Why are those people waving all those candles? I don’t get it, but the guitarist does, and next thing you know there’s a bass line that makes perfect sense with the vocals. The little wash/wah of guitars is lightly touched, and the cigarette lighters aren’t flicking any more, except flicking to light Marlboros that will be banned someday from the concert hall—but not tonight.

The organ-y synth has a Keith Emerson flair, and who knows what could have happen if Greg Lake had been a solo lucky man and Chuck D had been vocalizing with a monophonic synth and a spinning piano?

Words can be lethal, deadly catches at the heart that require the passion to be wrapped with a subtlety, like a simple melodic drone and little wah/wound guitar and the hint to a turntable, with atmospheres giving that auditorium feel.

Give the people what they really want—a song that gets people down on their seats, and then up on their feet, nodding, and then waving fists slowly, without, with firmness, with an understanding of just what we’re giving them—real hip hop. By the time the song is over, the early strum and drang seems beside the point, because the quiet rain of the forceful ending passage says it all, in weatherphonic sound.