Public Enemy
They deliver their revolutionary polemic via brilliantly thumping turntablism, the immense thunderclap of a live drummer, deliciously vicious guitars and, of course, the mesmerising showmanship of Chuck D, Flavor Flav and Professor Griff themselves.
Kim Porcelli
This is no nostalgia tip. It’s amazing how a band widely thought of as having been “in their prime” a full decade ago are making some of the most vital, intelligent, uncompromising music around, still as monumentally arresting as air-raid sirens, still telling the truth via popular music like, quite literally, nobody else. At the same time, being staunch believers in KRS-One-style “edu-tainment”, PE are one of the best live acts around, of this or any other genre: they deliver their revolutionary polemic via brilliantly thumping turntablism, the immense thunderclap of a live drummer, deliciously vicious guitars and, of course, the mesmerising showmanship of Chuck D, Flavor Flav and Professor Griff themselves.
The classics – the righteous, pummeling blast of ‘Fight The Power’; the tenterhook staccato of ‘Black Steel In the Hour Of Chaos’ – sound astonishing, ring with fresh relevance. Meanwhile, relative newies – particularly ‘Son Of A Bush’, from last year’s overlooked Revolverlution – are truly exhilarating, simply because they’re angry, honest, and more informed and timely than today’s news: three increasingly unusual, and deeply unfashionable, things to be.
They play for over two hours – and, before they go, they dedicate a song to us (“Thank you/For lettin’ us/Be ourselves/Dub-lin!”); big up opening act Messiah J & The Expert (“they could influence us, you knowhum’sayin’?”), honour some of their heroes by covering ‘Whole Lotta Love’, ‘Back In Black’ and – wait for it - ‘The Boys Are Back In Town’… and make a few final, antiwar remarks.
“’…Cos no matter what colour you are, I got mad love for y’all ‘til ya do something to me,” Flav is saying.
“Fuck George Bush!” someone yells.
“Yeah, fuck George Bush!” yells Flav back. “Fuck that motherfucker. And fuck that Tony Blair. But never mind that. I want you to look at this, and I want you to say what this sign means,” he says, his hand aloft. “One, two, three: peace. One, two, three: peace. One, two, three: peace.”
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