Recap: Taste of Troost, July 4

This past July 4 in Kansas City, one of the busiest street corners in Kansas City was 76th and Troost -- the parking lot of 7th Heaven -- where from early afternoon to about 8 o'clock, rappers, bands and herds of neighborhood people held court at the second annual Taste of Troost festival.

Nicole Reinertson

Cash Image

The fest had been about seven or eight weeks in the making. Three whiteboys -- Adam (son of 7th Heaven owner Jan) Fichman, Kevin Sweeney and Rob Scott of Lifted Logic -- along with their community associates had rounded up local restaurants to sell food and local performers to come perform on the grounds around the record store/East-side institution. The days preceding the party, they built a stage adjacent to the old Lifted Logic office, with a green room and closed-circuit feed from the stage inside. In the hours before daybreak on Saturday, however, rain had caused the roof over the stage to collapse. The guys decided to rebuild the roof, setting the proceedings back a couple of hours, and by the time I arrived around 1:30 p.m., the proposed schedule seemed to have experienced some switchups.

G's Jamaican Cuisine, Papa Lew's soul food, Little D's Fried Chicken and Fish and others were supplying eats; DJ Fresh on behalf of Hot 103 was on the roof of the building just north of the store, supplying beats. The first act that I saw (and probably the first act of the day, period, though I'm not 100% sure) was Ike Berg, a local rapper who came on stage with an entourage including middle-school-aged girls, who shook and shimmied gleefully like members of a drill team. Upping the ante on kid involvement was the next act, BallStar, who brought his own nine-year-old son on stage to rap a number whose chorus went "I did it how I'm 'posed ta." It was pretty adorable. And also fierce. If I were in fourth grade, I'd want that kid to be on my side.

Police cars had set up in the turning lane of Troost, lights flashing, presumably to control traffic. Evidently, KC finest also wanted to control the language. I heard from numerous sources that the cops had told the organizers that if rappers continued cussing, the whole party would be shut down. KPRS personality Kenny Diamonds, who was emceeing part of the event, observed that while rappers could certainly censor what came out of their mouths, they couldn't do anything about the language recorded to their "show discs" (i.e., backing tracks). Fortunately, the police never intervened, despite more than a few F-bombs flying off stage throughout the day.

Just before 3 p.m., the sun broke through the clouds, casting sweltering heat on the virtually shadeless parking lot as smooth jazz keyboardist Max Groove got up with a bassist and drummer and played us into a long, hot afternoon. Cool-off breaks amid the CD stacks inside of 7th Heaven were in order, as was a delicious (and cheap at $6) platter of rib tips from the Papa Lew's stand.

Nicole Reinertson

Kick Kick

After Max Groove, the rock band Kick Kick came on and proceeded to kick the shit out of a set of pop-rock that sounded somewhere between Aerosmith and the Stooges. With members ranging in age from a bassist who couldn't have been more than 14 (and was totally awesome) and a guitarist and singer well into his 30s, the group came very well rehearsed if not quite well put together in the style department. If you wanna live the rock dream, you really can't do it in shorts, sandals and one of those cushy US flag top hats from Worlds of Fun. And if your mop-headed lead singer is gonna wear tight pants and a jacket and take his shirt off and ham it up and jump around, the rest of the band might want to follow suit. The result was a high-energy, heartfelt and fun performance from a band better heard than seen. Granted, it was a middle-of-the-day, outdoor show, but the band's unappealing stage presence did not speak well for how the group might go over, say, at midnight in a bar.

Around 5 p.m. or so, the number in attendance shot up dramatically to, by my estimate, around 500. It was a forest of heat and people. Nattily dressed kids -- teenagers, mostly -- stood shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk along Troost, none of them wanting to appear too interested in the musical proceedings, though rap acts K-Dean, Miss G (and her entourage of dudes who wouldn't give her a chance on the mic) and the most polished act so far of the day, Van Brunt Entertainers Cash Image and D-Locc Da Chop all drew progressively more and more people down to the stage.

That all changed for Making Movies, the best band of the day. While Enrique Chi and his band mates dished out cool, intricate and supremely groovy Latin rock, the kids at the festival acted like it was their parents -- not four good-looking rocker boys -- on stage. I guess the kids were trying to look cool. No one wants to be the first, right?

Me, I did not look cool. I looked like stir-fried lasagna in Levi's. I decided that at the rate it was taking the performers to change over, I would have plenty of time to go home, shower, take a patriot nap and come back in time for most of the evening's headliners -- SeedLove, the Good Foot and Rich the Factor. Surely, I thought, Rich won't be on for three more hours.

It was not to work out for ol' Harper. Around 8, I got a text from my friend Happy, informing me that Rich the Fact was, at that moment, "killing it."

Jason Harper

Major Factors (from left): Sliccs Gotcha, Rich the Factor and Rushin Roolet

I raced back down 71 in time to catch the tail end of Rich's performance with his Major Factor Records family, including Sliccs Gotcha (who, Happy said, killed it as well) and Rushin Roolet. Holding a bottle of Rosé in a brown paper bag and standing about eight feet tall, the godfather of Kansas City, led his subjects in lurching, hard-hitting sing alongs. Make that SHOUT-alongs. People were throwing back their heads and pumping fists in the air, shouting lyrics like they'd grown up with Rich's words spraypainted inside their cribs.

And then, after Rich reluctantly left the stage and local Skiem Hiem and visiting luminary Killa Tay performed a couple, the day was over. Dark clouds loomed threateningly overhead. Members of the Good Foot were standing in the wings, waiting to have their turn, but the organizers and the sound engineer had been told by the police that a huge storm was about to hit. They called the rest off.

Though I don't think it ended up raining a drop (I headed back downtown), ending this first Taste after Rich's performance was probably not a bad idea, given that after a final announcement, the crowd quickly and unceremoniously dispersed. One minute it was peak hype; the next minute, you could've heard a roach clip drop.

My only disappointment that day was that so few people from the midtown music scene came out. Credit goes to Happy and his family (particularly his well-versed scion, Will), my neighbor Rogers, Erik and Colleen Voeks of the soon-to-be-late Needmore Discs and a few colleagues from The Pitch for coming out. Hopefully, when this does happen next year (right, guys?), more folks from all over town can come enjoy the vitality of Troost and its capitol, 7th Heaven.

Update: Organizers claim that around 2,500 attended throughout the day. That's based off of 2,000 visitors to the store, plus an estimated 500 who came out but didn't enter 7th Heaven.