It’s rap music‘s birthday! The first version of this piece was written eight years ago, to mark 40 years of rap music. I love it and am proud to share it here – this is its third or fourth iteration, because have been giving myself permission to update it continuously as I go along and think of more details; it’s always bothered me over the years that I always forget to mention some legend or other, that I never quite manage to pay tribute to all the royalty I so cherish. So this is not the first version of this piece; other versions have been shared in venues other than this one. Anyway, here goes.
“Today, the 11th of August 2021, rap music turns 48 years old. August 11th, 1973, was the anniversary of the first hip-hop party Kool Herc and his sister threw at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue in the South Bronx – some insist hip-hop was secretly born in 1971, but let’s stick with the widest-accepted date for the moment. What began as simple crowd-exciting toasts and boasts at park jams and then gritty street-griot tales of poverty and hardship – y'all know, Melle Mel, the Sugarhill Gang, Reaganomics, urban blight, Robert Moses, decimation of the New York housing projects, et alia – morphed into this near-unstoppable cultural juggernaut. But that's the boring part. The gorgeous, living, breathing part is not the origin story but the music – the thousands of galvanizing, delightful, ingenious, hilarious, funky, insightful, limitlessly vibrant songs, the crazy, earth-shattering cornucopia of brilliant human endeavour. The endless cavalcade of devastating wordsmiths and mesmerizing personalities, as indelible a lineup of royalty as any in the history of show business.
Think of it. The ferocious righteousness and blistering agitprop of Ice Cube and Killer Mike and Chuck D. The totemic standard of excellence set by Rakim and Big Daddy Kane. The precise, tightly wound narrative and linguistic genius of AZ or Kool G Rap or Ka or The GZA or Roc Marciano. The world-conquering charisma of Biggie and Dres, T.I. and Slick Rick, Casual and CL Smooth, Grand Puba and Lord Finesse, Method Man and Jay-Z. The fearlessly inventive iconoclasm of Aesop Rock or Busdriver or Self Jupiter or Lyrics Born or Saafir. The first time you ever heard Myka 9 or Freddie Gibbs or Del Tha Funkee Homosapien or Yelawolf or Chip Fu or More Or Les or Pep Love or Gift of Gab or P.E.A.C.E. or Tonedeff and marveled at what human beings can do with their voices. Sauce Money on “Bring It On”. Queen Latifah on “Roll With The Flavor”. Jaz-O on “N---a What, N---a Who?” Twista on “Po' Pimp”. Bun B on “Murder” or “Tough Guy” or “They Love That” or “Good Stuff” or “Bezzle” or basically anything for the better part of ten years there oh my God he was SO GOOD.
The insouciance and simple happiness in Black Thought's voice on “Datskat”, or in Kardinal Offishall's on the “Grindin’” remix – and then, speaking of Black Thought, the 2017 Funk Flex freeverse in which, transformed from a happy-go-lucky charmer into an unstoppable Black James Bond, Mr. Tariq Trotter made it seem like he could use language to bend the very laws of time and space. The way gangsta and street rap, even at their ugliest, can humanize and render three-dimensional so many ugly and troubling aspects of the human experience – think of the razor-sharp precision of “New York State of Mind”, or the wounded melancholy of “Mind Playing Tricks On Me”, or the blazing fury of “When Will They Shoot?”
“Trail of Tears” by Louis Logic or “Clear Blue Skies” by The Juggaknots or “Coming Out Wrong” by Jesse Dangerously, such heartrending human testaments. “Time's Up” by O.C. and “Mathematics” by Mos Def and “Ha” by Juvenile, and the way in which rap can function as the purest and most direct delivery system for uncut real talk imaginable. The unearthly beauty of Percee P's flow on “Lung Collapsing Lyrics”, or the one-two-three punch of Percee then Big Daddy Kane then Chali 2Na on “A Day At The Races”, positively daring you not to be knocked flat. Missy Elliott on “Get Ur Freak On” or Busta Rhymes on “Scenario”, sounding like transmissions from another planet. Bubba Sparxxx and Rittz and Dizzee Rascal and Roots Manuva and Skepta and Shurik'n and Ocean Wisdom and MC Solaar and Buggsy and all the great rap we hear of that suddenly emerges from Mongolia or Uganda, the reminders that everyone, everywhere, has a story to tell and there will always be those who know how to tell theirs brilliantly, no matter how far afield on God's green earth. The raw, naked emotion in songs by even simple rappers like Boosie Badazz or Waka Flocka Flame. The song “Boomerang” by Daara J from Senegal, because oh my God if you've never heard it go look it up on YouTube right now, you will DIE. Posdnuos and Cam'ron and Suga Free and Young Dro and Mystikal and MF DOOM and E-40 revealing and shattering worlds by doing with the English language more or less exactly and only what they want, and having the time of their lives in so doing. The freedom of that, the joy of that.
“They Reminisce Over You”. “‘93 'Til Infinity”. “Luchini”. “This is protected by the Red, the Black, and the Green! VANGLORIOUS!” The way a perfect jewel of an image, a piercing shard of glass, delivered in that gravelly voice can make you go, “Only Raekwon could have thought of that!” M.O.P. laughing softly in the background and then suddenly, “FIYAH!” or “FIRST FAMILAY!”, and you know it's ON, motherfucker, it's on. “‘Cause I have friends, an’ that’s a fact – like Agnes, Agatha, Jermaine, an’ Jack!”
