As blog-anointed hip-hop scholar Talib Kweli takes the stage at Cannery to deliver a message of idealism and social consciousness, his diametric opposite will champion the darker side of rap across town. Rick Ross, to put it lightly, isn't part of that conscious backpack hip-hop movement. To hear him tell it, Ross is a stone-cold Miami hustler and drug kingpin who — like so many rappers before him — models himself after Tony Montana (minus, we're assuming, that last bit of Scarface where he goes insane and is gunned down by his rivals). Conspicuously consumptive and mythologically self-aggrandizing, Ross's rhymes are quintessentially nouveau gangsta. Ross is larger-than-life, almost to the point of absurdity, and his rapping shows it. This is a show for rap fans who prefer an unsubtle sledgehammer to Kweli's nuanced scalpel.