Move, Rock, Dance, Sucka
Chapter 2
Move, Rock, Dance, Sucka The Coalescence of Hip Hop Culture and the Birth of Hip Hop/Rap Music
Gospel, blues, jazz, no one person invented it. It was the social result of a painful existence. –Quincy Jones
Unprecedented Cultural Autonomy and the Seeds of an Invicible Culture
In Chapter 1, I discussed how the South Bronx Disaster destroyed a community and in the process created a pool of disconnected youth. In this chapter, I examine how the young of the damned — the so-called disconnected youth — re-connected with one another, came together, and used an unprecedented level of autonomy to not only forge a new community, but to formulate one of the most powerful subcultures in modern history.
Of all of the preexisting conditions necessary for a new subculture to emerge and thrive, autonomy is the most important. For a community to have true control over the innovations, developments, and advancements of its culture, its people must have the independence, the freedom, and the will to choose and orchestrate its own actions. The more autonomy that a community has, the more freedom its people will have to develop its culture. No doubt in the case of the hip hop subculture, the autonomy factor played an pivotal role. And what’s most important to note about the role that autonomy played in hip hop’s origins is how and where exactly this autonomy was created: Nowhere was this autonomy more visible than in the streets of the South Bronx.
“The streets” have long been one of the most durable institutions of urban America, but inside of the 1970s South Bronx, this institution was further emboldened by one of the worst cases of municipal malpractice in United States history. The South Bronx Disaster destroyed a community, tore up neighborhoods, and threw the lives of hundreds of thousands of people into a post-war-like chaos. Because of their shared socio-economic backgrounds and environmental circumstances, the youth of the South Bronx made the streets their home and a world within a world. It’s where they spent most of their time, it’s were they learned how to navigate the disastrous conditions of their community (conditions, we must remember, they themselves did not create), and more importantly, it’s where they found their greatest level of communal autonomy.
History has shown us many examples of the resilience and creativity of mankind in the face of grave tragedy and disaster, but perhaps it’s those cases in which malfeasance serves as the catalyst for disaster and abject poverty that reveals the most about a given dominant culture and the victims of its assault. From impoverished areas sprout practical, unique, and often ingenious subcultures that grow in the face of on-going malfeasance. These newly formulated subcultures emerge with a number of unifying characteristics; most telling of these are the practical ways in which the victims blend and use themes and elements of their indigenous culture, along with fragments of the dominant culture (society at large), to stake out a new life full of meaning and dignity. Such is the case with the people of the South Bronx Disaster.
The people of the South Bronx knew they were under siege. Yet remarkably, even though they were the victims of an urban renewal catastrophe and municipal malfeasance, they never looked at themselves as such. In the face of hopelessness, despair, and a dilapidated physical environment, most surviving victims of the South Bronx Disaster still tried to carve out a life as best as they could. And as the decade of the ‘70s stretched on, the forgotten and purposely neglected poor black and Latino youth developed a new mind state and a new attitude, one that allowed them to not only deal head-on with the low quality of life inside the South Bronx disaster zone, but one that allowed them the wherewithal to improve upon that quality of life.
Hip hop culture and, subsequently, rap music may not have been inevitable, but because the disastrous 1970s South Bronx backdrop helped create an unprecedented autonomous zone for the South Bronx youth, some sort of subculture was inevitable. Afterall, when the pressure drops and the squeeze is put on a group of people, it should be expected that a new culture will emerge. And the squeeze, in this case, came in the form of an epidemic burnout, which itself was spawned by ill-advised slum clearance programs and insensitive, ill-fated public policies. Thus, in the process of being pressured into reconstructing a new community, the youth of the South Bronx (and later other poor non-white areas throughout New York City) amalgamated one of the most formidable, durable, and resilient music-based cultures of the twentieth century.
The “Culture of Sampling”
How do you master yourself after catastrophic circumstances — poverty, dilapidated housing, dysfunctional educational system? –Cornell West
Before I move forward with an examination of the direct origins of hip hop culture, it’s necessary to first describe the culture of sampling that underscores communities that are forced to undergo catastrophic circumstances. One prominent result of an oppressed people and their isolated, fragmented community is that its residents learn to incorporate (salvage) any element within and outside of their environment that they see fit to forge and fortify their culture. The fragmentation caused by the South Bronx Disaster, in effect, led to a “culture of sampling,” one in which residents of the South Bronx (and other similarly hard-hit cities across the U.S.) learned to take pieces from the mainstream American society then convert them in accordance to their own needs and values. In a culture of sampling, everything is fair game — language, fashion, automobiles, and the like. If it can be converted and flipped (according to the predilections and priorities of a particular community), it will be. The “culture of sampling” sensibility permeates throughout the entire hip hop culture. For example, there’s the b-boy fashion, which featured sportswear and casual attire for comfort and flexibility; there’s hip hop terminology, which often converts all sorts of words (even tragic ones) into terms of triumph — words like “dope” and “sick” become impressive expressions of magnificent creativity and authenticity. In fact, all of hip hop culture involves sampling and “flipping” something.
Where They Jamming At? Street and Party Cultures Collide
Partying is one of the most vital cultural events that take place within ghettos. In ghettos, parties serve two very important functions. On one hand, parties allow for a temporary relief or escape from the harsh realities of an impoverished environment. On the other hand, parties form a celebration of the resilience of the human spirit in the face of hopelessness and despair. Thus, aside from the conditions of the South Bronx Disaster itself, the other two primary sources of consistent familiarity for its residents were parties and music. Throughout the most dire times of the South Bronx Disaster (1969 to 1979), impromptu parties or “jams” and music provided much needed healing and entertainment.
What’s particularly important and distinct about the 1970s South Bronx party scene is how it was further bolstered and unified through the arts and talents of its partygoers. To be sure, there were parties before that fateful day in 1973, where the first unofficial hip hop party (or coming together) took place. There were parties held at other community and recreational centers, ballrooms, churches, school gymnasiums, and street blocks. Even by Kool Herc’s own admission, he played nothing new — i.e. any music that wasn’t heard before at parties ot he time — at that initial hip hop gathering. Kool Herc tells us that he “gave the people what they liked,” and all of the partygoers took to the floor, knowing exactly how to move to it. But it was this one party, and many others like it (particularly the ones given by Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaataa) that soon followed, that served as the initial breeding ground or force that would merge the individual art forms together into one mighty subculture: hip hop.
The Unification of the Four (Original) Elements of Hip Hop Culture
The culture that would eventually be dubbed hip hop was actually brewing before the famed Sedgewick Rec Party in 1973. But historians prefer clear benchmarks. Moreover, historians favor the prospect of assigning definitive historical developments to key figureheads. And so it would seem, the fewer the number of key events and figureheads, the easier it is for historians to draw a clean narrative. This is why the story of hip hop, for better or worse, always conveniently begins with the Kool Herc/Sedgewick Rec Party storyline. The story of Kool Herc DJ’ing at the Sedgwick Rec Room on August 11, 1973 has been offered up by hip hop historians, prime hip hop architects, and common fans with such reverence that it has risen to the level of romantic legend. But even if one does just a surface read of the 1973 Sedgwick Rec party storyline, it’s clear that the event didn’t emerge as if Kool Herc had said, “Hey, I’m going to throw a ‘hip hop’ party.” Thus, one of the biggest misconceptions about hip hop culture is that it was the initial product of one lone force: hip hop music, and one lone person: Kool Herc.
Though the music of hip hop did indeed drive the entire culture as it further developed, hip hop/rap music did not spawn each element of hip hop culture. There were many simmering creative impulses leading up to the first hip hop party. The hip hop movement formulated with a wide range of expressions that were moving parallel to one another in the South Bronx and other areas throughout New York City (most notably Brooklyn) at the same time. So it should be understood that hip hop culture is not the story of a single event or invention of a single person, but rather it’s the story of the coalescence (unification) and formalization of seed elements that were already present within a community devastated by the South Bronx Disaster. B-boying (later to be known as “break dancing” or “breakin’”), DJ’ing, rapping (MC’ing or emceeing), and graffiti writing, all sprang up from the same cultural and social conditions described in Chapter 1 of this study. What follows in this section is a brief historical breakdown of each of the four original elements of hip hop culture, along with an examination of the aesthetics, tenets, priorities, values, and principles that underscore all of the elements of hip hop collectively.
Though each of the original elements — art forms — of hip hop culture represented its own distinct tradition and subculture within the broader hip hop tradition and culture, it must be noted that the development of each of these elements overlapped and cross-fertilized throughout the 1970s and early 1980s. All of the early hip hop pioneers participated in at least two (if not all) of the four elements of hip hop. (For example, Kool Herc was first a graffiti writer before he became a DJ.) Thus, it’s necessary to spend some time exploring the origins and development of each element and their role in the development of hip hop overall. Also, the notion of cross fertilization is particularly important in this scope. Since all of the earliest pioneers participated in more than one of hip hop’s art forms, all of the pioneers had a keen awareness of each of the art forms that came together to comprise the collective hip hop culture.
