Andre 3000’s Brooklyn Flute Concert

I walked into Brooklyn’s Crown Hill Theatre wondering what kind of set to expect at the first stop of André 3000’s New Blue Sun tour. I had never been to the Crown Heights venue; I didn’t know whether he would be on a bare stage or have chairs arranged in a big circle that he’d play in the middle of. How would he split the difference between being an artist performing for paying fans and being the far-removed, flute-carrying maverick who does what he wants?

When I walked in, I saw a dark stage with four light fixtures glowing orange on both sides. After a couple of minutes, koto music began playing. From my vantage point on stage right, I couldn’t tell whether someone was playing live or it was being pumped through the speakers. Either way, the music seemed intended to stir serenity from the crowd — but the room was too abuzz with people talking among one another.  

Crown Hill Theatre, which opened just last month, is in the same building that Crown Heights’ historic Black Lady Theatre used to be in. It has a warehouse vibe with exposed brick walls; someone could have driven me there blindfolded and told me we were in Williamsburg. It’s a medium-size space with two levels and a giant disco ball in the middle that feels perfectly out of place. The crowd skewed from late twenties to early forties, some dressed like they were headed back to Bushwick afterward and others, like the people I overheard, going toward Park Slope. It was a mixed crowd, crunched together in folding chairs, united by their appreciation for André 3000. 

The prolific musician would probably have been able to fill Madison Square Garden last night with an “and Friends” concert. He’s one half of Outkast, a multiplatinum group with one of the most diverse fan bases in rap. But, as has been evident for more than a decade, André doesn’t want that kind of acclaim — at least not right now. He wants to play his flute with no pressure. One of the slogans on his merch for the tour is “No bars, no phones.” (Once staff locked my phone in a pouch and I had to rely on memory, I realized this review would be about 30 percent less detailed than I’d like.) 

He walked onstage just after his announced set time of 8:30, greeted the crowd, and did a little shimmy to prep him for 90 minutes of standing. Before he started playing he told the crowd that the five-man band “wasn’t really performing — not for y’all.” He instead credited their play to the “air, trees, and water.” But throughout the concert, the light fixtures shifted hues and flicker patterns from song to song. The reflection of the disco ball flickered off the wall as wind chimes played. Percussionist Carlos Niño called on us to make noises multiple times. We weren’t merely flies on the wall; Andre and his band intended to give us a show, even if he didn’t want to admit it. The lighting emitted out toward the crowd, meaning the stage stayed dark for most of the set, leaving Andre as a silhouette from my vantage point. The scene was apropos for a very discerning man about how much he offers the public. 

For anyone who hasn’t heard his eight-song, 90-minute album, the New Blue Sun experience isn’t just Andre 3000 doing flute solos. The New Blue Sun band came together through happenstance, according to Andre. He told the crowd midway through the set that he met Niño randomly in LA, then went to his home and started jamming. The band, and his December New Blue Sun album, gradually came together from there. 

They have an impressive synergy, spending most of the night jamming along with legendary ambient instrumentalist Laraaji, who was their special guest for the night. I recognized a couple of songs from the actual album, but they spent most of the night improvising, melding sounds together impressively for this flute-music novice. At the end of the night, they told us that they planned to freestyle every show on the tour and that these were “our songs.” Their ambient melodies were free-flowing, save the moment when Andre or a synth player would hold onto a riff and let its groove sink in through repetition. Their ambient soundscape was a welcome warmth from the cold world that the audience was temporarily seeking respite from. 

Ambient music legend Laraaji was sitting against the wall on stage right for the first half of the show; I didn’t notice him until the light happened to shine on him. Shortly after, he was introduced and began feverishly playing a high-pitch percussive instrument that sounded like a hi-hat. All six men were in harmonious sync for what felt like an hour. There was rarely complete silence after they started jamming. At one point, the synth man began playing jungle sounds, and Niño, swaying his arms in a wave-like motion, called on the crowd to make animal noises. My bird-call skills are underdeveloped, so I missed my chance to say I jammed with Andre 3000 during a non-performance. 

At many junctures, the enveloping lows of the drums and other effects far overtook Andre’s flute play (the mixing may need some refining as the tour goes on). But it felt like as that wall of bass intensified, his flute play got more intricate. I told myself midway through that the dynamic reminded me of him warding off the mountainous expectation of industry and fan entitlement with beautiful flute melodies. The more those demands chase him, the faster he evades, as if he’s riding a vehicle powered by his flute. Of course, it probably wasn’t that deep to him.

