EBONY TUSKS

At first glance, Marty Hillard doesn’t really seem like the type of guy to take on a moniker that calls to mind images of primal, aggressive beasts. But then again, that’s the point.

The 32 year old rapper behind Ebony Tusks sits across the table from me at a Pie Five pizzeria in Westport during a break in shows at Kansas City’s Middle of the Map Festival. Hillard, in a black band shirt, round frame glasses and dreadlocks, idly nibbles at a piece of pizza and gazes wistfully out of the front windows. “I think that originally, the goal was that I wanted to have a name that was visceral, something really immediate.”

Hillard, who started writing raps at the age of eleven after watching VHS tapes of his older brother’s hip-hop performances, is a student of many styles and genres. Starting out in a band called The Original in high school (which blended rap and funk a la Incubus and Limp Bizkit), he moved on to writing folk music after the band dissolved and remained relatively uninterested in rap until around 2007. “Posturing in hip-hop was at an all time high then,” says Hillard, who felt that most rappers during that period – with the exception of artists like Mos Def and Pharoahe Monch – were only concerned with projecting an image and caused him to struggle with the concept of realness.



“I used to go to rap shows and have panic attacks,” Hillard admits, “I just didn’t feel like I fit in. Like, am I not wearing the right clothes or what?” That all started to change around the time The Cool Kids’ Bake Sale EP came out, which Marty at least partially credits as the catalyst to the birth of Ebony and the reason why he fell back in love with hip-hop. For him, the duo’s underground success stemmed from the afirmation that being cool meant being yourself and that it was okay being a nerd. “I felt like listening to The Cool Kids, I was in on the joke. I would say if there’s any group that’s had more influence on Ebony Tusks, it would be them for sure.”

Molded by the new wave of conscious rap prevalent by the late 2000s, Ebony Tusks hit the stage in the fall of 2010 and with a brand of hip-hop heavily influenced by elements of post-hardcore, instrumentalists like Explosions in the Sky and electronic music producers such as Andy Stott. I’ve heard the spoken word style of Saul Williams mentioned in comparisons to Ebony, and it makes sense given Hillard’s sometimes blunt delivery and that idea is reinforced by performances that often include bouts of impassioned freestyles inspired by slam poetry. Perceptions aside, Hillard’s lyrical content is incredibly cerebral; It’s the kind of music that you really have to listen to a few times to pick apart the many turns of phrase before uncovering the true message behind the music in the same way you would with Aesop Rock.


When we start getting deeper into the topic of influences, Marty’s Midwestern sensibility starts becoming increasingly evident. He believes that the financial recession of 2008 is what got people to start looking inward and relating to music that prioritized the philosophy that it’s better to give than get. “It’s about determining what value is, what worth is,” Hillard says. “A lot of artists have begun to invest in themselves and have found new and creative ways to project what their value is to others and give people an opportunity to find value in that for themselves.”

“I used to go to rap shows and have panic attacks,” Hillard admits, “I just didn’t feel like I fit in. Like, am I not wearing the right clothes or what?”

The subject of music services like Spotify was eventually brought up, and I can see a wry, knowing smile creep across Marty’s face. “I definitely have my own opinion on streaming services,” he says. Hillard admits that he feels contrary to free streaming services because, in addition to the small percentage of revenue the actual artists recieve, it projects a dollar value on the work that artists produce and can negatively affect the way they see their own work and inherent value. And he should know; While he was a member of the now-defunct indie rock outfit Cowboy Indian Bear, the band’s album Does Anybody See You Out was well received by local music critics and had over 100,000 streams on Spotify within the first few months of its release. “Of course, we’ve never seen a check for it,” Hillard says, “And if there is one, I don’t know about it.”

Geese, Dan and Marty stop playing for a second to pose for a family photo. Photo by Rebecca Dreyfus.
Geese, Dan and Marty stop playing for a second to pose for a family photo. Photo by Rebecca Dreyfus.
He then poses the example of Amanda Palmer – the former lead singer of The Dresden Dolls – and her recent Kickstarter campaign which succeeded in raising $1.2 Million for her new album and subsequent tour. He says that her campaign reminded him of his experiences pressing his first records right out of high school, playing shows and asking for donations for the material he had recorded. “If you didn’t have cash, I would say ‘here, take this because I just want you to hear it and enjoy it.” For Hillard, going the extra mile to invest in fans rather than seeing them as a revenue stream forms a deeper connection that just selling records and going on tour. “Once you start thinking about the numbers, you’re focused on the wrong thing,” he says of Palmer’s critics. “You’re worried about how she’s building her sandcastle, meanwhile, she bought the beach and now you can’t have any sand.”