Graffiti
In New York City between the 1950s and late 1960s, graffiti was mostly used by street gangs to mark turf and some political activists to make statements. But the underground art form that would take hold in NYC actually had its roots in Philadelphia, PA in the late 1960s. The two writers from Philly who are credited with the first “conscious bombing efforts” are CORNBREAD and COOL EARL. It’s unclear exactly how the Philly concept of graffiti made its way to New York City, but by 1971, it was apparent that the form was rising. That year, the New York Times published an article on TAKI 183, a teenage graffiti writer from Washington Heights. The article was very influential in that it not only made TAKI 183 (real name Demitrius) the first graffiti writer in New York City recognized outside of the newly formed subculture, it also helped push forward an already growing underground NYC graffiti movement. As the article noted, TAKI 183 worked as a foot messenger who, being on the subway frequently, wrote motion “tags” in subway stations and on subway cars as well as buildings all across NYC. But TAKI 183 certainly was not the first graff writer in NYC, nor was he even considered to be one of the graffiti “kings.” During this time, JULIO 204 was most widely credited as being one of the first writers of significance. After noticing JULIO 204’s, TAKI 183 took up writing his name and street number (with a wide marker) wherever he went. Other significant writers who appeared in 1971 were LEE 163, SLY II, and PHASE 2, LEE 163’s cousin.
Between 1971 and 1974, the first pioneering period of graffiti, hundreds of new graffiti writers emerged, and the art form continued to grow in both volume and, more importantly, in style throughout the five boroughs of NYC. Tags were the norm for most writers, and competition was a major driving force. Writers competed with each other all over the city, seeing who could get the most tags up as possible. At first, buses, handball courts, schoolyards, and other locations were hit, but soon, as graffiti grew more competitive and writers grew more daring, subway cars became a favorite target. Not long afterward, the concept and method of “bombing” (painting subway cars as they sat parked in train yards) was born.
During this period, writers experimented with script and calligraphic styles. Flourishes, stars, crowns, and other similar designs also marked the earlier part of this pioneering period. It was also during this period when writers began to experiment with the size (scale) of tags. Using the creative commons of their craft, writers began to create tags that were larger, with letters that were thicker and outlines with additional colors. After writers began to use caps from other aerosol products, they learned that the width of the spray could be increased. This discovery, credited first to SUPER KOOL 223, who used the cap from an oven cleaner can, led directly to giant signatures known as “masterpieces” (or “pieces,” for short). These were large-scale visual themes or statements, with bigger letters and bolder styles and ideas. Credit for the development of the first masterpieces is commonly given to SUPER KOOL 223 (of the Bronx) and WAP (of Brooklyn). Soon pieces began to appear on the entire height of subway cars. These pieces were known as “top-to-bottoms;” RIFF 170 is credited for having revolutionized top-to-bottoms. During this period, style became the most important aspect of graffiti, as it was more prestigious for writers to create original lettering styles. Lesser writers who merely imitated others became known as “toys,” and writers whose tags were just local and not “all city” (scene in all five boroughs) were described as DGAs: “Doesn’t Get Around.” With competition steadily driving the movement, forcing less talented writers out of the limelight, styles began to move away from the typical tag pieces. The Broadway style, introduced by TOPCAT 126 (who had moved from Philly to New York City), emerged. The Broadway style led to block letters and leaning letters. Then came the Bubble letters, a style first developed and credited to PHASE 2. It was the combination of PHASE 2’s work and competition from other style masters that began what became known as the style wars. “Style wars” was the term used to describe the period in which there was an explosion of writers who took ideas from each other, improved upon them, and brought them to another level. During this period, pieces became more complex in style, especially in size, depth, and meaning. Finally, by 1974, works with scenery, illustrations, and cartoon characters (popularized by TRACY 168, CLIFF 159, BLADE ONE) started to appear.
It was also during this period when writers began gathering in loose-knit groups that mirrored small artistic professional associations. “Meetings were held at various ‘writers’ corners’ around the city, the two most prominent of which were located at a subway station at 149th Street and the Grand Concourse in the Bronx, and on the corner of 188th and Audubon Avenue in Manhattan.” Wherever writers gathered, they shared sketch ideas from their personal art books, compared notes on various lettering styles, and generally talked shop about their craft. Through their various writers meetings and gatherings and artistic protocols, graffiti writers, like b-boys, soon developed their own slang and fashion styles.
It’s widely considered by all graffiti historians that by 1974, all of the graffiti standards (foundation) had been established. That being said, the period between 1975-77 marks the time when the heaviest bombing in NYC took place (no doubt due in some part to NYC’s mid-1970s fiscal crises). During this time, “whole car” pieces became standard fair, and the “throw up” became the definitive form of bombing. The throw up, a style based on Bubble lettering, is a piece (hastily rendered, usually just two letters) that consists of just a simple outline and a fill-in. Just like competition had driven writers in 1971 to put up as many tags as they could, competition for the most throw ups exploded throughout the city between 1975 and 77. Incidentally, during this time the number of graffiti crews increased dramatically.
Between 1978 and 1981, there was a graffiti revival of sorts, brought on by the new style wars between major writing crews like UA, CIA (founded by style master DONDI), TDS, TCF, RTW, TMT, and more. But this period also marked the final wave of bombing before the New York City Transit Authority ratcheted up their efforts to end graffiti on trains. Though graffiti writing would continue on through the mid-1980s, by 1985 the NYC street graffiti culture would deteriorate dramatically. However, due in large part to the efforts of graffiti writer (and sharp self-promoter) Fab 5 Freedy, graffiti would find a new audience in the downtown NYC art scene. It should also be noted that the NYC subway system played a tremendous role in the development of NYC’s graffiti culture. Both in terms of being a de facto art canvas and, more importantly, as a line of communication and a unifying element for all of the different graffiti writers and separate graffiti developments (movements) throughout the five boroughs. Finally, it’s worth mentioning that graffiti culture is parallel to beatmaking culture, in that it became quite racially and ethnically inclusive. Although during the first pioneering graffiti period (1971-1974) many writers were Puerto Rican, it’s a little-known fact that most of the first writers in the South Bronx were black.
B-Boying (”Break Dancing”) and DJ’ing
Dance has always played an integral part in the development of the African American (Black) music tradition. But the explosive new dance style that was taking hold in New York City in the early 1970s was quite different. “Going off,” “burning,” or the “good foot” (named after the James Brown song of the same name) were the names used to describe what would become “b-boying,” and later on, widely known as “break dancing.” “Going off” was a dance style that featured an erratic assortment of floor drops and spins and other James Brown-inspired leg movements. Dancers who “got wild” would wait for the “break” (the part in the record where the song is stripped down to just the high energy of the rhythm section — the drums, guitar or bass licks, maybe some additional syncopated percussive elements, no melody), then they would get out on the dance floor and go wild.
At the same time dancers were getting wild, Kool Herc was building a name as a DJ. After seeing these dancers go wild whenever he played the breaks, Herc began calling them “break boys,” which he shortened to “b-boys.” And in the dialogue between Kool Herc and the b-boys (and b-girls), it was the b-boys who perhaps had the most influence. B-boys pushed Herc just as much as he pushed them. But in addition to helping the b-boys further develop their art form, Herc also found that by using two turn tables, a DJ mixer, and two copies of the same record, he could not only keep the b-boys engaged, he could also keep the party going for everybody, without interruption.
Herc wasn’t the first American DJ to use two turntables; club DJs, especially New York disco (early disco) DJs, were already using two turntables before Herc. But the club/disco DJs played one record at a time; that is, they let one record play all the way through before playing the next one. It was Herc who first came up with the style of only playing the breaks (continuously) with two turntables. And Herc was directly influenced by a DJ named John Brown. While still in high school, Herc (not yet Kool Herc) used to hang out at a small nightclub called the Plaza Tunnel. By his own admission, he spent time at the Plaza Tunnel soaking up the records (mostly early funk) that John Brown played and his style of DJ’ing as well. It was this experience and interaction at the Plaza Tunnel that led directly to the style of DJ’ing that Herc showcased at the infamous Sedgwick party in 1973 and other subsequent parties.
As Herc, and other DJ’s like Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaataa, continued to pioneer the hip hop DJ style (Herc’s style), specifically the elongation of the break of early funk records (the “merry-go-round” technique), the b-boy culture continued to solidify and become more definitive. B-boys would create “ciphers,” dance rings (circles) in which b-boys would enter one at a time and compete against each other. Now that the music had been extended, the energy level had gone up, and more intense competition sparked new moves. Early b-boys like the Nigger Twins (Kevin and Keith, who were only 12 years old when they attended their first Herc party), the Zulu Kings, and “Clark Kent” continuously borrowed moves from each other and used the extended break to experiment and come up with new moves. During this time, spins became more prominent and footwork grew more complex. Floor drops, where b-boys dropped to the ground and popped back up again on beat , became basic stuff for all b-boys worth their weight. Arm- and hand-use for body support developed quickly; freezes and leg shuffles became big; knee spins and butt spins emerged. And around this same time, out in Brooklyn another early funk-based dance style known as the “Brooklyn Uprock” or “Brooklyn Rock” (soon it would come to be known as “uprocking” in the South Bronx) was serving as the foundation for another pivotal dance movement. Each of these moves, and others based upon them, eventually all became part of the definitive architecture of the b-boy dance style.
