For the uninitiated (i.e., anyone over 18 and not blonde) Andre Legacy is what might come out in the blender if you tossed in a big scoop of classic Biz Markie, a big scoop of B-Real and a hearty dash of Armenian hair. Last Saturday night, Andre Legacy, touring with Dirt Nasty and Mickey Avalon for his first solo album, rocked the Roxy with sex rhymes, drug rhymes and sex and drug rhymes. Aside from the gimmicks, the music is really, really good. Beats with a drone you can dance to, songs with lyrics you can sing and laugh to, Andre Legacy’s a throwback to when music was fun. Even without dancers writhing around on stage, mountains of white powder he blows into the audience and flashy lights, he holds the crowd with his performance. The audience—a mix of MySpace girlies imported from the set of The Hills and aging record executives who just discovered the next new thing—sing along joyfully. In fact, this was the happiest group of kids I’ve seen at a show in, well, ever. I don’t know if it was the combination of sexy and drugs or just the singable, danceable set, but whatever it was, it was working. Set the Paris Hilton wannabes against a backdrop of Kool Keith-lite lyrics and you gotta true L.A. party. L.A. is, after all, Andre Legacy’s hometown, which he describes in anthem-like glee as a place where, “Dreams get crushed… like coke in the back of a Chevy truck.” Still, he loves L.A., and L.A. loves Andre.
— Nina Gregory