Marcus Mabusela brushed the sand from his broad-brimmed hat. He dismissed the white grains with a wave of his long fingers, and he kept reciting the knotty, elegant, spellbinding poetry of South African writer and activist Es’kia Mphahlele as he did. Not a stitch was dropped as he tidied his headgear — the actor kept spinning his stories as if his attention was undivided. Perhaps it was. But in that one swift gesture, it was possible to feel overtones of everything he’d been telling us about in “Down2Avenue,” his one man show based on Mphahlele’s autobiography: the insidious force of apartheid, the dustiness of the Pretoria slum, the cruelty of a caste system that relegated black South Africans to lives of menial labor on behalf of their oppressors, the inevitability of revolt, and the critical importance of paying attention to small things.Malik Work, the star of “Verses @ Work,” the second of two theatrical memoirs staged at Jersey City Theater Center (165 Newark Ave) on Saturday night, surely must have identified. (They’ll be performing this smart, moving twinbill again today at 4 p.m.; reserve seats here.) The particulars of his life in New York City during the imperial phase of Gotham hip-hop are very different from those of a thirteen-year-old student enduring the outrages of the Transvaal, but his indignation is not dissimilar. Several times, and often in verse, Work tells us that his white employers at the club where he served as doorman and star emcee asked him to sweep the floor. This he would not do. He was, he reminds us bitterly, good enough to entertain the crowd and clean up after the drunks afterward, but not suitable for a management position.It might seem a bit rich to compare the struggles of a celebrated vocalist who toured the world to a child living in poverty. Work does have a tendency to mythologize his career disappointments, which should not be unexpected from an artist who once called himself Dionysus. Some of “Verses @ Work” does feel like the creation of a man settling scores with old business associates. Nevertheless, what he’s rapping about — and almost all of this ninety minute soliloquy is delivered in stinging rhyme — is no fiction. Hip-hop artists still find it difficult to land live gigs. Industry professionals view acts like Work’s Real Live Show, a regular rap happening, with suspicion. Even on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, clubowners are reluctant to turn their bookings and management over to hip-hop impresarios. Chuck D, a rapper who Malik Work can surely quote chapter and verse, once assured us that the one who makes the money is white not black/we may not believe it/but it is like that. Thirty-five years after Yo! Bum Rush the Show, ain’t a damn thing changed.Marcus MabuselaThus the outrage in “Verses @ Work” is by no means performative. The star feels bigotry and prejudice in the air around him, and when he dusts its residue from the brim of his hat, he does it with an emcee’s vigor. He makes his love for New York City manifest in his lyrics, but he’s not so besotted that he’s blind to the city’s systemic injustices. And when Work gets worked up, that’s when the show works best. The rapper is a deft lyricist, blunt when he needs to be and playful even in anger, with cadences reminiscent of the era in which he came of age. Echoes of Mos Def, Busta Rhymes, Common and especially KRS-ONE of Boogie Down Productions are evident in his clear, word-perfect, oaken-voiced delivery, and like his models, he never throws away a single line or wastes a pun. When he gets on a roll, as he does on a furious mid-show love letter to Manhattan, it’s a reminder of how theatrical full-throated hip-hop can be. But he acquits himself just as well in the quieter moments, like when he switches up his flow to mimic the cadences of an ID-checker and bouncer, or when he dismisses the girls around him and instead pledges his romantic devotion to the club where he’s appearing.The rapper is supported by the former Lyricist Lounge drummer Swiss Chris, whose presence in Jersey City is reason enough to catch this show. Versatile pianist and musical director Quincy Valentine drops in quotes from famous hip-hop songs, a dash of bossa nova and French jazz to reinforce the storytelling and set the scene, and winsome filigree whenever the drama calls for it. Director Vernice Miller keeps the musicians onstage throughout the show, flanking the star on both sides and adding sonic commentary in plain sight. But that’s not the only reason “Verses @ Work” often feels more like a concert than a play. Malik Work approaches his material as a classic frontman does, performing with vigor and remaining present to all of the words, leading with his charisma, setting the pace, and never easing up. The intensity of the drama ebbs and crests, but Work’s domination of the spare stage never does.Mabusela’s turn in the spotlight is, by contrast, a solitary one. But he, too, foregrounds his personal gravity and his immersion in history, standing at the edge of the stage on a strip of sand meant to hint at arid Pretoria, and moving with a deliberate quality that reflects the rock-solid rhythms of the source material. Mphahlele’s language is astonishing: lyrical, barbed, full of exquisite turns and decorated with illuminating and surprising metaphor. The adaptation in “Down2Avenue” amplifies the emotion of Mphahlele’s memoir and the intensity of his storytelling. The South African countryside and the segregated neighborhood come to life in vivid detail, including their superstitions, their desperate characters, their traditions, the preciousness of the heritage and the strength of the inhabitants under duress. This is the context in which apartheid operated, and Mabusela never lets the audience forget it. In its direct approach and its careful, forceful use of language, his is a turn that a rapper would appreciate — just as Mphahlele would surely recognize the rapper’s struggle as an echo of his own.The post Review: New York Hip Hop Meets South African Spoken Word at JCTC appeared first on Jersey City Times.