And just as graffiti was developing into its own subculture with its own slang, fashion, and crews, b-boying was quickly morphing into its own subculture, complete with its own slang, fashion (at first jeans and sneakers, then sportswear, usually warm-up suits and sneakers), and crews. Moreover, b-boying was just like graffiti, in that it “was all about battling…Breakin’ on somebody was the attitude you had to have if you called yourself a b-boy. You had to be ready to battle at the drop of a hat, whether you were on the street, in a park, or at a jam, and you had to be on your shit if you dared compete.”
By 1977, many DJs had followed Kool Herc’s lead, but none were more notable than the first two who appeared directly after him: Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaataa, respectively. Although Herc was the first DJ to use turntables as instruments, it was Grandmaster Flash who took the art of hip hop DJing to the next level. While Herc had developed the style of elongating the break, he used the “needle-drop” technique. That is to say, he dropped the needle of the turntable on the groove of the record where he thought the part he wanted began. Flash moved past the needle-drop, and developed techniques and methods for blending records, mixing them, and cutting the beats together all on beat . Rather than simply keep records playing continuously, Flash wanted to create a continuous groove, one that was made up of all the “reorganized pieces of songs” he’d found. He wanted to “keep the beat.” That is, he wanted to figure out a way to start and stop records on the left and right turntables, without listeners knowing where one record stopped and the next one started.
Grandmaster Flash became the first DJ to actually physically put his hands on the vinyl while the turntable’s platter was spinning, giving him a level of control previously unrealized by other DJs. Using his hands to wind the records back and forward, a technique he dubbed the “spin back,” and keying in on the marks (pencil lines at first) that he placed on the labels of his records, Grandmaster Flash developed what he called the “clock theory.” Soon, he took the clock theory further and developed the “quik mix theory,” which was a collective of his own techniques for quickly cutting back and forth between records on beat , making one musical passage flow seamlessly to the next. Flash’s “quik mix theory” included a number of firsts, but it most notably included the “spin back,” a method for quickly rewinding records, and the “punch phase,” which was a method for punching a record forward, right on the break.
While Kool Herc was winding down his career, and while Grandmaster Flash was pioneering the use of turntables as instruments, Afrika Bambaataa was making a name for himself as a cultural unifier and DJ whose stash of records knew no bounds. The term “hip hop” is curiously credited to being first used by Lovebug Starski, but by most accounts, it was Afrika Bambaataa (ca. 1975-76) who first (consciously) used “hip hop” specifically to describe the type of jams (parties) he was throwing. And thus, it was perhaps because of Lovebug Starski and Afrika Bambaataa that “hip hop” came to (informally at first) describe the collective culture (movement) that encompassed the four separate NYC underground street elements — art forms: DJ’ing, graffiti writing, b-boying, and rapping. While a Grandmaster Flash music set was characterized by turntable wizardry and precision, an Afrika Bamabaataa set was personified by an eclectic musical mix. Bambaataa experimented with other forms of music, particularly late 1960s and early 1970s rock. Finally, even though Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash, Afrika Bambaataa, and other pivotal DJs of the time ultimately developed distinct hip hop DJ performance styles (all based upon Herc’s original innovation), it must be remembered that the parties that each threw between 1973 and 1978 were really more like events, wherein all four of the elements hip hop culture were well-represented.
The Late “Early” Years of B-Boying and the Birth of Break Dancing
After developing the b-boy style for more than five years, many blacks stopped by 1978. But it was at this time that Puerto Ricans had just started getting into b-boying. By 1979, b-boying, which had once been a movement almost exclusively practiced by blacks, had become a new movement that was now lead by Puerto Ricans. New crews like Rockwell Association, TDK, TBB, and the Rock Steady Crew (founded by Jimmy D and JoJo) emerged, taking over where the earliest b-boys (like the Zulu Kings, Profile, and The Nigger Twins) had left off. During this period, b-boying moved forward, then suddenly in 1980, it begin to enter a new decline. That’s when 14-year old Richie Colon stepped up and changed everything.
Having grown up in the Bronx most of his life, Richie Colon moved with his family to Manhattan in 1980. Before he moved to Manhattan, he had spent two years practicing the b-boy style in hopes of one day joining Rockwell Association. He had changed his name to Crazy Legs, and he was now ready to join the ranks of master b-boys. But Rockwell Association and Rock Steady Crew were no longer dancing as much as they had been in the previous two years. So Crazy Legs was forced to find his own crew. After getting permission from Jimmy D (co-founder of Rock Steady Crew), Crazy Legs started a Manhattan branch of Rock Steady Crew. It was Crazy Legs and this branch of Rock Steady Crew that would bring the most fame to the RSC name.
The early and mid-1980s brought the advent of “power moves,” dance moves that emphasized more spinning action and gymnastics. From this period, dances like the infamous “windmill” (credited to Crazy Legs), and “1990s (one-hand-stand spins) emerged. The early and mid-1980s also brought a level of media coverage of b-boying that had previously been unimaginable. This is when the Rock Steady Crew, along with another pivotal New York City b-boy crew, New York City Breakers, and movies like Style Wars (1982), Wild Style (1982), Beat Street (1984), Breakin’ (1984), and Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo (1984), combined to spark a break dance explosion all across America.
While b-boying was developing in the South Bronx and Brooklyn uprocking was happening in Brooklyn (the latter dance form unifying into the b-boy movement), there was a parallel dance movement — “locking” and “popping” — happening on the West Coast. Like b-boying in the South Bronx, locking and popping were inspired by funk music as well. However, early West Coast funk, which too focused on the groove, was slightly different than East Coast funk. Out of this separate early 1970s “funk movement” in Los Angeles, California emerged Don Campbell, aka “Don Cambellock,” originator of “locking” (ca. 1970-73). Locking, a dance somewhat based on the “funky chicken,” another popular dance at the time, featured a locking motion of the joints of one’s arms and the bending of one’s elbows. Soon after introducing locking, Cambellock formed a group called The Lockers. The Lockers were very influential in that they pioneered a number of new moves and other dances that made up the locking repertoire, including “knee drops,” “butt drops,” the “stop n’ go,” “the fancies,” “the lock,” and “scooby doos.” And as with some of the later b-boys of New York City, some of the west coast lockers incorporated dives, drop downs, and other gymnastic moves.
“Popping” was introduced in 1976. Originated by Sam “Boogaloo Sam” Soloman, one of the three founders of The Electronic Boogaloo Lockers, “popping” was a dance that featured the tick-like contraction movement of hands, arms, neck, chest, and legs, which gave off a mechanical or smooth robotic effect. There are conflicting stories as to how “locking” and “popping” made their way to the Bronx and the rest of New York City, but it’s widely regarded that the dance was picked up (and initially misnamed “electric boogie”) by dancers in NYC, after groups like The Lockers and The Electronic Boogaloo Lockers appeared on 1970s television shows like “Soul Train,” “ Saturday Night Live,” “The Dick Van Dyke Variety Show,” and the popular sitcom “What’s Happening.”
By the mid-1980s, mainstream media had grouped together most of these dance forms — both from the East Coast and West Coast — and called it all “break dancing.” Soon, break dancing became over-commercialized, and all of the separate art forms that comprised hip hop dance lost emphasis on their root structures and nuances. More specifically, the essence and spirit of b-boying culture faded and seemingly disappeared, until a resurgence in the late 1990s and early 2000s.
Rapping (MC’ing or Emceeing)
To truly understand the force that is rapping, one must accept the conceptual heritage and material artifacts and their authentic significations — in history, origin and social intercourse, and orature. The roots of the art of rapping go back much farther than most people recognize. In fact, rapping, a clear example of the broad black vernacular tradition, is a continuance of the African American “toasting” tradition, an oral tradition of lively verbal art that stretches back from the Reconstruction Era to the jazz age to the social movements of the late 1960s and on through to the present. A uniquely urban phenomenon, the African American toasting tradition — not to be confused with the Jamaican toasting tradition of the late 1960s and early 1970s — is a dynamic poetic performance art, traditionally learned directly from or by studying other “toasters” and through intense verbal training. African American forms of “toasts,” which often feature boasts, “trickster” tales, adventures, and social commentary, are typically laced with slang and profanity, and center around some form of heroics or uplift made by a central black character, who beats the odds (a tragic event, a villain, etc.) by using his wits and common skills. Often in toasts, the central character “top talks” (out talks) a clear opponent, often a dangerous or tyrannical authority figure. Also, within this toasting tradition, versioning, improvisation, and using one’s individual style is highly valued. It’s also worth mentioning that while some women have participated in the African American toasting tradition, toasts were mostly performed by black males. Finally, I should point out that before rapping emerged, the three most common forms of African American toasts were: (1) “signifyin’ toasts;” (2) “radio DJ toasts;” and (3) “hustler toasts.”
“Signifyin’ toasts,” which appeared in both print and music stem from the African American vernacular practice of “signifyin’(g). Signifyin’ describes a verbal process of using the direct (denotative and figurative) meanings of words to say something else indirectly, and it is typically used to parody or satirize a character, theme, subject, or event. Signifyin’ emphasizes the connotative (secondary), context-bound significance of words or expressions in addition to their explicit or primary meanings, which is accessible only to those who share or well-understand the unique cultural values of a given speech community. Signifyin’ involves the conscious use of “specific language” and slang and concepts specifically understood by a given speech community. In signifyin’ toasts, performers tell “trickster tales” in which central characters use the aforementioned verbal strategy to cleverly tap the direct meanings of words, while summoning indirect meanings, often for the purpose of obtaining “hidden,” but intended outcomes.