Dan Smith, Marty’s producer and DJ, walks into Pie Five about halfway through the conversation and I recognize him from one of the shows where I first saw Marty perform in college. “I used to have different DJs,” Marty says, smiling with his partner in crime, “Dan was just more fun and more attentive than the friends who kept subbing in; Homie love, man.” As it turns out, the show where I caught Marty’s performance was part of a series of events that the two had established with the express purpose of showcasing local talent called lowercase Kansas.

These posters, promoting the very first lowercase Kansas show, were plastered all over Lawrence once upon a time. Photo by lowercase Kansas.
These posters, promoting the very first lowercase Kansas show, were plastered all over Lawrence once upon a time. Photo by lowercase Kansas.
“We were trying to to get people together that maybe didn’t know each other who live a few hours away,” says Dan. The events, which started back in the fall of 2013, has seen a vast array of local talent – in both music and physical media – come to put their work on display in venues around Lawrence and Kansas City. In fact, the lowercase series has been so successful that they’ve been able to pull in talent from as far as Minnesota with Doomtree’s Mike Mictlan. Whereas the semiregular lowercase events have brought midwestern favorites like Heartfelt Anarchy, Greg Enemy, Stik Figga, D/Will and Steddy P (to which Marty expresses a thoroughly Midwestern ‘gaaah-llyyyy, so good’) to a larger stage, the real beauty is in a subset of events put on by the lowercase crew called BarsUp, where members of the audience become the artists.

“You’re worried about how she’s building her sandcastle, meanwhile, she bought the beach and now you can’t have any sand.”

“An open mike night still has the dichotomy of the performers and the audience and there’s a very clear line in the sand,” says Dan. “With BarsUp, it always feels like an ‘us’ thing.” Inspired by a visit to a New York bodega where session musicians were spontaneously joined by emcees on stage, Marty decided to start the BarsUp events as a way to create a low-pressure atmosphere where the lowercase faithful could interact without judgement in whatever way they want. Along with Geese, the group’s sound and lighting orchestrator – who joined us at the table for the last part of the conversation – Dan and Marty play facilitators and occasional performers at this new type of event. “When we did one at Mills [Record Company], I got a third of the way through a verse I had written, but there was so much love; It was positive feedback,” Marty says. “At BarsUp, please do fuck up. It’s the only way you’re gonna get better.”



It’s an odd thing to hear an artist who’s shared the stage with national acts like The Cool Kids and clipping. talking so candidly on not making a big deal over messing up in front of his fans, but that’s just the kind of guy Marty is. We talk briefly about the ideas of success and failure and how Killer Mike and El-P only found their rampant, mainstream appeal by teaming up together as Run The Jewels after years of underground notoriety as solo artists. “Why does the conversation with artists have to begin and end with success?” Hillard speculates. He then juxtapositions the RTJ story against Wale’s tendency to respond so fervently to criticism. “It hurts me that he’s performing at such an elite level, but fans reach out to him on Twitter with shade and he bothers to dignify that with a response,” says Hillard. “This generation is seeing a rapper who is so successful and yet so insecure, and people need a Killer Mike. You never hear him complain that nobody listened to Pledge; You never hear any bitterness in El-P’s lyrics about album sales.”

“Why does the conversation with artists have to begin and end with success?” Hillard speculates.

As it stands, Ebony Tusks as a whole – and as individuals – are satisfied with who and where they are as artists, even with all the added responsibilities of normal life. With Hillard’s newborn baby and wife in Topeka, Dan in Lawrence and Nathan (Geese) in Gardner, Ebony Tusks has a lot on their plate that isn’t necessarily related to music. But despite all their other responsibilities and the physical distance between them, the group still collaborates on new material. “If you’re a creative person and you enjoy making music, you’re gonna find new hurdles to jump over,” Marty says. “And our fans are willing to meet us halfway.”

