This weekend I drove up to Cincinnati to visit friends and stop in at a concert at Bogart’s. The weather was phenomenal, so much so in fact that it made me realize that I had almost forgotten what summer without throat-choking humidity was. And aside from getting lost (how after living there for 8 years, I’ll never know), it was a nice trip down memory lane.

After enjoying some good food (and another fine Rogue beer) at my ex-roommate’s housewarming/engagement cookout, a friend and his wife and I headed down to Vine St. to catch the New Jazz Philosophy Tour. We were stoked, as the bill featured The Roots, Common and Talib Kweli. I’ve always wanted to see The Roots in concert, and being with two of the last remaining hip hop artists that I would be interested in, it was a sure shot. Well, at least we thought.

The evening turned out to be a complete wreck. Two of the three headlining artists failed to show (likely as part of a “at select venues” fine print thing). The air-handling system was either busted, or “broken” in order to drive drink sales up. With a sold-out crowd, this meant one giant, sweaty dance party. But not the “still enjoyable ‘cuz I’m rockin’ out” kind. More like the “sweet Lord above don’t touch me again you stoned bastard” kind. The Roots didn’t come on until almost 11, and both my friends and I still had a two hour drive ahead.

Unfortunately, the saddest part of the event was the sponsor. See, The Roots (and the other two artists slated to perform) are in the grey area between Grammy winning and still mildly underground. They enjoy commercial success, but for the most part demand on doing things on their terms. I respect them for this, and for not selling out to be corporate whores just to make some cash.

Apparently the New Jazz Philosophy Tour was sponsored by Kool cigarettes. Bogart’s (usually painfully devoid of any decor) was tricked out with light projectors and revolving screens, flashing lights and with a Dance Cam in the back of the club. I almost pissed myself when amidst faux chic swirling green imagery of soul brothers and sisters, the surgeon general’s warning popped up. And when the hype man for the show came out to get the crowd going (an obnoxious 30-40 minute event), trashy “street” dancing girls flanked either side of the stage.

At a TI concert, I would expect this. At a 50-cent show, I wouldn’t bat an eye. But with such purportedly socially conscious acts as these, it violated everything that they preached.

I was sweaty, tired and sad. After getting turned around in Over the Rhine and finally hitting my driveway a bit after 2:15 a.m., the best I could figure is that they were willing to compromise their beliefs in order to get their tour expenses underwritten. Or maybe they really didn’t see anything wrong with pushing nicotine on the already over-marketed demographic of young urban individuals. Maybe they can sleep fine knowing how disgustingly stereotypical and border-line demeaning their dancers were. I know I couldn’t.

At least ?uestlove killed it. He is without a doubt the best damned drummer I have ever seen.