He also took several opportunities to interact with the crowd, offering insight into his creative process and flute journey. He likened each new melody to a baby; I thought he was going to expand on the thought, but he quickly jumped back into flute play to deliver a new one. He told the crowd that he started exploring the flute after witnessing someone playing it after a breathwork class in LA. He had Guillermo Martinez build him a mezzo-American flute, then took to the streets with it. He told us, “I was just walking around…” then choked up. During one of the lighter moments of the night, he recalled people outside offering him money, mistaking him for a busker. But he also told us that people’s pleasant reactions inspired him. He recalled an older man telling him that it must be a blessing to be able to play so beautifully. As he told us he “just wanted to share” the beauty, he choked up again. 

While videos of Andre playing the flute in the wild are a feel-good meme for some or a distraction from new bars for others, it sounds like it’s been a transformative experience for him. He lost his mother Sharon Benjamin-Hodo in 2013, and as he rapped on Ye’s, “Life Of The Party,” he’s still grieving. He didn’t say it, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if playing the flute was part of his healing process. At one point during the set, he began speaking a language I couldn’t recognize. I was unsure if he was saying a proverb or poem in another language. He revealed that it was a made-up language he and his mother spoke to each other pronounced “queeko.” He said “queeko” was an exercise in conveying feeling without actually using the right words (or words at all), referencing the late Kurt Cobain’s mesh of mystifying lyrics and evocative vocals as a great example of what he meant. “Words don’t matter,” he said.

It was surprising to hear such an advanced wordsmith say that, even in the context he offered. But my surprise was just a projection of my perception of him. Without saying it, his infrequent participation in the rap game demonstrates that he’s many more things than we assume. As soon as someone walks into the public circus, especially someone who’s actually talented, we vie to keep them there just for us. We press them for their next offering and theorize that something must be wrong if they don’t want to give us something to consume. That’s not the life everyone wants to live. 

At the end of the night, Andre clarified his much-discussed comments about aging in rap, telling  the crowd, “you’re never too old to rap, I have partners who are still rapping.” But he said he’s simply waiting to find “an interesting way to say what I want to say.” A rap album seems possible one day, but for now, he’s fine communicating with us via the flute. And after a beautiful night in Brooklyn, it sounds like a great idea.

I walked into Brooklyn’s Crown Hill Theatre wondering what kind of set to expect at the first stop of André 3000’s New Blue Sun tour. I had never been to the Crown Heights venue; I didn’t know whether he would be on a bare stage or have chairs arranged in a big circle that he’d play in the middle of. How would he split the difference between being an artist performing for paying fans and being the far-removed, flute-carrying maverick who does what he wants?

When I walked in, I saw a dark stage with four light fixtures glowing orange on both sides. After a couple of minutes, koto music began playing. From my vantage point on stage right, I couldn’t tell whether someone was playing live or it was being pumped through the speakers. Either way, the music seemed intended to stir serenity from the crowd — but the room was too abuzz with people talking among one another.  

Crown Hill Theatre, which opened just last month, is in the same building that Crown Heights’ historic Black Lady Theatre used to be in. It has a warehouse vibe with exposed brick walls; someone could have driven me there blindfolded and told me we were in Williamsburg. It’s a medium-size space with two levels and a giant disco ball in the middle that feels perfectly out of place. The crowd skewed from late twenties to early forties, some dressed like they were headed back to Bushwick afterward and others, like the people I overheard, going toward Park Slope. It was a mixed crowd, crunched together in folding chairs, united by their appreciation for André 3000. 

The prolific musician would probably have been able to fill Madison Square Garden last night with an “and Friends” concert. He’s one half of Outkast, a multiplatinum group with one of the most diverse fan bases in rap. But, as has been evident for more than a decade, André doesn’t want that kind of acclaim — at least not right now. He wants to play his flute with no pressure. One of the slogans on his merch for the tour is “No bars, no phones.” (Once staff locked my phone in a pouch and I had to rely on memory, I realized this review would be about 30 percent less detailed than I’d like.) 

He walked onstage just after his announced set time of 8:30, greeted the crowd, and did a little shimmy to prep him for 90 minutes of standing. Before he started playing he told the crowd that the five-man band “wasn’t really performing — not for y’all.” He instead credited their play to the “air, trees, and water.” But throughout the concert, the light fixtures shifted hues and flicker patterns from song to song. The reflection of the disco ball flickered off the wall as wind chimes played. Percussionist Carlos Niño called on us to make noises multiple times. We weren’t merely flies on the wall; Andre and his band intended to give us a show, even if he didn’t want to admit it. The lighting emitted out toward the crowd, meaning the stage stayed dark for most of the set, leaving Andre as a silhouette from my vantage point. The scene was apropos for a very discerning man about how much he offers the public. 