“Radio DJ toasts,” which were pioneered in the 1950s by Philadelphia, PA radio disc jockey Douglas “Jocko” Henderson (“JOCKO” & The Rocket Ship Show), were quite different than signifyin’ toasts. Unlike signifyin’ toasts, radio DJ toasts were typically not too narrative in nature, and they were most often not characterized by a central character, but rather a “hip,” improvised telling of the moment. That is to say, radio DJ toasts were rapid, quick-witted radio “raps” (rhymes) or “skats,” usually simple one- and two-liners filled with “hip” urban slang. Radio DJ toasts were impromptu and performed throughout radio shows, but particularly before and after records were played. DJs like Jocko would use toasts to help keep their shows moving or to boast about themselves, their radio shows, and/or the hit records they played. Often, Jocko would say things like, “Eee-tiddlee-dock, this is the Jock! Back on the scene with the record machine,” or “Oo-papa-doo, how do you do?” “He ain’t mean, he just wanna be seen;” “Mommy-Os and Daddy-Os;” “The Ace from outta space;” and similar toasts all exemplify the kinds of toasts black radio DJs performed and their limitless ability to improvise hip rhyming slang. Black radio DJs used these toasts to build up their radio shows and to communicate in a more personal way with their listeners.
By the early 1970s, there were a number of black radio DJs who performed radio toasts, but the clear leader in 1970s New York City radio was Frankie Crocker “the chief rocker.” Frankie Crocker, who was also the MC (Master of Ceremonies) at the Apollo during the mid- and late 1970s, said toasts like, “More dips in your hips, more glide in your stride;” and “If Frankie Crocker isn’t on your radio, your radio isn’t really on.” Frankie Crocker, and later some NYC disco radio DJs, would have some role in the development of rapping in hip hop.
“Hustler toasts,” which reached prominence in black street corner culture and black prison culture between the mid-1960s and early 1970s, shares more similarities with signifyin’ toasts than radio DJ toasts. Hustler toasts are mostly narrative and carry a message; but that’s where the similarities stop. While signifyin’ toasts often emphasize the connotative and are indirect, hustler toasts usually emphasize the straight-forward (often confrontational) and are mostly direct. While signifyin’ toasts are often versions of well-known toasts, hustler toasts are often the true accounts — experienced or witnessed — of the individuals who perform them. Finally, while signifyin’ toasts are generally humorous and contain profanity in a passive context, humor (when it’s used) in hustler toasts is often sinister, and profanity is used much more aggressively or matter-factly.
Although all three common forms of African American toasts played a role in the development of rapping in hip hop, no form had more direct influence than the hustler toast. And the most important hustler toasts to hit the streets of the South Bronx was James Brown’s version of “King Heroin” and the infamous Lightnin’ Rod album Hustler’s Convention .
Released in 1973 and performed by Jalal Nuriddin, under the pseudonym, “Lightnin’ Rod,” Hustler’s Convention became the single biggest inspiration for the early formulation of rapping in hip hop. Set to the music of Kool and The Gang, Bernard Purdie, Billy Preston, and Colonel Dupree, Hustler’s Convention masterfully demonstrates the African American toasting and rapping traditions. The album contains a series of “rap songs” (prison-style toasts) that tell the story of two hustlers, Sport and Spoon, as they hustle their way through the ghetto one summer. Each rap spares know punches, as stories of drug use, dice and pool games, sexual episodes with random women, drug sales, and shoot-outs color the balance of the album. Told through the first-hand account of Sport, the story begins with Spoon coming home from jail, and ends with Sport going back to jail, where after “twelve years of time,” he realizes that he was just a “nickel and dime hustler,” and that the “real hustlers are those rippin’ off billions from those millions who are programmed to think they can win.” There can be no doubt that James Brown and, more importantly, the album Hustler’s Convention were the two biggest and most direct influences on the development of early rapping in hip hop. All of the earliest hip hop/rap pioneers who have spoken on record maintain this. In fact, the first hip hop/rap music architect and pioneer, Kool DJ Herc, directly said as much more than 25 years ago: “The inspiration for rap is James Brown and the album Hustler’s Convention.”
Rapping in Hip Hop
Early on in the development of hip hop, rapping was very simple and rappers (MCs/emcees) were primarily a sideshow to the DJ. The first hip hop toasts (raps) ever performed were by Kool Herc, who, inspired by James Brown and the album Hustler’s Convention , would say impromptu toasts while DJ’ing.
The toasts that Herc performed were not long or particularly narrative, they were nothing more than simple expressions designed to keep the energy of the party going. He would say things like, “Yes, yes, y’all, it’s the serious, serio-so joint ski ,” or “YES-YES, Y’ALL! TO-THE BEAT, Y’ALL.” He would also say expressions that singled out the names of some of the party-goers, combining these shout-out-like expressions with rhymes and some of the well-known slang of the day: “As I scan the place, I see the very familiar face…of my mellow;” or “Wallace Dee in the house. Wallace Dee, freak for me.” Soon, Herc added Jay Cee and Clark Kent (The Herculords) to the show, and the Herculords would rap the same type of toasts first performed by Herc.
Interestingly enough, it was another DJ who pushed rapping in the direction that eventually lead to modern rapping. In an effort to keep pace with Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash wrote a rhyme (sometime between 1974 and 75) that would prove even more influential than Herc’s initial toasts. The rhyme went like this: “You dip, dive and socialize. We’re trying to make you realize. That we are qualified to rectify that burning…desire…to boogie.” Hardly the sort of lyrical dexterity that we associate with modern rap, but what Flash’s rhyme did was open up the possibilities for how rhymes could be written and performed.
Grandmaster Flash was not consciously trying to advance the art of rapping, he was simply acting out of necessity. According to Flash, “vocal entertainment became necessary to keep the crowd under control.” Flash soon put together a group of rappers to be part of his DJ show. The group, The Furious Five, composed of rappers Cowboy (Keith Wiggins), Kid Creole (Nathaniel Glover), Eddie “Mr. Ness/Scorpio” Morris, Guy “Rahiem” Williams, and last but not least, Creole’s younger brother, Melle Mel (Melvin Glover), would quickly become one of the most pivotal rap groups of all time, almost immediately sparking similar groups like the Cold Crush Brothers and The Treacherous Three.
Between 1975 and 1979, rap styles were an assortment of party rhymes, nursery rhymes, boasts, and comic book inspired joke rhymes. Rap routines, like the ones first performed by The Furious Five, became more elaborate and more entertaining in the late 1970s. The quintessential “rap routine” was perhaps most personified (and perfected) by The Cold Crush Brothers and The Fantastic
Five. Just as with graffiti, b-boying, and DJ’ing, rapping became increasingly more competitive. Rap “battles” became a defining event of the time. It was also during this time that personal styles, like those from Grandmaster Caz, Kool Moe Dee (The Treacherous Three), and Spoonie Gee, were rapidly developing.
By 1980, the art of rapping had begun to shift towards the style and structure we recognize today. Most paramount to this broad directional shift in rapping was Kurtis Blow and Melle Mel. Kurtis Blow’s big hit — in terms of sales, critical acclaim, and influence — was “The Breaks.” Neither a party rhyme, a boast, or a joke rhyme, “The Breaks” was the first attempt at serious subject matter, albeit to a party-style backing track. Using an updated, hard-hittiing version of the studio-band sound of the time (inspired by the approach used for the Sugar Hill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight), Kurtis Blow articulated a much more direct and consistent flow, one that was more rhythmically balanced than any other rap previously recorded.
In 1982, barely two years after “The Breaks,” and just months after the release of “Planet Rock” (the breakaway hit by Afrika Bambaataa), Melle Mel — a former b-boy — pushed the art of rapping into another stratosphere when he and The Furious Five released “The Message.” Building off of Kurtis Blow’s pioneering efforts of serious subject matter, Melle Mel and producer Duke Bootee (leader of Sugar Hill Record’s in-house studio band), created what was, in effect, the very first “reality rap” song. “The Message,” which featured a grim, down-tempo rhythm track created by Duke Bootee, was a stark departure from the club rhymes and light (party) subject matter of the period. Reminiscent, both in tone and performance, to Lightnin’ Rods’ Hustler’s Convention , “The Message” tells the stories of many typical figures living in the ghetto, and it ends with a youth going to jail, where, after being raped, he commits suicide. Equally impressive to the straight-forward subject matter of the song, was the structure of the rhyme itself. The meter that Melle Mel used was much more rhythmic in nature, and the bars that made up each stanza were quite conversational, moreso than any rap that had previously been recorded. “The Message” marks the beginning of the rhyme style in which a rapper seemingly talks directly to individual listeners, rather than addresses an audience.
In 1983, just one year after Melle Mel laid down the foundation of modern rapping, Run-DMC released their first single, “It’s Like That.” Similar to “The Breaks,” and “The Message,” “It’s Like That” was a rap retelling of “the way it is” in the hood. However, what set “It’s Like That” apart from those other earlier efforts is the fact that the rhymes were set to a sparse, drum programmed beat, something that seemingly inspired rappers Run and DMC to merge the rhyme styles of Kurtis Blow and Melle Mel, respectively.
