"This is our voice; this is our expression; this is our revolution," claims Common and damned right, he's talking politics. On paper, that might present like a call to arms by some second-rate demagogue at a Tory party conference but, contextualised by Lonnie Rashied Lynn's galvanising performance up to that moment and delivered with both righteous energy and quiet assurance, this claim as to hip hop's power has responsive shouts of "boo!" threatening to send the balconies in this place tumbling.
A native of Chicago, Common set out his stall early on in his career, running directly counter to the gangsta rap which dominated the early-to-mid 90s with the deeply felt, conscious content of his rhymes and a refreshingly braggadocio-free delivery. His concerns were socio-political, his expression heartfelt and warmly humanised at a time when guns, ganja and girls seemed to be the sole interests of his peers.
Ten years on, Common's still the carrier of the torch of the expanded Native Tongues posse, his heritage proudly aligned far more strongly to say, Gil Scott Heron than to gangsta, but there's not a whiff of self-righteousness in the air. Common understands only too well that if your medium sucks, then your message will stiff and tonight, he accordingly proves himself the most dynamic solo entertainer in hip hop.
Blatantly ignoring the diktat which decrees that all hip hop shows feature tedious funk workouts, lengthy spoken-word interludes and interminable call-and-response routines, Common sets a pace which he and his band - including dynamite scratch turntablist DJ Solo - never once let slacken.
Drawing substantially from the current 'Electric Circus' album, which shows that the genre's boundaries are sufficiently elastic to admit Sixties French pop, electro-funk, jazz and psychedelic rock, they deliver new nuggets such as the luvved-up 'Aquarius', a punchy 'Electric Wire Hustler Flower' and the superlative 'Come Close', for which Common pulls one delighted Estelle from Hackney from the crowd, sits her on a stool and woos her with "love shit" so successfully that it's hard to remember Mary J Blige appears on the recent recorded version.
There's a brief medley blending snatches of Nas, Biggie Smalls and Wu-Tang tunes - cheeky fun, but serving to cast Common in historical perspective - and short but impressive demos of the man's freestyling and breakdancing talents. It's a winning blend of genuine, feel-good vibes, righteous vitality and effortless cool. UnCommonly good hip hop, you might say.
