Uzuhan lights up the Kollaboration stage at SXSW. He’s everything you’d want in a rapper and more because so much of who he is is displayed without reservation when the lights are on him and the crowd is at his mercy.
Here’s the thing. Before I met Uzuhan I’d only heard about him on the periphery of hip-hop. He’s a rapper hailing from the Southeast, so in my spot in the Carolinas I would’ve heard at least something about him just by proxy. I had no idea who he was, didn’t even know he was Asian-American, let alone Korean-American. So as far as first meetings go, it was a pleasure to finally put face to name (and as I’d looked more into him, music video).
Honestly and truthfully he’s a very sweet person. Kind, open, honest. He holds nothing back, but he’s got a great deal of respect to give anyone who’ll listen to him and love in his heart for everybody he meets. He’s passionate, that’s for sure, completely in love with his craft, with an almost insatiable thirst for knowledge. He’s independent, doing most of the work to get his name out there himself and with a very small crew dedicated to seeing his vision come to fruition. All these elements combined make him truly one of the most fascinating artists I’ve had a chance to talk to.
That being said, having never actually seen him perform, I didn’t know what to expect. There’s something quite exhilarating about the first time you witness an artist for yourself. You have none of the preconceived notions of longtime fans and none of the prejudices of skeptics (as a function of what I do, I don’t have the luxury of high expectations or superficial prejudices).
Walking into the Tap Room is already an experience. Patrons enter in a door that’s virtually on the stage. Already you’re put nearly face-to-face with the artist you’re about to watch. That sort of intimacy can be intimidating for someone unused to being within touching distance of an artist. The aura of the musician can be a disconcerting one, no matter if you know who the performer is or not.
As I said, Uzu is kind. “Gentle” wouldn’t be too far a stretch. He gives his smile openly and easily, offers his hand to shake (or arms to embrace) as if you’re a dear friend. So let me revise my aforementioned statement about preconceived notions. Yes, walking into Kollaboration, in the back of my mind I’m thinking about our earlier conversation and imagining his entrance will be … calmer, lacking all the bravado of most hip-hop acts. His countenance is really contrary to what you’d expect from a rapper–especially one hailing from Atlanta.
One act concludes, her set ending in a bit of Franco-romance complete with acoustic guitar. The DJ sets up for Uzuhan, playing everything from Alina Baraz to Kendrick Lamar. I make my way to the front of the stage, or as close as I can get considering the swell of people still lingering after the previous artist’s set. The DJ does the obligatory crowd check: “Are y’all ready for Uzuhan? He ain’t comin’ out here ’til you’re ready. So y’all ready?” Of course the audience does its part, everyone in attendance screaming at the top of their lungs.
Then …. It’s like all the air is suddenly sucked into a vacuum. On the beat drop, the pent-up oxygen releases in what can only be described as a sonic boom.
Everything I knew about the man from our 90-minute conversation, all that gentle energy, that warm quietness … I can just chuck all that out the window. He alights the stage and suddenly every single image of him as the smiling, gentle giant I’d met not eight hours earlier …. They don’t disappear. They shatter into a million pieces, then the shards of his visage detonate on impact at my feet.
It’s as if Uzu’s been waiting for this very moment, this singular moment in time to show us what he’s truly made of, show us that title at 2017’s Kollaboration stage is no fluke. From the moment he steps foot on that raised platform, he’s simply electric. He takes hold of the mic and it’s like a hurricane, large energy that transcends the smallish stage and engulfs the audience in its gale-force power. There’s a physical shift in the atmosphere as he ascends. The crowd moves, sways, and then there’s nothing but the sound of screams and whoops.
He transitions effortlessly from song to song, first giving us an introduction to who he is through the song bearing his namesake, then moving on to even rowdier fare. At one point members of his Atlanta crew push their way through the crowd, and my tiny-ass self gets swatted to the side like a pebble on the ground. As soon as the music starts, it’s almost as if we’ve gone from 2018 on 6th Street at SXSW to 1972 at CBGB’s in New York. I mean, I’d been to maybe one hip-hop show in my life, so perhaps the newness of it threw me a bit, but never have I seen a crowd go from casually enjoying an artist to damn near cracking the venue’s foundation. From zero to 160 in about 5 seconds.
Uzu takes his audience on a journey, from stories about growing up first-generation American to Korean parents, to posting up like Babe Ruth himself as an announcer blares an introduction through the speakers (blasting any and all conceptions of who he is through the Tap Room’s bar like the Babe hitting a homer out of the ballpark). Every twist and turn of his stage show is another page in his autobiography. He even takes a moment to contemplate whether or not he should show us a bit of choreography indicative of the grannies he talks about in the track “Mung Beans and Tofu,” before breaking out into the little jig and imploring us to follow along.
He’s also very generous with his spotlight. He takes time to introduce his collaborators, many of whom are cheering him on at the front and sides of the stage. Uzu’s even more animated when joined by his friends. While he may not exhibit the same gentle nature as our conversation, that warmth and openness is amplified when he’s performing. All that effervescence and ambition is heightened when he’s given a physical platform to stand on.
Uzu is fearless. He’s certainly not quiet, exhibiting a great deal of the bravado you’d expect but that I somehow thought I’d not see when his turn came to perform. Uzuhan is everything I want in a rapper and more because so much of who he is–kind, open, generous, honest–is displayed without reservation when the lights are on him and the crowd is at his mercy.
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Edited by Lena