In 1984, T La Rock broke on the rap scene and introduced the “complex lyrical rhyme style” with the single, “It’s Yours,” produced by a then unknown producer named Rick Rubin. Unlike the message-driven and crowd-moving rhymes of Kurtis Blow, Melle Mel, and Run-DMC, T La Rock’s “It’s Yours” was a celebration of lyricism. Backed by a sparse drum track (a sound that would come to personify the period), T La Rock put forth a lyrical arsenal that clearly separated his style from the less complex rhyme structures that preceded him. Rather than use the typical “A B A B” structure, T La Rock instituted a rhyme style that completely abandoned conventional rhyme structure, offering up stanzas in “A A A B” and “A A A B B” form. Eschewing simple rhyme patterns and easy metaphors, T La Rock introduced an entirely new rhyme structure, one that was much more dense and layered than anything before. Until T La Rock, words were mostly used to set up the rhyme that came at the end of each line. T La Rock pioneered the rhyme style in which any word in the meter could be rhymed. (In addition, the use of more multisyllabic words emerge at this point.)
Finally, between 1985 and 1988, there were six new rappers who emerged and solidified (cemented) the modern style of rapping: LL Cool J, KRS-One, Rakim, Slick Rick, Kool G Rap, and Big Daddy Kane. ( Rapper Silver Fox, who unfortunately recorded very little, must be credited for his influence over the lyrical style and technique of LL Cool J and Kool G Rap ). With his debut album, Radio (1985), LL Cool J summoned the collective lyrical energies that proceeded him and furthered the tradition of a ggressive rapping , an approach that was perhaps first pioneered by Grandmaster Caz. Incorporating the blastmaster skills of the Cold Crush Brothers, Kurtis Blow, Melle Mel, and Run-DMC, and utilizing the dexterity of T La Rock’s rhyme structure, LL Cool J (only 15 or 16 years old at the time), put together a lyrical force that married the complex rhyme style with the blastmaster approach.
With his first two singles in 1986, “Eric B. Is President” and “My Melody,” Rakim (of Eric B. and Rakim fame) immediately secured his position among the most influential rappers (lyricists) of all time. Using a rhyme style perhaps inspired by T La Rock, Rakim pushed the boundaries and dimensions of the poetics of rap in a way in which new structures could be explored. Coupling both complex and easy riddles with a dead serious rhyme flow and an uncanny knack for using breath control and delivery to accentuate each word in a rhyme, Rakim established a dense, multilayered rhyme scheme approach that helped revolutionize the complex lyrical rhyme style.
Not to be outdone, in that very same year, Kool G Rap met Marley Marl (DJ, first modern beatmaker/producer) and made the single “It’s a Demo.” Although he was also most likely inspired by T La Rock, Kool G Rap shattered the previous complex lyrical rhyme style. With “It’s A Demo,” Kool G Rap further pushed the complex lyrical rhyme style. He aggressively attacked the basic poetic structure and exhausted simple meter; he doubled-, tripled-, and even quadrupled-up hyperactive rhyme couplets, judiciously stretching and chopping words and using slant rhymes more as a means for tempo control and stylistic intonation than for their explicit value. And like Rakim (perhaps even more so), Kool G Rap demonstrated an extensive understanding of breath control and its effect on delivery and flow. Together, Rakim and Kool G Rap helped establish the complex lyrical rhyme style architecture that later influenced many lyricists of the same cloth like Nas, O.C., AZ, and Black Thought.
In 1987, the South Bronx crew Boogie Down Productions (BDP) dropped the seminal album Criminal Minded . An album distinguishable for many reasons, not the least of which for containing a song that sparked one of the most infamous “beefs” in hip hop/rap history, Criminal Minded featured KRS-One using yet another new rhyme style. Drawing on his true experiences in the streets of the South Bronx, KRS-One introduced a new style of “reality rap,” one that was defiant, in your face, conversational, pulled back in pace, and educational — that is to say, educational in the same vein as Lightin Rod’s Hustler’s Convention . One year after Criminal Minded , KRS-One and BDP dropped By Any Means Necessary . Although the album still featured KRS-One’s own brand of reality rap, it also presented a much more educational minded KRS-One. It’s woth pointing out that while KRS-One and Chuck D of Public Enemy laid down the foundation for so-called “conscious rap,” both rappers were not considered as such at the time; they were merely thought of as dope rappers with unique rhyme styles that were well-grounded in hip hop’s rap tradition.
As far back as 1975, the storyteller rhyme style was, in effect, in hip hop’s rap form. But prior to 1988, the form was used rather sparingly. That changed, however, after the release of The Great Adventures of Slick Rick (1988), an album that was completely dominated by the storyteller rhyme style. Unlike the storyteller rhyme style of the 1970s, Slick Rick’s style, which was modeled off of the South Bronx reality rap style, featured a narrative approach that was both broad and meticulously detailed. Moreover, Slick Rick’s rhyme flow was easy and not overbearing, something entirely unassuming yet incredibly engaging. The modern standard for the storyteller rhyme style was established with Slick Rick and his album The Great Adventures of Slick Rick .
Finally, in the same year that Slick Rick made his debut, Brooklyn rapper and Juice Crew member Big Daddy Kane dropped his debut album, Long Live the Kane . As far as rhyme styles go, Big Daddy Kane falls somewhere in between Rakim and Kool G Rap. However, Big Daddy Kane introduced a consciously “smooth” element to the art of rapping. Before Kane, rappers were not particularly concerned with the “polish” of their rhyme style, but instead the rawness of it. Kane, who could just as easily rip the complex lyrical rhyme style as he could the more straight-forward rhyme styles, introduced an entirely new component to rhyme styles, something that I call the “showmanship delivery.” The showmanship delivery refers to the delivery style in which a rapper delivers lines in such a way that they resonate much more clearly and come off more profoundly (perhaps even more than they really are). Using the showmanship delivery and his mastery of rhythm and tempo, Big Daddy Kane carved out a rhyme style that on the one hand, mirrored the confidence of Grandmaster Caz and the mid-1970s MCs, and on the other hand, personified the structural dexterity of the newly created modern rhyme style.
To sum it all up, rapping itself was certainly nothing new. In fact, it was a continuum of the Black American oral tradition, specifically the vernacular tradition of toasting in the United States. Rapping was a blend of the signifyin’, radio DJ, and hustler toasts of the African American toasting tradition. However, that being said, the art of rapping in hip hop did distinguish itself and present a new development in the black vernacular tradition. From simple toasts, nursery rhymes, boastful and light subject matter, to complex lyrical structures and serious content (reality rap) and concepts, rapping developed into the newest and one of the most powerful vocal strategies of the twentieth century.
The Hip Hop Sensibility and the Hip Hop Attitude
Having looked at the development of the four original elements (art forms) of hip hop, we can conclude that hip hop clearly has its own esthetic standards as well as its own aesthetic priorities. More importantly, I believe that together, these standards and priorities form what I call the “hip hop sensibility.” To understand what the hip hop sensibility is and how it drives and informs creativity in hip hop, you must look at the five fundamental properties (traits and attributes) that personify it.
First, there was the importance of style; more specifically, there was a sharp focus and emphasis on individual style. Style identity was an important factor in the development of the four original elements of hip hop. The early hip hop pioneers were completely consumed with forming and representing their own style. In fact, to the pioneers, originality was not based so much on arbitrary “newness,” but instead on the stylistic innovations of the creative commons that one was able to make.
Next, there was the transgressive philosophical approach to creativity. As is often the case in ghettos, and their subsequent street cultures, there exists a “culture of sampling.” That is, a culture which enabled its residents (in this case, the South Bronx and other similarly hard-hit sections in New York City) to take and make use of pieces of culture from both within and outside of their own settings, particularly from the mainstream American society. Immersed in this culture of sampling, hip hop pioneers learned how to convert those pieces of mainstream American culture in accordance to their own needs, principles, priorities, and values. Thus, the hip hop pioneers openly relied on their ability to convert traditional forms and elements of music, art, and fashion into a distinctly hip hop aesthetic. In this way, hip hop has always been a transformative, transgressive culture. For example, b-boys reconceptualizing karate moves and gymnastics, and converting popular black American dance moves like the “bus stop” or James Brown’s “good foot” into an entirely new dance form, simultaneously turning sportswear into a new fashion — casual streetwear. And consider how hip hop DJs use turntables as instruments, that is to say, in a way that transgressed their traditional use and designed bounds. Then there’s the case of graffiti writers — painters — who used aerosol paint cans to create a fresh new art form, which they applied on non-traditional canvases. And finally, we see this culture of sampling at work when we look at how rappers (MCs) break up and extend the implicit and indirect meanings of words (even inventing some words), formalize slang, and reconstruct traditional poetic (rhyme) forms and meter.
Hip hop’s transgressive nature is governed by what I like to call its “rules/ freedom duality.” The “rules/freedom duality” describes the sensibility that hip hop practitioners consider (consciously or subconsciously) before they use something — a form, expression, element, etc. — outside of hip hop. This simply means that hip hop practitioners work with a sense of freedom to use tropes and elements from other traditions or cultures, provided they can convert these tropes and elements into the hip hop form.
