I remember leaning my preteen body against the vinyl couch, watching as Method Man parks in the lot, pulls out a bag, pushes it flat against his nose and heaves in. In the car next, a disgusted Redman pours pale green dregs on his dashboard, the air-conditioning whips it and whorls it. Cut back, Method Man is wheezing and screaming in delight at the baggie-aroma. I was young…I did not understand. Why was this movie called How High? Was it about aeroplane pilots who collected grass clippings? I had not yet learnt what ziploc bags were used for. I thought smoking killed you, but this seemed to transform the personae into scholars of the mundane.
Fast Forward to 2016. Time has passed since that serendipitous watching of How High. I now understand why one must inhale, deeply and violently, the contents of a baggie. I understand the ineffable pain caused by a gust that decides to lift your spin into the ether. But most importantly, I understand the camaraderie shared by members of the stone – I rather the phrase, ‘stepford wives of maryjane’.
On stage the legends themselves, Method Man and Redman, lit up a blunt in commemoration of their status as weed-gods. Meth corralled the crowd, demanding two non-negotiable conditions: weed and energy. Everyone was just dive-into-a-cactus crazy, and for good reason. When Meth and Red get going, it is otherworldly. Thick hard stamp-funk fills the air, and raps tuck and turn as if the boys were the original makers of language. Redman’s deep voice booms, as he blunders and clods about. He is king-klutz, wobbly but sure. Meth is decidedly more finessed in his movements. He flicks his cap off and balances it on his fingers. His words flow with a free-style fluidity.
Something has to be said about their double-performance, their double-charisma, and their double-romping-raps. These guys are complementary. Their wordplay wheels and wanders, sometimes parallel, sometimes crooked. But every song is continuous, every phrase clings clean to the next. There are no awkward misstatements, no malapropisms. Everything comes out perfectly. It must be the weed, or Method Man and Redman are just non-human, invincible mouthpieces.
Also, DJ Dice and Mathematics did some mighty turntabling. The decks spun fast as light. 90s hits blended with the spin-spin whistle of the turntable. Meth and Rad jumped around, on the stage, in the crowd and on our hands. The night was a blessing.
Gallery: Method Man & Redman – Enmore Theatre, Sydney 31/10/16 / Photos: Liam Cameron
Method Man & Redman - Enmore Theatre, Sydney 31/10/16 - Music Feeds