Ceschi/Jon Ditty/DEA & SAINT/Stick Martin
Thursday December 7th, 2017 
Dunedin Brewery, Dunedin, FL

by James Lamont 

“I’m imagining you in a gay British meadow composed of my words,” spoke my poetic associate Hardly Art as we made the drive north. This would set the scene for a vibrant and inclusive free hip hop gig inside a pleasantly cramped Scottish-American brewery (I’m more on the, y’know, English side, but you can’t have everything).

Speaking of loose borders, the first performer of the evening is country-hip hop artist Stick Martin. His genre blurring is entertaining without being a novelty; I’m not sure if Martin presently uses his “Stick Martin Show” moniker, but it’s plain to see why he at least at one point did. Admittedly I didn’t catch the entire set, but it seems to be a variety performance of duets and unexpected behaviour. Jon Ditty is there banging out a chicken-soup-for-the-soul type number with Martin, while another onstage guest, Foundation (the local rapper, not the Atlanta hardcore band), gets a physical display dedicated to him. “Every house, every home/needs a good Foundation” sings Stick, before lunging into the middle of the room and using sticks upon an upturned homer construction bucket and a bar stool. He’s also a varied producer, having worked on the debut album of local funk-soul brothers Trigger City Trio. Like stic.man of dead prez, Stick Martin is evidently closely associated with the St. Pete music scene if not originally a product of it.

DEA & SAINT won this years Creative Loafing readers’ polls for both best local hip hop and local punk, yet their upcoming album that they’re hashtagging the fuck out of is called Trapdoom. It sounds like a potential mess of directions, but their music is pleasantly minimal here as the two vocalists/rappers, lacking all the members of their usual five-piece ensemble, are backed up only by beatmaster Tysonious Mink. Looking like a friendly version of Sandor Clegane, his beats are appropriately wintery and dark: trap-flavoured and dotted with slow chimes and pianos, they are allowed to breathe due to Dea & Saint’s relaxed deliveries. I do wish that Mink had had more to do than stand behind an entirely too-small ironing board table and an Apple computer, though. Perhaps the most enticing crossover that Dea & Saint bring to such a table is that they are a male-female duo, an oddly striking sensation considering hip hop is obsessed with collaboration. “It’s a shame that dreams cost money,” chants Saint, having apparently forgotten to Remember that He Is Dreaming (see artist link). On another song it sounds as if the chorus is a repetition of “Dirty Thirty,” but it’s entirely possible I’m just thinking about my brother’s big-three-oh the day before that I had to miss.

The delightfully but misleadingly titled Jon Ditty returns, and before long is explaining that for his 30th birthday in September, Dunedin Brewery got him this giraffe-shaped microphone; the brewery is something of a spiritual home for the artist. Who says we’re living in an economy stuttering along only on the basis of resource-heavy electronic MacGuffins designed to provide nicotine patch-sized dopamine hits for grown men and women? Well, plus rap music and craft beer. The Al Grundy red lager that DB serves to my system appear to be part of the reason that Jon Ditty flows so fast, but upon listening to his CD at home it seems he really is just that speedy (the incredible Hopefully More than A Blanket of “I” Statements). It’s no wonder his artwork revolves around eyeballs: he’s trying to deflect attention away from his freakish tongue. As far as tone and delivery goes, Jon reminds me of Aesop Rock (he revealed to SPC newspaper The Sandbox that he’s a big fan). I am starting to suspect at this point that Rick Scott has passed a law making it mandatory for all Florida rappers to use that ‘Private Number’ guitar lick beat that goes with the Etta James vocal, but it’s at least as enjoyable as ever with Ditty at the helm. He performs ‘Ode to Mr Bungle’ (about the educational hygiene film, not the mad-brained ska-metal band or the bear off Rainbow), an ode to sleep (‘The Guilty Pleasure of Time Travel,’ which begins with Jon curling up on the stage with a blanket and stuffed animal) and a deep, respectable ode to death named ‘Obituary Blues.’ In some musical respects, this performance might all be what the MC humbly describes as “regular type hip hop,” but the quality is qual-ih-tee. Every element is engrossing, and his positivity infectious.

Very similar words can be said about final artist Ceschi, and it here bears emphasising that the acts tonight have been excellent. Thank you to Dunedin Brewery and Jon Ditty for putting it together, for free no less. You know that the Connecticut folk-rapper is at the brewery (for the second time) for the love of the music as well, because he doesn’t do beer, preferring quite rationally to get his glutens from bread-gobbling. First number, ‘This City is Killing Me,’ is a great, catchy song about punk radicals in their thirties unsure how their teenage beliefs didn’t lead to their lives being more exciting. This sort of theme is there throughout Ceschi’s set (he makes a reference to his 35th birthday, raising the bar -- that’s why he’s the headliner). A lot of musicians try to pull off disparate genre-mixups, and while I generally applaud the experimentation, I generally don’t buy that they are well-versed in all of the sounds that they attempt. Ceschi is someone who can pull it off. I’d suggest the nickname Aesop Rosenstock (obviously not everyone can sound like Aesop, but maybe I’ve been listening to too much ‘Kirby’). He goes back and forth between the stage and audience as effortlessly as he flickers between rapping over acoustic guitar and the intimate punk-influenced folk party vibe that Jeff Rosenstock manages so well, and all of it rules. Ceschi reveals he’s worked with and is planning to work with such respectable figures as Sage Francis and Astronautilus; all these good white rappers around are in danger of making my head a mini-Minneapolis. My friend Hardly, mesmerising me with his wordage earlier in the evening, accepts the mic during another track that contemplates death (‘Beyond the End’), but the results, are, uh.. less successful. Don’t be sad my dude. There’s beauty to be found among potential sadness, as much of this music reveals. By the end of the night the audience is in the palm of Ceschi’s hand. Equally important, he seems to have put himself in the palm of ours. I haven’t done many live reviews recently. It’s nice to be back in the field.