Communal creativity is another important attribute of the hip hop sensibility. All of the early hip hop pioneers participated in and mastered their art forms through the process of communal creativity. In other words, whenever a new style and method emerged, it entered directly into a well-known creative commons. From this creative commons, wherein canonical works, styles, methods, and techniques were developed, the architects of hip hop openly drew (as they were expected to) ideas and knowledge. And in turn, they further created new styles, methods, and techniques that also went directly into the creative commons, further codifying the hip hop tradition.
This communal creative pipeline was perhaps best personified by the practice of “versioning.” Versioning can best be described as the stylistic reworking of established (popular) styles and/or works. Versioning was critical to the overall creative process of all of hip hop’s earliest pioneers. When PHASE 2 introduced Bubble letters, every graffiti writer thereafter developed their own version of the new style. Incidentally, it’s important to point out that although PHASE 2 is credited with having introduced the style, it was not considered his style; it was well-understood to be one established style that, once created, entered directly into the creative commons, and therefore, it belonged to all graffiti writers. Similarly, when Kool Herc began using two turntables and two copies of the same record, focusing exclusively on the break, his style, method, and technique entered directly into the creative commons, which other DJs used to develop new styles, methods, and techniques.
Within hip hop’s early communal creativity, syncretism played a major role. Syncretism, as I use it here, refers to the combination or fusion of the inflectional forms (slang), practices, principles, presuppositions, or ideologies (not necessarily opposing) of each of the original four elements (art forms) of hip hop. Crossfertilization of the four elements of hip hop culture and cross-participation by the architects of hip hop in the four elements was not only very common, but expected. (Again, most of the pioneers participated in at least two of the four elements, while many participated in all four of the elements.) In this way, each element influenced the other in a uniquely reciprocal manner. Thus, the incredibly high level of syncretism that occurred between the four distinct (separate) elements of hip hop led to their unification and, ultimately, to the formulation of one common hip hop ideology and philosophy.
Finally, because of hip hop’s early communal creativity, many of the architects of hip hop willfully entered into short and long-term apprenticeships. In hip hop’s developmental years, there was an objective reverence for the “masters” of the art forms. As such, most (if not all) style masters took on apprentices — often as an obligation to the development of the art forms. And because they understood the importance of training and having the proper foundation (knowledge), many budding style masters actively (and unshamefully) sought to be apprentices.
After the transgressive attribute, the next important trait of the hip hop sensibility is competition. The competitive consciousness of the architects of hip hop was second only to style consciousness . That is to say, the earliest hip hop pioneers saw competition not only as a necessary component of creativity, but also as a critical means to individual recognition. Through their commitment to regular, intense competition, the architects of hip hop were successfully able to police the overall level of originality and quality of each art form. It is also worth mentioning that the hip hop pioneers competed based on their knowledge and mastery of established styles as well as the styles and innovations that they were able to bring to the table. In other words, although competitors were revered for their ability to introduce something new and innovative, they were also judged by their knowledge and manifestation of the core tenets of the art forms that they represented. Finally, it’s important to understand that through such vehement, quality-based competition, the architects of hip hop were able to maintain a strong sense of artistic integrity and pride. Moreover, they consciously established the process of intense individual practice as a critical rite of passage.
The last, but certainly not least, attribute of the hip hop sensibility is the “hip hop attitude.” The hip hop attitude is best be described as an anti-establishment, me-against-the-world sentiment that grew out of the harsh socio-economic backdrop of hip hop’s beginnings. The architects of hip hop took to heart the notion that “This is a tough world,” one in which, “Nobody gives you anything;” and therefore, “You gotta take chances, because you can’t sit back and wait for things to happen — you gotta make it happen!” Within the DNA of the hip hop attitude is the ever important idea of survival, which means that there’s no room for weakness. Thus, the hip hop attitude is in-your-face and often confrontational.
Here, it’s worth remembering how this hip hop attitude was created. Hip hop culture represented a cultural and social change from the bottom-up. And among the many emotional and philosophical conditions that the South Bronx Disaster bred, a heightened level of urgency and uncertainty about the future were two conditions that profoundly and disproportionately affected the South Bronx youth — hip hop’s most earliest architects and pioneers. This urgency and uncertainty was predicated primarily upon one thing: daily survival. Therefore, it should really come as no surprise that hip hop/rap music, and the encompassing hip hop culture, has a distinct sense of urgency and chaotic certainty (controlled chaos) that is governed by a proactive, “Get Yours!” attitude. Perhaps a fair analysis would deem this attitude pragmatic, given the socio-economic climate and urban renewal circumstances that flanked hip hop’s earliest pioneers from every angle.
The Evolution from Hip Hop to Rap Music
By 1978, a noticeable change had emerged in hip hop culture. Though DJs, for the most part, were still the central figures, rappers were now almost at par with them. Between 1976 and 1978, rappers had developed their performance showmanship and lyrical content so significantly that crowds were steadily coming to parties to see them almost as much as they were coming to see (hear) DJs. Cassette tapes of “rap music” (then the only means through which hip hop/rap was documented and distributed) were becoming ever more popular, delivering even more notoriety to rappers. Then, in 1979, one single event instituted a seismic shift in hip hop that would never be reversed.
“Rapper’s Delight,” released in 1979 by Sugar Hill Records — six years after hip hop music had been brewing in the South Bronx, was the first bonafide hit rap record on radio airwaves. The story surrounding the song itself is as much legend as the milestones that it set and the doors it opened up. Sugar Hill Records owner, Sylvia Robinson, who lived in and operated her label (with her husband, Joe Robinson) out of Englewood, New Jersey, became interested in the commercial prospects of hip hop music, purportedly after noticing her children’s affection for rap music. (By 1979, rap tapes were traveling throughout New York City and in some parts of New Jersey, where people there had family in NYC, thus this story appears to be the most accurate). The Sugar Hill Gang, the performers of “Rapper’s Delight,” were actually not an original Bronx hip hop group of rappers at all; they were a manufactured, make-shift hip hop/rap concoction that assembled by Sugar Hill Records label-head Sylvia Robinson.
Despite the Bronx-style unauthenticity of “Rapper’s Delight,” the record went on to popularize rap music nationally, setting the stage for rappers to become as iconic as soloists and lead singers from other music forms. Thus, of the four original elements that comprised early hip hop culture, rap music would become the most far reaching, most visible, most commercially viable one of them all. Rap music stepped out of the park jam and off of cassette tapes directly into the recording studio and, subsequently, the music business. It went from a mainly live performance medium to a more fine-tuned recorded medium. Once this happened, rap music garnered a widespread acceptance from both the music industry and the mainstream media. In no time at all, the term “rap music” — the music of hip hop — was shortened to rap.
Soon, hip hop culture in general and rap music in specific, was co-opted and commercialized by corporate America. After this, many self-described hip hop purists and traditionalists began arbitrarily rejecting the “rap” classification, ignoring the fact that it was the architects of hip hop who first described the music as rap, and instead began referring to the music synonymously with and exclusively as hip hop. Perhaps this was a means to both reclaim the music as well as distinguish and signify a more truer, supposedly more traditional form of hip hop — a brand of hip hop that was seemingly more influenced by the love for the art-craft, and less influenced by the spoils of commercialism. Whatever the real cause, this conscious move to not use the rap designation has opened up hip hop music to much more broader interpretations than it can fundamentally hold. Finally, it should be pointed out that inevitably, as rap music grew, the significance of the rapper increased, while the role of the DJ decreased. But it was also inevitable that the beatmaker would become paramount as well.
Refuting the Jamaican-Origins Narrative of Hip Hop
For a proper perspective of the roots of the hip hop DJ style and the sampling tradition of hip hop/rap music’s true lineage, as well as the birth of rap music (rhyming in hip hop culture), the popular legend that hip hop was directly shaped by reggae and dub music deserves some attention here.
The historical accuracy of a given event or movement or moment in time is inevitably doomed to be misrepresented in the future whenever the most critical variables of that event or movement are inaccurately recorded or misinterpreted. Such is the case with the mythical Jamaican-origins narrative of hip hop’s beginnings. To be certain, Kool Herc did not take Jamaican reggae or dub music or the Jamaican toasting tradition to the South Bronx and use it to invent hip hop. That narrative, either explicitly or implicitly, is wrong! Yet today, the Jamaican-origins narrative of hip hop’s beginnings continues to be advanced by key historians, musicologists, and other scholar, as well as countless music critics, pop culturists, and hip hop aficionados alike. Thus, in this section, I soundly refute the Jamaican-origins narrative of hip hop’s beginnings and show how (and perhaps why) this narrative was able to advance in the first place.
No matter how accurately an author examines and present facts outside of the direct nucleus of hip hop culture’s origins, those findings can never supplant the actual framework from which hip hop culture emerged. And although Jamaican music culture is significant in its own right and for its own merits, in nearly all recent historical accounts of hip hop’s beginnings, writers have (at some point or another) overzealously played up the Jamaican-origins narrative of hip hop’s beginnings. Even in the face of evidence that directly and unequivocally contradicts such a narrative, these writers have forged ahead with the story; and in doing so, they have (some knowingly) completely advanced nothing more than a myth.