For anyone who hasn’t heard his eight-song, 90-minute album, the New Blue Sun experience isn’t just Andre 3000 doing flute solos. The New Blue Sun band came together through happenstance, according to Andre. He told the crowd midway through the set that he met Niño randomly in LA, then went to his home and started jamming. The band, and his December New Blue Sun album, gradually came together from there. 

They have an impressive synergy, spending most of the night jamming along with legendary ambient instrumentalist Laraaji, who was their special guest for the night. I recognized a couple of songs from the actual album, but they spent most of the night improvising, melding sounds together impressively for this flute-music novice. At the end of the night, they told us that they planned to freestyle every show on the tour and that these were “our songs.” Their ambient melodies were free-flowing, save the moment when Andre or a synth player would hold onto a riff and let its groove sink in through repetition. Their ambient soundscape was a welcome warmth from the cold world that the audience was temporarily seeking respite from. 

Ambient music legend Laraaji was sitting against the wall on stage right for the first half of the show; I didn’t notice him until the light happened to shine on him. Shortly after, he was introduced and began feverishly playing a high-pitch percussive instrument that sounded like a hi-hat. All six men were in harmonious sync for what felt like an hour. There was rarely complete silence after they started jamming. At one point, the synth man began playing jungle sounds, and Niño, swaying his arms in a wave-like motion, called on the crowd to make animal noises. My bird-call skills are underdeveloped, so I missed my chance to say I jammed with Andre 3000 during a non-performance. 

At many junctures, the enveloping lows of the drums and other effects far overtook Andre’s flute play (the mixing may need some refining as the tour goes on). But it felt like as that wall of bass intensified, his flute play got more intricate. I told myself midway through that the dynamic reminded me of him warding off the mountainous expectation of industry and fan entitlement with beautiful flute melodies. The more those demands chase him, the faster he evades, as if he’s riding a vehicle powered by his flute. Of course, it probably wasn’t that deep to him.

He also took several opportunities to interact with the crowd, offering insight into his creative process and flute journey. He likened each new melody to a baby; I thought he was going to expand on the thought, but he quickly jumped back into flute play to deliver a new one. He told the crowd that he started exploring the flute after witnessing someone playing it after a breathwork class in LA. He had Guillermo Martinez build him a mezzo-American flute, then took to the streets with it. He told us, “I was just walking around…” then choked up. During one of the lighter moments of the night, he recalled people outside offering him money, mistaking him for a busker. But he also told us that people’s pleasant reactions inspired him. He recalled an older man telling him that it must be a blessing to be able to play so beautifully. As he told us he “just wanted to share” the beauty, he choked up again. 

While videos of Andre playing the flute in the wild are a feel-good meme for some or a distraction from new bars for others, it sounds like it’s been a transformative experience for him. He lost his mother Sharon Benjamin-Hodo in 2013, and as he rapped on Ye’s, “Life Of The Party,” he’s still grieving. He didn’t say it, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if playing the flute was part of his healing process. At one point during the set, he began speaking a language I couldn’t recognize. I was unsure if he was saying a proverb or poem in another language. He revealed that it was a made-up language he and his mother spoke to each other pronounced “queeko.” He said “queeko” was an exercise in conveying feeling without actually using the right words (or words at all), referencing the late Kurt Cobain’s mesh of mystifying lyrics and evocative vocals as a great example of what he meant. “Words don’t matter,” he said.

It was surprising to hear such an advanced wordsmith say that, even in the context he offered. But my surprise was just a projection of my perception of him. Without saying it, his infrequent participation in the rap game demonstrates that he’s many more things than we assume. As soon as someone walks into the public circus, especially someone who’s actually talented, we vie to keep them there just for us. We press them for their next offering and theorize that something must be wrong if they don’t want to give us something to consume. That’s not the life everyone wants to live. 

At the end of the night, Andre clarified his much-discussed comments about aging in rap, telling  the crowd, “you’re never too old to rap, I have partners who are still rapping.” But he said he’s simply waiting to find “an interesting way to say what I want to say.” A rap album seems possible one day, but for now, he’s fine communicating with us via the flute. And after a beautiful night in Brooklyn, it sounds like a great idea.