The integrity and beauty of the self-contained worlds created by Nas and D-Sisive and Clipse, to say nothing of Lil B the Based God. The Legend Adam Bomb, who will be here when we're ready for the truth. The way it felt as though, before Kanye, Lauryn Hill and Jean Grae and Mos Def were pioneering a new vision of Black excellence that would inspire generations, and the radiance, sincerity, and intelligence with which it's being carried forward by the likes of Shad and Kendrick Lamar and Playboy Tre and Noname and J. Cole and Big K.R.I.T.
The simple alchemical insta-joy of a great DJ Premier or Pete Rock or Pimp C or Organized Noize or DJ Quik beat. The achingly beautiful honesty and human warmth that radiates from an album like Illmatic by Nas or Resurrection by Common Sense. That mournful guitar and that wailing organ and “Sky high! Sky high!” The way Scarface speaks, slowly, softly, gently, but sounds like he's been everywhere and seen everything, and you can practically hear the tears in his eyes, and you feel like only God Himself could have given a performer the gift to connect THAT powerfully. The way that a great rap song can seem like such a purely spiritual thing that it can connect you to God even if you had no idea of or appreciation of any such thing, just because how could “All That I Got Is You” do otherwise?
B-Real's honk. Young Zee's yawp. ODB's “Yuhh!” The indomitable power of a Big Rube intro. The way every Pimp C line was an instantly quotable hook unto itself. Jeru The Damaja and Prince Po and Divine Styler dropping golden science on that ass, and the way in which, on Spiral Walls Containing Autumns of Light, Divine Styler crawled inside that science, saw visions in it, used it to conquer the astral plane.
“CULTURE FREEDOM! COME BACK WITH ME APPLE PIE!” The primal power of a song like “Hold On” by Goodie Mob or “Tha Crossroads” by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony or “Heaven Comin'” by Witchdoctor, the way they feel like windows into new worlds, new ways of thinking and feeling. Freeway's yelp. Chali 2Na's baritone. Z-Ro's singing voice, and the way he lays his sadness on wax so plainly and excruciatingly that it's like you're listening to the beating of a man's heart.
Maceo Parker blowin' the soul outta that horn. Pharoahe Monch and Vast Aire conquering new nations with every syllable. Aesop Rock picking apart the day and putting the pieces back together as only he could. “Let Your Backbone Slide”. “Shook Ones Pt. 2”. “Treat 'Em Right”. Brother Ali's heart-stoppingly tender love songs. Vinia Mojica and Nate Dogg and Johnny P. and TJ Swan and Faith Evans and Tai Elton Phillips and Talent and Debra Killings and Tammy Lucas and Joi and Whild Peach and Mary J. Blige and Mike Marshall and Sleepy Brown. The gossamer perfection of the album One A.M. by Diverse. The way Q-Tip and Devin The Dude sounded like they were everybody's friend, every human being on earth, and always would be. OutKast, forever making it seem like the concept of yin and yang, perfect balance, was invented exclusively for them. Pete Rock going, “Uh huh... yeah”, and then the feeling when the beat drops on “For Pete's Sake”. (THAT BEAT GODDAMNIT!) Meth going forever like the don and then all of a sudden Red comes in “FUCK YA LIFESTYLE!” Don't tell me you don't bug out EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU'RE LYING I DON'T BELIEVE YOU.
“DON'T CALL IT A COMEBACK!” “To the breaka breaka DAWN!” “Peedi Crakk make the mack go "BRRRRING!” “‘Cause I'm the miggity miggity miggity miggity mack!" Big Mike going, “Saaaaave me”, and then the phenomenal barnburning blurt and skronk of “Havin' Thangs” whacking you clean in the face. EL-P's beautiful use of negative space. Sean Price take-no-prisoners gutter hilarity. Biz Markie and Shock G and Rhythm X and Kool Keith and all our goofball treasures. Ice-T and Jadakiss and Styles P and Beanie Sigel and Cormega and Capone and Blaq Poet and Tragedy Khadafi and so many more writing gangster cinema verité in 16-bar format. DMX and Tupac Shakur, each ever three-dimensional in their emotional makeup, each tender, mercurial, powerful, each every bit the icon, each every bit the star.
WC and Kokane or Bigg Dawg C-Loc and Young Bleed or DJ Quik and Playa Hamm and Tweed Cadillac and AMG lounging together like old friends before busting out a filthy perfect gangsta jam for your earholes. The miracle of listening to Ghostface or E-40 or Dres or Brother J or A.G. at 18 or 25 years old each and then again as elder statesmen of 45 or 50, and realizing that the idea that rap music is a young man’s game is perpetuated by people determined to miss out on great hip-hop art. Chance The Rapper's hyper-infectious Black male joy, and the sheer fun you can always hear Joell Ortiz having every time he touches a microphone. The Bomb Squad and The Dust Brothers stacking samples to the sky. Ghostface Killah, mastering 50 different hilarious and emotionally wrenching ways to express himself on record before breakfast. The Pacewon line “People hear my tape and black out for EIGHT HOURS!” and the fact that as I type this I am honestly doubled over laughing just thinking about it. The flute loop on “Sally Got A One Track Mind”. KRS-ONE's thunder on “Wannabeemceez”. The very existence of something like “I Am I Be” by De La Soul. Just... everything about that song. Everything.
Jesus Christ, I've barely even talked about the actual sonics. I haven't really mentioned the way it bridges cultures and unites spirits and helps organize and motivate the struggle against institutionalized injustice. I haven't mentioned Timbaland beats because how do you begin to talk about Timbaland beats. There's just so much, the power and wonder and glory are endless. Hip-hop changed my life, hip-hop changed the life of the world. I don't know what I'd do without it. It's beautiful.”