So how did the Jamaican-origins myth begin? Essentially, what happened is that at some point, probably around 1987, the story surrounding the migration of Clive Campbell (DJ Kool Herc) to the South Bronx was greatly misinterpreted. The facts — confirmed by Kool Herc himself — are that he arrived in the South Bronx in 1967 at the age 12 . More importantly for the purposes here, it should be clear that when he came to New York he was not a DJ, nor did he have any experience with DJ’ing. In fact, it wasn’t until six years after he arrived in the South Bronx that he began to DJ. But the myth, most likely first set in motion by author Dick Hebdige, is that Clive Campbell came to New York as “DJ Kool Herc” and brought along with him key tenets of the Jamaican music culture, which he used to formulate hip hop music. In the section rather curiously titled, “The beginning of hip hop,” from his 1987 book, Cut ‘N’ Mix,<sup>49</sup> Dick Hebdige writes:
In 1967 a dj called Kool Herc emigrated to the States [United States] from Jamaica and came to live in the West Bronx. Herc knew the Jamaican sound system scene , and had heard the early talk overs of the new djs like U Roy. By 1973 Herc owned his own system.” [emphasis mine]
There are several points that must be made clear about this misleading account. First, Hebdige either misread the facts concerning Clive Campbell’s migration to the United States or he intentionally played loose with them. In 1984, three years before Hebdiges’ Cut ‘N’ Mix was first published, two different and rather pivotal Kool Herc interviews appeared in two separate books: Hip Hop by Steven Hager and The Rap Attack by David Toop — Hebdige lists the latter book by Toop in two separate end notes of his own study. What’s important about both of these 1984 interviews is that each are consistent and clear and about the details surrounding Clive Campbell’s (Kool Herc) migration to the Bronx. In each interview, Herc reveals that in 1967, Clive Campbell — not yet Kool Herc — was only 12 years old and certainly not a DJ when he migrated to the Bronx. Each interview plainly makes it clear that it wasn’t until high school in the Bronx that he got the nickname “Herc,” which was short for “Hercules.” Moreover, both interviews also revealed that Herc didn’t even begin DJ’ing until 1971, and that at that time, his biggest influence was John Brown, an American DJ from the Bronx who played breaks of funk records, not Jamaican music. Then there’s the issue of Herc “knowing” the “sound system scene.” By Herc’s own admission, he was “too young” to get into the legendary Jamaican sound system parties. Therefore, he could not have “known” the Jamaican sound system scene in the way that Hebdige says that he did. Finally, the third point that must be made clear is the fact that Clive Campbell (“Kool Herc) was already in the Bronx when Jamaican DJs like U-Roy pioneered the Jamaican dub and toast sound. In other words, he wasn’t a DJ in Jamaica listening to U-Roy or the other “Jamaican toast masters.” In fact, a Brian Lehrer Show interview with Kool Herc in 2009 reveals much about this:
It’s also worth seeing: Toop, 18-19, 39, 60-63. Note, Hager’s interview with Kool Herc is more extensive and detailed, and therefore, more revealing and reliable. In Toop’s Rap Attack , it’s Afrika Bambaataa, not Kool Herc, who suggests that Herc took “Jamaican toasting” and brought it to the Bronx. But that statement is inconsistent with what Herc himself adamantly says in Hager’s Hip Hop .
Brian Lehrer: “So you must remember toasts like that from Kingston in the 60s, before you moved to New York. Do you think you were influenced by that for your early composing in the Bronx?”
Kool Herc: “No, it wasn’t all about that! I was a kid. All I know is the Skatalites, Don Drummond, Barry Reed, and the Dragonaire, you know, Toots and the Maytals. And U-Roy and Big Youth and I-Roy was doing things like that. I didn’t — we didn’t try to come and play reggae music; American people wasn’t feelin’ reggae music… I used other records that had a beat to it more than a reggae beat to it. I never hide the fact that I was Jamaican, [but] I wasn’t here reppin’ Jamaica. I was just a kid. You know, I was born in Jamaica; I knew what time it was, far as me leaving from a country coming to another country. I was there when Jamaica got its independence. I remember historic things like that. You know, I admit the fact that when I migrated to the United States, I don’t remember those art forms, but I would never try and take nothing away as far as, but it [Hip Hop] <u>didn’t have nothin’ to do with Jamaica</u> …. And as far as Jamaican toasting and DJ’ing, it wasn’t two turntables they used. They used one turntable. It wasn’t two turntables, it was one! ” [emphasis mine]
If Dick Hebdige is most responsible for putting in motion the Jamaicanorigins narrative of hip hop’s beginnings, there is no commentator more responsible for prolonging this myth and, subsequently, the misrepresentation of hip hop’s earliest roots, than Jeff Chang. In his book, Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of The Hip Hop Generation , author Jeff Chang constructs a narrative that is at times so at odds with the evidence of hip hop’s early origins that it includes a chapter on the rise of Jamaica’s “roots generation” and the turmoil of Jamaica’s two warring political parties in the 1970s. Despite the fact that neither the Jamaica Labor Party (JLP) or the People’s National Party (PNP) had nothing to do with the South Bronx Disaster, its causes, or the South Bronx street culture in the 1970s, Chang still incorporates such material into his study. Although it’s engaging information, the Jamaican political climate has no connection to the birth of hip hop. At best, Chang’s curious choice to include this chapter misleads readers to believe that the political climate of Jamaica had some connection to the origins of hip hop culture — it didn’t. At worst, Chang’s inclusion of this chapter misleads readers to believe that the political climate of Jamaica somehow had a direct impact and influence on the origins of hip hop culture — it didn’t.
As I pointed out in Chapter 1, among all of the travesties that the residents of the South Bronx were forced to endure, benign neglect was front and center. In other words, the South Bronx youth did not participate in New York City politics. They did not enter into any political squabble between New York’s Democratic and Republican parties. Furthermore, during the 1970s, New York City was infamously under the death grip of fiscal malfunction — the city was teetering on bankruptcy and sinking fast. There was no intense “power grab” situation in play for two opposing political parties. And even if there was one, there certainly wasn’t a place for the disconnected South Bronx youth to join in the fray and aid one side or the other.
In his book, Chang also surveys the history of Jamaican dub music and the musical developments that grew out of Lee “Scratch” Perry’s Black Ark recording studio. Chang maintains that “Dub’s birth was accidental…” and the goes so far as to say that “ it would become a diagram for hip-hop music. A space had been pried open for the break, for possibility.” Dub as “a diagram for hip-hop music” is more than an overreach, it’s flat-out wrong. But while Chang is occupied with trying to connect dub music to hip hop/rap’s origins, specifically trying to demonstrate how dub music was the precursor to break-beat music (b-boy music) and, subsequently, hip hop/rap music, he fails to include critical details, which of course completely undermine his theory.
First, let’s look at the year 1967, a crucial year to many of those who push the Jamaican-origins narrative of hip hop. On the surface, the way the story goes is that Kool Herc came to New York in 1973 as a Jamaican (dub) DJ. From the start, the trouble with this narrative is the fact that Clive Campbell (“Kool Herc”) came to New York in 1967, at the age of 12 — and as noted earlier in this section, he certainly wasn’t yet a DJ either. Also, as it so happens, 1967 is widely considered by Jamaican music historians to be the first year in which dub music emerged in Jamaica. And according to even the most basic historical reading of dub’s development, dub music isn’t fully realized and developed until around December, 1973 — the date associated with the start of Jamaican producer and dub pioneer Lee Perry’s Black Ark studio. Chang, too, no doubt is aware of this date, as he mentions it in his study. So this raises a couple of questions. First, if by December, 1973, Kool Herc had already given the notorious Sedgwick party, the party that is widely recognized for having kicked off the hip hop movement, how could he have been using the underdeveloped Jamaican dub style as “a diagram for hip-hop music?” Second, if funk — a music tradition which is widely considered by most soul music historians to have begun in 1964/1965 with the James Brown releases “Out of Sight” in 1964 and “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag” in 1965 — was indeed the music from which hip hop was spawned, why does Chang claim that Jamaican dub was “a diagram for hip-hop music?”
Now, let’s look at what Kool Herc — the most important link in the Jamaican-origins narrative — has repeatedly and quite clearly said about this issue. In 1970, while still in high school, Herc (then not yet “DJ Kool Herc”) started hanging out at a disco called the Plaza Tunnel, formerly located on 161ST St. and the Grand Concourse, in the South Bronx. By Herc’s own admission, the deejay at the Plaza Tunnel, John Brown, was the first to play records like “Give It Up or Turn It Loose” by James Brown, and “Get Ready” by Rare Earth, and “Soul Power” by James Brown. Herc has long conceded that it was John Brown who influenced him to spin funk records and the like, and that it was what John Brown, not Lee “Scratch” Perry, who was doing the style that led him to kick off what would become the formulation of the break-beat DJ phenomenon and subsequent hip hop DJ tradition. Herc has never said that Jamaican dub music, Jamaican toasts, or any part of the Jamaican music culture was the inspiration for what he and the other earliest hip hop DJs were doing. Again, from Kool Herc:
Jamaican toasting? Naw, Naw. No connection there. I couldn’t play reggae in the Bronx. People wouldn’t accept it. The inspiration for rap is James Brown and the album Hustler’s Convention.