Ebony Tusks takes the stage at the Riot Room patio for this year's Middle of the Map Fest. Photo by Carolina Mariana.
Ebony Tusks takes the stage at the Riot Room patio for this year’s Middle of the Map Fest. Photo by Carolina Mariana.
As I make my way to the Riot Room patio to get a good vantage point for the show, I decide to go check out the merch booth, and true to his word, Hillard has stuck by the ‘donations only’ model. I give the guy working behind it the only cash I had on hand and get a shirt, sticker and pin and start to strike up a conversation with him about some of the acts he’d seen at the festival before I start to hear cheering and turn around.

“We’re Ebony Tusks and we’re a hardcore band from Lawrence, Kansas,” Hillard yells from the stage. And then I’m just lost, like everyone else, in the cacophony. - The Aux Jack

Two weeks ago, Mike N Molly’s brought up-and-coming hardcore rap trio Ebony Tusks to Champaign-Urbana. Since 2010, Ebony Tusks have been making waves throughout Kansas and now they’re bringing their energetic live show on the road.

Ebony Tusks caught up with buzz ahead of the show to discuss the group’s beginnings, their creative influences and how they’ve grown as artists over the years.

buzz: Can you talk about how the tour has been going so far? Any particular shows that have stood out?

Daniel Smith: Tour just started. We saw spaghetti wrestling in Omaha. So far, so good.

Nathan Giesecke: We got to open for Talib Kweli at an All-Star show in our home base of Lawrence, Kansas. It’s one of my favorite shows we’ve ever played – every act was absolutely fantastic.

Martinez Hillard: It’s been really great. It’s a series of dates throughout the Midwest this summer and fall that we’re calling the “Tour of Attrition.” Supporting Talib Kweli at the Granada Theater in Lawrence, Kansas was the first date and it’s going to be hard to beat.

buzz: What sparked your interest in creating rap music?

DS: We spend a lot more time trying to cultivate a sound rather than fit a genre. At the end of the day, I just like to experiment. I want to try something new with every track, I don’t really see the point of making music that isn’t daring in some way.

NG: I grew up sitting in my dad’s van and listening to pop radio. Lots of that rap and RnB music just stuck with me. I remember getting the NOW 9 compilation CD that had “Rollout” by Ludacris on it, track seven, and I wore that CD out listening to that track over and over again.

MH: It’s definitely something I was drawn to at a very early age. I started rapping around Christmas of 1994. I grew up watching one of my older brothers rap and we even had a group together when I was in middle school. We grew up in a military family and lived overseas in Germany in the late 80s, at a time when hip hop culture was just exploding everywhere. LL Cool J, Run-DMC, Beastie Boys, Kurtis Blow, Whodini, The Fat Boys – these groups were all on my radar really early on.

buzz: How does Ebony Tusks function as a band? For example, what unique qualities do each of you guys have and how does they contribute to the growth of Ebony Tusks?

DS: ‘Growth’ is a keyword here. In the past Ebony Tusks has functioned differently, but going forward it’s a collaborative group wherein we all contribute to the production in varying degrees and Marty and Nathan contribute vocals.

NG: Now, it’s much more collaborative than it ever has been. Tusks started as Marty’s project and Dan and I have somehow managed to sneak our way in. Now the three of us collaborate on production and Marty writes the lyrics. I’m working on writing some lyrics to contribute as well.

MH: In terms of how we function currently: all three of us make beats and, for now, I write all the raps. We are in the middle of working on new material and I think we’re all dead set on deconstructing that a bit. As our DJ, Daniel brings an attention to detail to our live performance as well as an irreverence overall. Rap can be pretty insular sometimes. [Nathan] is our lighting technician and doubles as hype man. His consistency and positivity are really infectious. He’s made me a better performer.

buzz: What is the significance behind the name of the band?

DS: It’s an anagram of “obeys skunk.”

NG: We all wear lots of black, so it’s really just a name that could involve a shade of black and not be called “black.”

MH: I tend to think of it as something that’s both familiar and a little visceral, a running parallel with what people are conditioned to seeing and hearing. A slight shift that’s meant to get you off-balance. I think our music and performance embody that as well.

buzz: What is the group’s ultimate goal with this rap project?

DS: To me, the goal has already been reached. We make weird music, play loud shows and hangout with some of our favorite musicians. A lot of musicians probably dream of future fame and fortune and I think that is a terrible way to live your life.

NG: I feel like I remember hearing Marty once say that he started Ebony Tusks to start bridging his groups of friends together, to bring friends from different music scenes or different locations together and kind of be a bridge. Dan said it perfectly – we get to hang out with our best friends and favorite artists and play music on a regular basis. Sometimes it’s for people who really like our music, and that’s great. Sometimes it’s someone who just booked a “hip hop” act and we get to assault them with our set. That’s pretty great, too.

