciples. The obsessed. The group whose loyalty to the man they had come to see would not be doubted. These were the ones who dressed like him, the ones who knew the songs, way beyond the lyrics. But there was no sense of snobbiness. No superiority. They were here to support their idol.
Then there were the hippies. The Pale indies, as I have come to call them. Those who will circulate and stalk the emerging artists; but not influenced by any cynical agenda. They just wanted to enjoy the music. Escape to somewhere surrounded by like-minds where they could be themselves.
Lastly, there were the norms. We were a notable minority – not to others, but almost immediately recognisable to each other, despite having never met.
Those who I had attended the show with did not fall into the same category as I that night. They looked like they belonged there. Blending in with the crowd in both appearance and general vibe. My vibe was not skewed, although due to reasons beyond my control I was completely sober for the duration of this event. This made for a refreshing experience, but I couldn’t help feel I was seldom in this position, as even Kojaque himself did not hesitate to kiss the aluminium lips of a lukewarm can of heineken during his performance. Or was it Carlsberg? Maybe even Tuborg. Regardless, my sobriety did not lead to any sense of discomfort. My ‘straight from the office’ wardrobe choice however – that was a problem. This was how I telepathically communicated with the other norms in the underground maze of the Button Factory. I resembled an undercover Garda, poorly attempting to blend into the colourful, culture-stoned crowd. Indeed, the off-grey jacket, inoffensive fitted jeans and faded brown dress shoes were anything but casual wear in this environment.
I don’t claim to be a regular attendee to concerts of any scale or stature. Despite having a radically broad and diverse range of music, my attendance to the shows performed by some of my most frequented artists is weak. With that in mind, I have experienced my fair share of the best and the worst these kinds of events have to offer.
Having not been in the Button Factory in several years, I didn’t really trust myself to navigate the interior of the venue alone. Thankfully, those I had attended with were more than familiar with their surroundings, and led me through what seemed like an endless labyrinth of steep, narrow stair cases. At one point before the show while making our way back from the toilet, a young man wearing black with dark, curly hair cut tight to his head wearing earrings and clearly in a hurry shoved in front of me, knocking my glass of water. I cursed him and tried to grab his attention, but by the time I did he was long gone. The villain in black turned out to be Bobby Basil – an artist on the same scene as Kojaque who supported the show alongside Luka Palm. He put on a great performance, so I was happy to disregard our previous encounter.
“Nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes,” said Benjamin Franklin. It would seem Franklin had never been to a headline concert, however. Any show I have ever attended in large venues like the 3Arena in Dublin which drew crowds – comparable to that of the Pope – of young adults has certainly been plagued with an insufferable blight.
This blight comes in waves. Scattered clusters of shirtless white boys with bad haircuts and cheap MDMA. They have no care for their surroundings, nevermind the music which they have paid anything from€70-80 for just to be present. These are of the same breed as the faceless hyenas who you will often see at public protests around the world. They have no political agenda. No end-goal. They only wish to cause short-term chaos to fuel their… well, I don’t really know to be honest. But they come part-and-parcel with this large scale concerts.
Admittedly, I was concerned about these bloodthirsty hyenas and the effect they would have on the night. With such a small venue (in comparison to its peers), the potential for catastrophic n-bome infused violence was too likely to ignore. But I was pleasantly surprised upon the end of the show that these predictions were misguided. I was in awe by the lack of trouble that night. There was nothing. No tension, no standoffs. Not from what I saw. But there was more than that. There was this unwritten communal respect that was ever present. If someone needed to move through the crowds, people would step out of their way. No need for shoving or the spilling of cheap beer. Everybody seemed to be chilled out. There were of course the outliers: the acid casualties and the e-tards. But they weren’t causing any trouble. They were too busy battling whatever imaginary demons they had encountered on their trip. The vibe was easy throughout the night, which is something I have to attribute to those who controlled the stage. They set the tone, and they directed the mood.
But the music! Yes, of course. The subject of this story. The sole reason you started reading this in the first place.
I have always questioned the objective capabilities of music/concert reviews. Music – as one of the most primitive forms of art – carries with it a history of diversity, storytelling, emotion and creative freedom that is often lost in the cruel rat race of the music industry. So how can it be reviewed? If it is true to its purpose – giving an insight into an artists thoughts – who am I to review it?
You see, the thing about a lot of modern music is – to put it bluntly – money. The Jimmy Iovines of the world care about one thing; ROI. Once you realise how much money can be made by following a predetermined funnel in the music industry, it is understandable why this culture dominates the mainstream arteries of the scene.
Take Kojaque, for example. A talented young white Cabrarian with some of the best lyrical and producing capabilities in the emerging scene right now. There is a certain magic in his ability to tune a frustrated North Dublin accent with a soothing piano presence and early 20th century inspired saxophone solos. This combination is not something you see often – particularly not done this well. His music is jazzy. It’s blues inspired. It’s rap. But does this equate to being ROI positive? Well, apart from outliers like Rejjie Snow, one has to assume that Irish rap – no matter how objectively good it is (whatever good means) – is simply not ROI positive.
Which is a shame, truth be told. But maybe that struggle he faces of not being financially attractive enough to the big dicks of the music industry plays in his favour. For it is no doubt his underground, starving-artist presence that has helped grow his reputation in the Irish music scene. You won’t find him on the books of any usual record labels. Christ no. Kojaque has no need for these, thanks to the foundation of his own label – Soft Boy Records. Kevin Smith runs Kojaque, which is promising for the future of his music. It shall not be influenced by the ROI motivated dictators of mainstream labels – not for now, at least.
It is probably true that Smith is no fool, but he has dedicated so much to his music. Not only that, but his efforts to maintain his authenticity and unique role in Irish music has presumably created challenges along the way. Are these ROI positive decisions? Unlikely. Are these the right decisions however? Will they be the reason for his authentic legacy, and the legacy of those who he inspires in the future? Possibly. Such predictions are impossible for someone like me to construct. These are questions you’d have to ask him.
Will I ever see Kevin Smith on the front of the Rolling Stone, driving a Lamborghini with a Louis Vuitton kit bag bursting at the seams with Grammy Awards? I doubt it. If you have any objective views on the music industry, you’ll know too that is almost considered embarrassing to win a Grammy in the modern world. No. He has far too much character and potential for that materialistic, egotistical white noise that saturates the industry. And maybe that’s what makes his music what it is.
I suspect we will see many Kojaques come and go in Irish music. With rap being at an all time high in popularity around the world, many will be keen to chase the dream. But what truly constitutes as the dream? Is it the money, or is it the truth?
In retrospect, there are 2 music industries right now. Both at war with one another. It is a war between money and substance, with both sides relentlessly clashing behind the doors of the green room. This will always be the case, and it is in the hands of the artists involved to pick a side and most importantly influence the norms like me and many others, who will never truly understand the musician.
*PS: I found a Garmin watch on the floor upon leaving the Button Factory. If it’s yours, please let me know. It’s beginning to take up space.
Evan O'Gorman 