The weirdest thing happens: an Anti Pop Consortium member takes the stage and nobody notices. Stood behind the decks, he's near invisible, thanks in no small part to the dimmed lights and his black hoodie.
He's slowly joined by other members of the world's finest abstract hip hop crew, here to redress the US rap performance balance. UK fans usually receive half of the average crew, who arrive late and alcoholically incapacitated, play for 20 minutes before escaping the imminent rioting. But Anti Pop come prepared.
They exclaim London is their home and indeed it's hard to see them hanging out in New York with Funkmaster Flex and Jah Rule. But perhaps it's "home" as in "comfortable" and "intimate": they immediately drag the lights down still lower and get to work on some crunchy beats, tugging you into their original and difficult dwelling. Previous gigs have proven far more of an abrasive experience. Tonight the white noise is gone, replaced by a more measured approach.
Over the hour their albums 'Tragic Epilogue' and the amazing new 'Arrythmia' get re-created not re-played. Bringing decks, drum machines, laptops and more mics than MCs: Anti Pop make the effort.
They're the masters of contrast. The partisan crowd, well used to APC's shattered beats and streams-of-consciousness rhymes, itch for a steady rhythm. Long and mesmerising acapellas and instrumentals only build that tension.
So when the operatics of 'Mega' or the nagging energy of 'Ghost Lawn' slam in, the crowd erupt. Perhaps even the most cerebral avant-hop fan likes to shake their booty after all.