MH: Having as much fun as we can, while we still can. We’re three busy guys who work full-time and live in three different cities along I-70 between Kansas and Missouri. We still feel like there’s more work to do with Ebony and we’re trying to honor that.

buzz: What lead to the decision of using “Everybody Run” for a music video?

DS: It’s one of the early Tusks songs. Most of the songs we perform today didn’t exist when the video was made. It has always been a crowd favorite and has remained a staple of our setlists while other old songs have waned.

MH: When the MIDAS EP came out in 2011, it was the standout track and the obvious choice. It was easy to create visuals that spoke back to the lyrical content. Our friend Micki Hadley did a really great job with the video as did all our friends who were cast in it.

buzz: Rap is a genre that relies heavily on lyrics and wordplay. Where does your inspiration come from when creating the lyrics to your music?

MH: I think when I started Ebony Tusks, I was fairly disenchanted by what most people think of as “underground” or “true school” rap as it was referred to in the mid to late 00s. I was bugging out on mainstream artists like Jay Z, T.I., Young Jeezy and Rick Ross, all of whom exhibit a lyrical prowess but also project supreme confidence in their abilities. Rick Ross’ Teflon Don album was particularly inspiring in that it was such a vivid reading of opulence and hedonism that I was having dreams about what I was hearing – I was writing in such a way that I could hear Rick Ross rapping the words I was putting together. Finding my voice in rap was almost as important as the lyrics to me. Slowly but surely, when mainstream rap stopped resonating with me as much, I found my way back to the lyricists that I’d long been a fan of – El-P, Aesop Rock, Saul Williams, Common, as well as newer artists like Kendrick Lamar, Vince Staples and Earl Sweatshirt. In some cases these newer artists were a bridge back to music I’d completely missed like MF Doom and Doomtree, stuff I probably would have listened to a lot sooner.


buzz: What do you think of rap today as compared to rap in the 90s?

DS: Some people have rosy retrospection when it comes to early rap. I grew up listening to a lot of 90s stuff, but I am very grateful that things have progressed. Rap still has lots of trappings but there are a lot of outliers who take it in interesting directions.

NG: I feel like rap today is more open-minded. Look at the success of current rappers that would’ve gotten laughed off/booed off the stage in the 90s (this is pretty speculative for me because I was 9 in 2000). A$AP Ferg, Lil B, Yung Lean, Future, Young Thug, etc. Lots of rappers are able to reach into new and uncharted territory and are being rewarded for it.

MH: I tend not to make a comparison as I think comparing any era to another in rap does both a disservice, especially if it’s an argument of which is better. That conversation is happening ad nauseum on rap blogs and social media like clockwork anyway. It’s apparent that a lot of new, young artists have a romanticized view of the 90s and, in some cases, it’s making for some pretty decent output. I’ve never been particularly nostalgic. Regardless of what time period or production style you pledge allegiance to, being dope outweighs any of that. 1995 was a stellar year for hip hop. I was 12. 20 years later, I’m still hearing amazing new music.

buzz: Lastly, how do you feel Ebony Tusks has evolved since 2010?

DS: The sound has changed quite a bit. The early tracks are very clean. Our newer stuff is more gritty and, to a certain extent, more somber. Marty’s vocals are largely the same but his delivery has gained a sense of urgency and frank conviction. While the project has existed for five years now, I feel like in the past year-and-a-half it has really started to fully make sense to me.

NG: Immensely. I originally started working with Mart purely as lighting designer, and by being his number one fan, worked my way into being his hype man, so that’s a big change. Dan is an incredible DJ and we’ve always been able to count on him being super solid, which he has been. And now with a collaborative writing and production effort, it’s almost an entirely different band on the back end. Ebony Tusks has always been about connecting with people and having a really good time together onstage and offstage. That hasn’t changed at all.

MH: Not only is it a more collaborative musical project but it feels like the three of us are beginning to establish a real identity around the music. We trust one another, we want to be raw and vulnerable and we appreciate the people who connect with Ebony a great deal. I think all of that is becoming clearer as we forge ahead. - Buzz Magazine

While standing around inside a somewhat empty Riot Room, my new acquaintance Martinez Hillard told me I should follow him outside to the venue's patio. We sit down at a table and I am introduced to his Ebony Tusks bandmates, Daniel and Nathan. The group ripped up a flyer for a past show and began plotting out their setlist for the evening's show. As they discussed which songs they'd be performing and how to transition from one song into another, Martinez and I discussed some past music scenes that he had been involved in.

