“Now we more fucked up with a Mayor named Giuliani” - Hip-Hop and Rudy Giuliani

Between 1993-2001 Rudy Giuliani served under two terms as a Republican Mayor of New York City. Giuliani, the first Republican Mayor of NYC since 1965, would win the 1993 election by a little over 50,000 votes, campaigning on a platform centred on an oppressive crackdown on crime. Manhattan, The Bronx and Brooklyn voted in favour of the Democratic candidate David Dinkins, but Giuliani’s crushing victories in Queens and Staten Island, ultimately secured him the victory. Staten Island - the borough of New York City with the largest demographic of non-Hispanic whites - was,unsurprisingly, most influential in securing Giuliani's victory. The same demographic that would suffer least at the hands of Giuliani and Clinton's sweeping policy reform to welfare, housing and crime. 

The pointed opening bars to AZ’s Rather Unique touch upon this racial disparity precisely:

               “We was already moulded into people's minds as mulignanes

     Now we more fucked up with a mayor named Giuliani”

“Mulignane” is a racist epithet for black people, prominent in Italian-American Communities, and a deliberate rhyme pairing alongside Giuliani, an Italian-American himself. It is the corrupted form of the word “melanzane”, Italian for eggplant/aubergine, and is used to dehumanise black people. Within just two years of his premiership AZ is able to bring attention to the negative impact Giuliani's policy decisions were having on black and minority ethnic communities - a swift turnaround to say little else.

Giuliani’s 1993 campaign focused on a crackdown on “petty” crimes, the sort of on-going language that continues to see people of colour, such as Eric Garner, cruelly choked to death for allegedly selling cigarettes without a tax stamp. Giuliani wanted a crackdown on offenses such as graffitiing, turnstile jumping, cannabis possession and the notorious “squeegee men”. ‘Offenses’ so minor that one questions whether they even deserve the word. As a cornerstone of the hip-hop community, the attack on graffitiing culture would, of course, have an overwhelming effect on BME communities. This would not be the first time a New York Mayor attempted a crackdown on graffiti culture, dating back all the way back to the 1970s when graffitiing culture began to explode, and once again it existed under the pretence of maintaining order, as though somehow the aggressive policing of an act so minor would have a profound impact.

               This racialised form of policing was the backbone of Giuliani’s time as Mayor, set in stone by his approval of Crime Commissioner Bill Bratton, who would bring in sweeping “broken windows” policy reform. “Broken windows” policing has been well-documented by historians and critics in the decades since its introduction as an utter failure, designed to do little more than adversely effect Black and Minority Ethnic Communities, to help facilitate the prison-industrial complex. It’s introduction, alongside Bill Clinton’s grossly destructive “three-strike” criminal policy would spell disaster for young BME men across the United States. Previous misdemeanours, such as possession of small amounts of cannabis, would now stack up with devastating results. Reagan began the “War on Drugs”, but it was Clinton who would cement its legacy. In The New Jim Crow, Michelle Alexander highlights that “between 1980 and 2000, the number of people incarcerated in our nation’s prisons and jails soared from roughly 300,000 to more than 2 million.” Alexander exacerbates the destructiveness of this form of policing when she explains that “marijuana possession – a drug less harmful than tobacco or alcohol – accounted for nearly 80 percent of the growth in drug arrests in the 1990s”. Throughout the United States the disproportionate effect of the “War on Drugs” on BME communities would not lay dormant, and it is no coincidence that hip-hop’s explosion into the public sphere in the 80s and 90s came alongside a corrupt and racist system expanding at a gross rate.

In New York in the mid-to-late 1990s this anger was aimed at none other than one man: Rudy Giuliani. Biggie raps on Everyday Struggle, “I’m seeing body after body and our Mayor Giuliani/Ain’t tryna see no black man turn to John Gotti”; with just a hint of an underlying threat towards New York’s infamous Mayor. Rumour has it that New York’s crime families debated placing a hit on Guiliani, with John Gotti the only one to vote in favour. The lyric seems to reflect Giuliani’s focus on racist predictive policing, catching black men before they inevitably turn into the next John Gotti, where the threat would then turn on Giuliani himself. Even Nas indulged in pure vitriol, referring to Giuliani as the “6-6-6”, whilst Big L fantasises about his crew hanging him on his legendary 7 Minute Freestyle with Jay-Z. Hardcore New York hip-hop crew Screwball would release the bluntest affront to Giuliani. Titled Who Shot Rudy? the song gleefully hypothesises Giuliani’s assassination, and whilst it is little more than fiction, the popular sentiment towards Giuliani in the hip-hop community is abundantly clear.

