The revered rapper descended on Salle Wilfrid-Pelletier, Sunday evening, flute in hand. Minds were altered, alternate universes entered.
Reviews and recommendations are unbiased and products are independently selected. Postmedia may earn an affiliate commission from purchases made through links on this page.
He did not play Hey Ya!
No punchline. That’s just what happened.
André 3000 had become something of a recluse when he reappeared in November with New Blue Sun, his debut solo album and first collection of new music in nearly two decades, since his days with his world-famous rap act OutKast. Loquacious song titles include I Swear, I Really Wanted to Make a “Rap” Album But This Is Literally the Way the Wind Blew Me This Time.
So when the wind blew him in the direction of this year’s Montreal jazz fest, he instantly became the talk of the town and the closest thing to a big buzz headliner. As the clock ticked down to showtime, Sunday, an aura of suspense hung in the air.
“What’s going to happen?” asked one industry insider encountered before the concert. What happened is André 3000 came to Montreal and played his flute.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to New Blue Sun live,” a voice announced, as the lights dimmed — just in case anyone was unclear on what was about to occur and was hoping a rap show might break out.
“I love you André!” a female fan shouted, eliciting cheers of agreement.
The man of the hour entered the stage flanked by a four-piece band, and they started to play. It was bracing stuff. Cymbals crashed, synths swelled, orange lights flashed in the darkness, and through it all emerged a piercing wail of flute, which sounded almost like a horn, howling at the moon.
As the dust settled, the vibe transitioned into more esoteric territory. We were being led on a pilgrimage through the jungle, with André 3000’s flutes evoking birds chirping. He sighed audibly, perhaps summoning us to monitor our own breath as part of some new age mindfulness technique.
There was precious little in the way of reference points. Beginnings and ends of songs became slippery concepts. Instead, it was about tonal shifts. A rain forest haze shifted into a swirl of rhythm, which in turn gave way to the sounds of a brand new day — with a New Blue Sun — and with everyone’s favourite MC-turned-flutist standing in the eye of this quiet storm, exhaling musical motifs that felt like reveries plucked from his mysterious arsenal of wind instruments and the vast expanse of his imagination.
“How y’all doing?” André 3000 asked, shrewdly breaking the spell about 20 minutes in. The crowd roared to life as the MC praised the “awesome auditorium.” He thanked the audience “for spending time with us today,” and took a moment to let people know what he and his fellow musicians were up to.
“We’re pulling down the sky and giving it back to you,” he explained. “Everything we’re doing is live and direct. We didn’t know what we were going to be doing when we hit the stage.”
Then they got back to the business at hand: exploring the outer limits of our collective unconscious, and challenging us all to tag along. Not everyone was up for the journey. As the show neared the 50-minute mark, a small but steady stream of couples began slinking toward the exits.
But among the majority that remained, it was all love. Fans were rewarded with something vaguely resembling a rap: as the music swelled, André 3000 approached the microphone and begin an incantation, emitting rhythmic sounds in a language that felt vaguely familiar yet remained impossible to decipher. On he went, until he stopped.
“Montreal!” André 3000 shouted. “I completely made all that s–t up”
The crowd erupted in laughter as the rapper explained how he used to create his own languages as a kid and try to make them sound real.
“I wish you could have seen your faces,” he teased. “Y’all were so serious, like, ‘Oh man, yeah, I’m feeling it. He’s saying some deep a– s–t right now. And I was. But y’all didn’t know. I love you.”
The feeling was mutual, judging by the standing ovation at show’s end and the electricity humming through the crowd on the way out of the venue.
An air of tomfoolery rippled through the jazz fest site, on this surreal night. Rapper Freddie Gibbs gave an impromptu shout-out to André 3000 shortly thereafter, while performing to an enthusiastic crowd on the main stage outside.
“If you’re watching the show, come up and play your s–t,” he beckoned to his fellow MC. “I want to rap to some of your flute music.”
Then, lest anyone think Gibbs was making fun — which he was — he corrected course.
“Shout out to André 3000, one of the greatest of all time.”
Hear hear. Or perhaps: here, there and everywhere.