He told me about Lawrence house venues he had been to as well as seeing bands like Eyes Of The Betrayer and others at El Torreon back in the early 2000's. While I am still young and meeting new people all the time, Martinez's extensive musical background (that I don't even know in full yet) really struck me as more diverse and interesting than most people I know. All the while, Nathan was joking with friends about how he had invited his mother to the show along with ten people he had met on Tinder.

We all return back inside and everyone mills around for a bit while Kendrick Lamar's two latest albums are playing on shuffle over the PA. As the clock hits 9pm, Daniel Smith cues up the band's introduction track, a slowed down version of a classic Jibbs song "Chain Hang Low," affectionately renamed "Chain Hang $low" by the band. After that, Nathan Giesecke joins Smith on the stage but Hillard remains in the small (but growing) crowd. He announces to the bar patrons that the show is about to start and that he hopes they will join him up in front of the stage. He begins the performance with a lengthy a cappella rap while pacing around the lower part of the venue. When he is done he is met with cheers from the audience and Ebony Tusks finally convenes on the stage.

The trio then proceeded to let loose at least 30 minutes of electrifying, experimental, independent hip-hop. Their strobe lights flashed, their fog machine rolled (for a couple songs at least), and their loyal fans bounced and shouted along. And anyone who wasn't a fan to begin with probably was by the end. The group's instrumentals are a mashup of '90's New York hip-hop, loud electronic music, and lots of other small tidbits. Hillard's vocal style is almost as difficult to pin down, ranging from a plain speaking voice to a frantic yelp within the same song. Overall, I was floored by the group. They have quickly cemented themselves as one of my favorite local hip-hop projects. Real unique shit. The perfect match for Shabazz Palaces.

After a short intermission and the stage being rearranged (silk tapestry-covered gear moved to the front), Seattle's Shabazz Palaces was about to begin. The duo is fronted by Ishmael Butler, former member of '90's hip-hop stalwarts Digable Planets. He is backed by Baba Maraire, a multi-instrumentalist of Zimbabwean descent. Together they make a very strange, spacey type of experimental hip-hop (published by Sub Pop Records nonetheless). And while their new album didn't quite wow me as much as their debut, I was still excited to see them.

An introduction track is played before the two can take the stage. The track, along with the newly-dimmed lights and heavy artificial fog, created a very powerful and noisy atmosphere in the small room. The duo finally appear on the stage and they begin their first song. The first twenty minutes of their set was a blur to me really. Their instrumentation was definitely interesting (in a good way). It included two small drum machines, a small keyboard, effects pedals, a pair of conga drums, other percussion pieces, and a microphone for each man (Butler's including a vocal looping rig). What wasn't very interesting was the way Butler was delivering his lyrics. While maybe the microphone could've just used more volume, his vocals were somewhat buried behind some of the instruments. He also remained stationary for quite some time, leaving with most of the audience just standing there staring at him.

It may also have just been the combination of songs in the early portion of the set that left me feeling kind of bored. One song flowed so smoothly into the next that many people didn't know when to applaud. A somewhat intoxicated man behind me who I feel wasn't familiar with the group found himself shouting and pumping his fist very out-of-tempo with the strange, winding songs. While certain parts of the show dragged on for me, the set still had multiple highlights. Their song "An echo from the hosts that profess infinitum," from their debut LP was a hit with the crowd. Multiple (possibly improvised) drum vs. drum machine bits also got the crowd excited, especially when Maraire was pounding away at the congas, sometimes with drumsticks. The two also had some fun chemistry going on when not working away at their instruments. When their parts in some songs synced up they hopped up and down, spun, and pounded each others fists in rhythm. When their hour and a half-long set finally came to a close I was worn out from standing fairly still for so long, but definitely still glad I had been able to take in their weird, vibrant, and still entertaining brand of hip-hop for the night. - SHUTTLECOCK Music Magazine

Ebony Tusks is, unmistakably, one of the most recognizable and well-loved hip-hop acts in Lawrence right now.

The group, comprised of Marty Hillard, Nathan Giesecke and Daniel Smith, has been steadily growing an audience spanning from Topeka, through Lawrence, and all the way to Kansas City. One of their most recent performances, a lively affair at Middle of the Map, received rave reviews.