Giuliani and his brand of police fascism would not only come up against the hip-hop world in verse. On January 14^th, 1999 two officers of the Street Crimes Unit would fire eight shots at an unarmed young black man; thankfully they would miss all eight shots. The officers would claim they were retaliating to shots fired at them, despite no weapons or shell casings other than their own at the crime scene. The young man, whose car was pulled over in Bedford-Stuyvesant, who was acquitted of any crime, and who narrowly escaped with his own life, was none other than Russell Jones aka Ol’ Dirty Bastard. It’s a scene all too often played out in America. A young black man is pulled over in his car, a racist police officer mistakes a cell phone for a gun, and another innocent life is taken by a corrupt racist system. The sort of system that suggests a broken window, or a broken taillight, can be the indicator of a potential murderer, rapist or drug pusher.

A little over two weeks later a young man named Amadou Diallo would fall victim to the Street Crimes Unit. An immigrant from Guinea, he moved to New York in 1996 with his family, where he would peddle videotapes, gloves and socks along the sidewalk of 14^th Street during the day. As harmless as a squeegee peddler, Amadou fit the profile of a ‘dangerous criminal’ Giuliani had marked out six years earlier. He was unarmed and shot outside of his apartment 41 times by four plain clothes officers. They would claim to mistake him for a rape suspect from one year earlier. All four would be acquitted at trial for second-degree murder. There could be no doubting AZ - “we” [the black and minority ethnic community of New York] were most definitely “more fucked up with a Mayor named Giuliani”.

Read More

The Patient Rise of Griselda

With the announcement this week of WESTSIDEDOOM, a collaborative EP from Westside Gunn and MF DOOM, the stock of Griselda Records continues to rise. Earlier this year, Conway and Westside Gunn – the highest profile members of Griselda (who happen to be brothers) – signed a distribution deal to Shady Records, Eminem and Paul Rosenberg’s label. In 2017, the two brothers from Buffalo, NY., are finally beginning to reap the rewards of years of hard work. It’s no surprise then that Griselda Records happens to share a name with the classical folklore tale of Griselda, made famous by Boccaccio and later Petrarch and Chaucer, titans of medieval literature.

In the traditional telling of the story, a young woman, Griselda, marries an important aristocratic man named Gaultieri, who cruelly tests her patience and obedience by subjecting her to an increasingly malicious series of lies. Gaultieri tests Griselda by declaring that she must give up her two children, who are to be put to death. Griselda gives up both of them without protest, but instead of murdering them, Gualtieri secretly sends them away to Bologna to be raised. Deciding this is not enough, Gaultieri raises the stakes higher, and declares to Griselda that he has been granted a papal dispensation to divorce her and marry a better woman. Once again, Griselda is obedient to his demands and returns to live with her father. Years later, Gualtieri chooses to remarry and demands Griselda to be a servant at his wedding. At the wedding he introduces her to a twelve year old, whom he claims is his wife to be, but who is actually their daughter. Griselda wishes them both happiness in their future, and at this final act of obedience, Gualtieri reveals that this fake bride is in fact Griselda’s child, and that she will be allowed to return to her place as mother and wife. If it somehow wasn’t blindingly clear, the story is disgustingly misogynistic, emphasising some of the worst aspects of patriarchal relations and male expectations of women. In Chaucer’s retelling in The Clerk’s Tale, although the story remains the same, the purpose behind the tale is subverted slightly from its patriarchal tradition. Chaucer writes:

“This storie is send nat for that wyves sholde
Folwen Grisilde as in humylitee,
For it were inportable, though they wolde,
But for that every wight, in his degree,
Sholde be constant in adversitee
As was Grisilde”

In essence, Chaucer commands the reader not to use the tale as a manual to follow, for to do so is frankly impossible, but that we should take from Griselda her strength, her constancy, in the face of adversity. Although, once again, this is not a particularly progressive message considering the immense emotional labour women in society are already placed under and the potential impact on mental health, it does poke at some related themes present in the music of Conway and Westside Gunn.