Further, it was a well-known fact of the time that “while most other deejays played disco…Herc played hard-core funk…” So if Kool Herc himself has noted quite clearly — on numerous occasions since 1983 — that the inspiration for what he and, subsequently, the others that immediately followed him did was not Jamaican dub music, Jamaican “toasters,” or Jamaican DJs, but rather black American funk and a 1970 funk-based DJ named John Brown, how can Chang’s claim possibly be accurate? Moreover, if in two separate interviews, appearing in Hip Hop (1983) and The Rap Attack (1984), two books that Chang cites (multiple times) in the end notes of his own study, Kool Herc makes it very clear that he was influenced by a South Bronx funk DJ (John Brown), and that the inspiration for rap (what he and others were doing) was James Brown and the album Hustler’s Convention , how can Chang project that Jamaican dub music was the “diagram” for hip hop/rap music?
But while Chang curiously plays-up hip hop’s alleged indebtedness to Jamaican music culture, author Tricia Rose does not attempt to draw out (or dwell) on the same. Instead, she seems to actually play it down. In the end notes of Chapter 3 of Black Noise , her seminal cultural study of hip hop and rap music, she maintains (in just one brief sentence) that “Rap music is heavily indebted to Jamaican musical practices.” Aside from this, she offers no further examination of the overread connection between the Jamaican music culture of the 1970s and that of the South Bronx during the same period.
Here, it’s also worth examining three other areas of contention: (1) The importance of audio/sonic quality in hip hop/rap music; (2) The history of park jams, block parties and the like; and (3) The Jamaican toasting tradition of the 1970s. To be certain, Kool Herc’s understanding of sound systems was primarily influenced in America. In fact, it was in America where Kool Herc made the discovery that allowed him to make his sound system more powerful (amplified) than most. Prior to Herc’s discovery in America, neither Herc or his father knew how to increase the peak level sound in their family’s system. The importance of Audio/sonic quality and bass tones was already a preference of black Americans before Clive Campbell (“Kool Herc”) came to the Bronx. For example, in 1975, in both Chicago and New York City, at least three of my uncles had hi-fi sound systems. (My father had a hi-fi system as early as 1971.) It’s probably worth mentioning that neither my uncles or my father were from Jamaica, they were all born and raised in America. Furthermore, one of my uncles played bass guitar in a band throughout the 1970s and early 1980s. In his band, as with other black American bands, the bass tone was always highly valued. Finally, in my interview with DJ Toomp, Tomp shared a story about a time in Atlanta (throughout the 1970s), wherein he checked out what kind of speakers DJs were using at house parties. This indicates that speakers and sonic quality were not only valued, they were both expected at parties and black American homes during the 1970s and early 1980s. Also, Toomp recalls how people were often remembered by the sound systems they had and how much bass each system kicked out.
As for park jams, block parties and the like, my mother attended multiple live shows. Also, some close family friends, like Canell Johnson, as well as Ghetto Brother founder Benjy Melendez, have shared many stories about partying in parks and “on the block” as early as 1965. Hence, recorded or live music and parties at parks or on the block were certainly nothing particularly new when Clive Campbell (“Kool Herc”) arrived in the Bronx. And it’s worth mentioning that Herc’s decision to move his “rec room jams” over to Cedar Park (right up the corner) was not inspired by, nor had anything to do with, the yard parties of Trench Town, Jamaica. On the contrary, the decision was a practical one: Herc simply needed a bigger space to accommodate the growing number of party-goers, who had typically ranged in age from as young as 8 to as old as 50 — the late night yard parties of Trenchtown, that many researchers have tried to link to Kool Herc, were for adults only. Finally, what about the Jamaican toasting tradition? Again, in Kool Herc’s own words:
Jamaican toasting? Naw, Naw. No connection there. I couldn’t play reggae in the Bronx. People wouldn’t accept it. The inspiration for rap is James Brown and the album Hustler’s Convention .
Final Analysis of the Jamaican-Origins Narrative
Overall, for their tireless research and work and invaluable contribution to hip hop studies, I respect Jeff Chang and similar authors; some of their other findings were and are still in-line with the realities of hip hop/rap music, then and now. But with regards to their advancement of the Jamaican-origins narrative of the creation of hip hop/rap music, they are wrong. To equate Kingston, Jamaica as the cradle of hip hop/rap music, in a similar way to how one equates Mississippi and Chicago with the blues, or the way one equates New Orleans, Chicago, or Kansas City with jazz is, at worst, a conscious attempt to overstate Jamaica’s non-existent influence over the origins of hip hop/rap music. At best it’s a woefully misleading exaggeration.
Hip hop was not directly shaped by Jamaican dub and reggae; moreover, Jamaican music did not provide the “diagram” for hip hop. Parallels existed, mainly in terms of (1) sonic priorities — bass and volume; (2) a focus on rhythm and groove — tropes important to all popular black musics of the period; and (3) DJs as figureheads (in the Bronx, a descendent link to disco DJs is more appropriate for understanding the early development of hip hop/rap music). But these are parallels between two burgeoning music traditions — one in the United States and the other in Jamaica — that were functioning at roughly the same time. It’s not however an instance of one music tradition giving rise to or guiding the other. Did Clive Campbell bring some Jamaican musical customs with him when he migrated to the South Bronx as a child? Perhaps. About as much as any 12-year old kid could have when he migrated to the United States at the close of the 1960s.
Kool Herc’s role in the development of hip hop/rap music and hip hop culture in general is unquestioned. His contributions are absolutely central to the birth of hip hop/rap music and the formulation of the collective hip hop cultural movement of the time. For that, he should always be remembered and revered, and his efforts should never be tarnished. However, in the interest of historical accuracy, Kool Herc’s contributions should never be misrepresented or overstated, or air brushed into a flawed historical narrative of the beginnings of hip hop/ rap music — a narrative that even Herc rejects. Likewise, the contributions of DJ Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaataa, respectively, should not be understated or conveniently neglected to support such an inaccurate historical narrative.
Finally, In lieu of the features and developments of the Jamaican music culture — ca. 1968 to 1973 — we must look at those features and developments for what they are: The ingredients of an absolutely amazing musical culture that made a major contribution to twentieth-century popular music, but a musical culture and tradition that did not have a direct connection to or major influence on the origins of hip hop/rap music in the specific, and certainly not on hip hop culture in general. Although my findings contradict earlier research on this matter, it should really come as no surprise to the authors that I’ve mentioned in this section. After all, in their bibliographies, they’ve cited some of the very same books that I do. And two books in particular that appear in the bibliographies of some other hip hop historians, Stephen Hager’s Hip Hop (1984) and David Toop’s Rap Attack (1984), leave little room for misinterpretation; and both books offer evidence that debunk the Jamaican-origins narrative of hip hop/ rap music’s beginnings.
Whatever parallels that existed between Jamaican music culture of the early 1970s and hip hop/rap music of the same period are merely examples of the type of similarities (and perhaps coincidences) that can often be found throughout all musics of the Afro-diasporic. To misread these parallels, or worse, to misinterpret them as having had a pivotal role in the creation of hip hop/rap music is not only detrimental to accurately understanding the roots of hip hip hop/rap music and the art of sampling in the hip hop/rap music tradition, it’s detrimental to comprehending the unique origins and scope of hip hop culture itself. What was happening in the Bronx, ca. 1970-1973, was developing irrespective of what was going on in Jamaica during the very same period.
Move, Rock, Dance, Sucka: The Summary
Although hip hop is indeed a music-based culture, it should be understood that it grew from the coalescence and informal unification of four distinct art forms (graffiti writing, b-boying, DJ’ing, and rapping) that were brewed first in the streets of the South Bronx, then soon after in other areas throughout NYC. And prior to Afrika Bambaataa dubbing his parties “hip hop parties” (ca. 1975-76), each artistic expression represented its own subculture, complete with its own creative aesthetics and priorities, its own slang, and even its own fashion. And it’s important to remember that most early hip hop pioneers participated in at least two of the four elements. Because of the heavy cross-participation in each of the four elements, there was much creative (especially stylistic), ideological, and philosophical overlap. And the hip hop sensibility was the common thread that underscored and linked the four original elements. Thus, by the time that the 1970s had drawn to a close, hip hop had been established as a New York City subculture, one complete with its own music, dance, graphic art, fashion, slang, and underlining philosophy. It would not be long, however, before this little known NYC (mostly Bronx-based) subculture would explode around the rest of America, and then the globe. But the catalyst of this explosion would not be hip hop DJs, who up until 1979 were the central figures in hip hop; it would be rappers.
Finally, I’m compelled to point out that there were countless graffiti writers, b-boys (and b-girls), DJs, and rappers that never quite made it to the “top.” But this does not erase the critical roles that these unsung architects played in the development of hip hop. In history, it’s those names that rise to or near the top that are the ones most often remembered. But it’s the flooded ranks of the unknowns, who no doubt contributed immensely to the purpose, that we must never forget to also honor. Therefore, I honor the less-known contributors and shapers of hip hop. And I offer this chapter as a humble re-payment for a debt of gratitude that I’ve carried for them all.
“Move, rock, dance, sucka!” That says it all.