You’ve likely even seen Lawrencians donning Ebony Tusks shirts, proudly plastering the name across their chests. Ebony Tusks is having a fantastic year, and on the heels of a big tour announcement, they’ll now be opening for Talib Kweli on Saturday at the Granada.

But while Hillard is touted as one of the finer rappers in the area, he didn’t always boast a smooth relationship with hip-hop.

Hillard grew up in Topeka and says the atmosphere there contributed to his tumultuous approach to the genre.

“I think there’s a hunger from being in a place that doesn’t have an infrastructure present to allow you to flourish as an artist, especially as a hip-hop artist,” he says. “I think that for a lot of people, at least in the pre-Internet era that we were coming out of, I think it just made us want to be better because we had so few opportunities.”

Hillard also noted the competitiveness he saw in the genre.

“That was something I struggled with for a long time because you spend a lot of time writing and pouring yourself into the process of being earnest and witty. You could spit a freestyle and somebody would just shoot you down and say that’s trash, just interrupt you,” he says. “While I understand that, something about the competitive nature of the culture was really off-putting to me. I guess I always felt like I was on a different wave length and it was hard to communicate that to other hip-hop artists. I felt a little out of touch.”

Hillard would eventually return to the genre, but out of high school he delved into some different sounds. He explored pop music as thesistermaria, joined an indie band called The Jen Say Kwahs. But it was Cowboy Indian Bear that really put him on the map.

The Lawrence band toured steadily, released two albums, and even shared stages with big name acts like Florence and the Machine and Grizzly Bear. But by 2010, Hillard decided it was time to change it up.

“I think I was having a lot of inner dialogue about wanting to reconcile my relationship with hip-hop,” he says. “I had spent the previous years trying to figure out what it was I liked about hip-hop. I think for me, a big part of it was direct affiliation, wanting to explore those musical ideas. As many projects as I’ve been in over the years, I’m always trying to chase down the sensation, something I enjoy about a particular genre or a specific sound.”

Hillard first started hitting the stage as Ebony Tusks solo. But eventually, he found a connection with the other two-thirds of the group.

Smith, a long-time hip-hop fan, began providing the beats. Giesecke, a man who is very light on his feet, bounces around the venue backing Hillard up and keeping the enthusiasm high.

When Hillard speaks, folks listen. He isn’t your average rapper. Hillard might spit some rhymes out one minute, then the next he’s jumping off the stage and into the crowd, sans mic and sans music. His poetry is dramatic and so emotionally thick you could cut it with a knife. He can very easily get an uptight audience eating out of the palm of his hand before the set is over.

“It’s been really cathartic. A lot of what I rap about stems from personal experience,” he says. “That’s one area where I’m proud of growing. As I’m writing new songs, I feel like I’m getting better at expressing things that are pressing on my heart. Just like so many other projects I’ve been in over the years, so much of what I’m expressing lyrically has to do with things that I’ve been through, things that are happening in my life currently.”

After finding that inner dialogue he was searching for, Hillard’s relationship with hip-hop has certainly taken a turn for the better. Now, he wants to share it with his community.

He started hosting events with lowercase KANSAS, an open mic hip-hop event he started in 2013 that occasionally takes place at the Granada.

“Our aim isn’t just to unify the Lawrence hip-hop scene, but to give it a voice, to give people a platform, to express themselves in the company of their peers,” he says.

This kind of expression and camaraderie is the whole reason Hillard returned to hip-hop in the first place.

“I feel like the tide is turning on a national level for expressing honesty and vulnerability in hip-hop. I feel like there’s a lot of great artists that are starting to express more of themselves and the audience is ready to embrace that,” he says. “I think, in our small way, we’re really enjoying being part of what that wave is… people being really honest in their hip-hop.”

You can see Hillard get honest with his hip-hop when Ebony Tusks opens for Talib Kweli on Saturday at the Granada. - lawrence.com

Perusing Vince Staples’ Instagram, you’ll come across an iconic, stark portrait of Ian Curtis, posted by the precocious Long Beach rapper just six weeks ago. The parallels Staples draws between his own work and that of Curtis’ band Joy Division (the short-lived Manchester post-punk act that would go on to become New Order following Curtis’ suicide) don’t end there: look no further than the Unknown Pleasures-riffing cover art to Staples’ debut LP Summertime ‘06, released this past June on Def Jam. The message is clear: Like Joy Division once did, Vince Staples is making unforgiving, industrial-sounding music, songs that often feel as cold and bleak as their lyrical content suggests.

Somewhat surprisingly, Vince Staples played against that insularity last night with a bouncy, rapid-fire set that spanned a brief hour at Liberty Hall in Lawrence. Energetic and jovial (despite copping to still being under the grips of a slight cold), Staples bounded from one end of the stage to the other, resting only briefly in between songs to namedrop Sprite with ridiculous frequency (the Coca Cola-owned beverage endorses him). It was immediately obvious he was taking the piss.

Even better was when he urged the crowd — mostly teenagers and college students — to shout out in unison their disdain for the police, only to immediately call out the absurdity of that sort of sentiment parroted by a room full of mostly white 18-year-olds. The rapper’s jokes, however topical, never felt at the expense of his audience. And this was, indeed, an enthusiastic crowd: Concertgoers hanged on Staples' every word, repeating his lines. The whole room seemingly pressed flush against the stage barricade for the show’s duration.

Staples’ music — a handful of early mixtapes, last year’s Hell Can Wait EP and this year’s double LP Summertime ‘06 — unapologetically details Staples' upbringing in Long Beach, California. Channeling the 22-year-old rapper’s past selling drugs, a father submerged by gang violence and dead childhood friends, Summertime '06 in particular comes into stark relief through its minimalist soundscapes and blunt clarity. Though Staples has met wide acclaim already, it's to his credit that his music rests safely at its peripherals; he is seemingly unconcerned with landing anywhere near the Billboard Hot 100.

Summertime ‘06 opener “Lift Me Up” rides a sluggish but persistent groove, its rumbling, bassy synths carrying Staples’ smart wordplay over the ebb and flow of a monochromatic tide. As Vince emerged onstage to the song’s opening chords, the Tuesday night crowd’s excitement peaked, and the wild anticipation was palpable in the room. Despite the joyous vibe, there was a cognitive dissonance in hearing these songs rendered live as turn-up anthems. For example: The lines All these white folks chanting when I asked 'em where my niggas at? / Goin' crazy, got me goin' crazy, I can't get wit' that / Wonder if they know, I know they won't go where we kick it at? could have made for some terrific tension.

Call it willful naiveté, but the crowd answered by rapping along. And Staples, to his credit, was gracious and genuine, playful in his embodiment of both artist and entertainer.

Midway through the set Staples instructed the crowd to raise their hands in the air before launching into the ominous “Hands Up” from 2014’s Hell Can Wait. Staples denies the song was written in reference to Ferguson, but regardless, it proved difficult not to read between the lines.

Finally, everything clicked during set closer and album single “Señorita.” Here, Staples lifts a symphonious Future sample for the hook, rapping intently over a stuttering trap beat and minor-key synths that sound swiped from a John Carpenter horror film score. A track with clear crossover appeal that quite literally pulls straight from the playbook of perhaps the most beloved rapper of 2015 suggests that Staples’ pop appeal isn’t quite so far off.

Leftovers: Listening to Summertime ‘06 before the show, I wondered how Staples would translate these songs live. The answer: fairly seamlessly. He gave his audience what it sought — an unhinged performance that each person could collectively get lost within, rapping along to every word, bouncing with the MC as he pogoed across the stage.

Over the course of the first few songs, I was somewhat taken aback: I was expecting Joy Division, somber and reticent, live renditions felt as gravely as the songs come across on record. Staples raps scathingly about the violence and injustices African Americans in this country suffer that many white people actively pretend don’t exist, and that context feels imperative to his work. But as he launched into “Norf Norf” near the end of his set, I began to reconsider the distinction I had made between listening to his songs, alone in my car, and now, with a room full of ecstatic people. And then, Staples seemed to answer as he rapped the night’s own mission statement: My Crips lurkin’, don’t die tonight / I just want to dance with you, baby.

A note on the openers: Lawrence act Ebony Tusks set the mood as concert goers trickled in, taking on the task of hyping up a gathering but no less attentive crowd. Best was a guttural, rumbling number that recalled Death Grips. Clouds of weed smoke curlicued up into the red hues of the stages lights as the group's shadows danced across the side stage curtains. You could feel their rising chant of "Way back, way back" in your chest. If you haven't heard this group yet, remedy that now. - pitch.com