On ‘The Cow’, Conway reveals some of his own strength in the face of adversity. In a particularly moving verse from the Buffalo emcee, Conway remembers a late friend (Machine Gun Black) – “ask my baby momma how much I cried when Machine Gun died”. This is a move away from the usual blank face, cold bars that define their gritty aesthetic, a peek behind the curtain of unwavering emotional strength. Further on, Conway details his response to getting shot in the face – “You know what’s funny, I wanted to quit/ After I got shot in my head I seen my face like I’m done with this shit/ Trying to spit my verses and mumbling and shit/Face twisted up looking ugly and shit”. In a live performance earlier this year, Conway breaks down on stage at multiple points, overcome with emotion, it’s a poignant and painful reminder of the dangers of building up a Griselda persona.
This shedding back from the Griselda persona is rare for the two emcees though, who have built their reputation on the types of grimy, raw street raps that dominated the New York rap game in the mid-90s, and which have seen a renaissance of sorts in recent years with similar artists Ka, Roc Marciano and Your Old Droog. On ‘Mr. T’, Westside raps, “I’ma be fly forever if the stove work” and “If shit slow up, I’ma look prettier in the mask”, both times a pseudo-glorification of the street-drug dealer lifestyle is enacted. At other times the two emcees gloss over tragedies and tribulations with the bluntness of Griselda. “Empty out the Kel-Tec/ Til ain’t a shell left/ Bullets burn/ I can smell flesh/ I can smell death”. The opening bars to ‘1000 corpses’, where the horrorcore influence is clear, are phenomenal in crafting the image of a heartless killer, where the violence is so tangible that the listener can almost smell it too. A throwaway line on ‘Dunks’, Westside raps, “Learn your lesson, my man got 81 stressing”. This is not a plea for sympathy or a polemic on the state of the prison industrial complex, instead it’s a snippet of a story inside a story. An entire life tragically thrown away, that survives on in one line of a song, and yet Westside does not allow his icy mask to slip once.

If Griselda were named after the European folk tale, it’s an ingenious piece of aesthetic design, as the themes of that story seep into every aspect of their work. That patient, somewhat emotionally blunted approach to their lyricism, where the aesthetics of a drug deal or a murder or a car they drive define the whole song, bleeds out into everything they touch. Westside and Conway flow over beats in a manner that can, once again, best be described as patient. There’s no rushing to fit words into the beat count, every bar feels measured to mathematic precision, every word feels as though it has been painstakingly pondered over to paint the picture the song demands. Ironically, there has been little patience in the seemingly endless content they produce. Yet, within this irony exists the seed of another irony, they are patiently impatient, they are almost paradoxical in their output. It feels as though the two emcees could spend weeks writing a single verse, and yet for the past few years they have produced a whole stream of projects, mixtapes, features and singles. Conway’s debut label release, G.O.A.T, has been anticipated for some time, and yet it is not as though the rapper has been lacking in output. He has released projects with Prodigy, featured extensively on Benny and Westside’s works, and released his own mixtapes, including Reject on Steroids earlier this year. Still we clamour for more, we the listener become almost like Gualtieri, pressuring Griselda’s patience for more and more, testing the depth and range of their ability to see if it has a breaking point. So far, and with signs of the record label only ever-improving, Griselda hold strong. In rising in the rap game Griselda have been patient, not clamouring for commercial success, but ensuring a steady critical and professional acclaim that has seen their stock rise over the last few years. As they continue to reap the rewards of their hard work, it is now our turn to be patient towards their output as they continue to climb towards the top of the rap game.

Read More

A Look Back At: Clipse - Lord Willin'

Sometimes an easy way to understand an artists progression is through their album artwork. In two years and three albums 2Pac went from restrained and reflective on the cover of Me Against the World; brooding and proud on All Eyez On Me; and strung from a cross, martyred on his posthumous album The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory. It’s an ice-clear example of the artistic and personal progression Pac rapidly underwent in this space of time, reflecting the searing highs and lows his life bounced between, before his tragic death. 

Another ice-clear example of artistic progression and change as reflected in their artwork is Virginia’s favourite brother-rapper duo Clipse, who 15 years ago released their classic debut Lord Willin’. The hand drawn, highly stylised cover is reminiscent of Snoop Dogg’s classic Doggystyle, it exudes cockiness and swagger with Pusha and Malice riding in a Cadillac with Jesus in the backseat. In the background a sign proudly displays their hometown, Virginia Beach – a prominent theme on the album - , as well as some hints towards the social realities of the area, with the two brothers contrasted against the dilapidated buildings behind them. It’s a far cry from the dead-eyed stares, crowned in front of a wall of money with nothing but an oven and a stove pot, that defines their second classic album Hell Hath No Fury. The music of Lord Willin’ is a far cry from HHNF as well, it’s the swagger and lyrical style of Jay-Z and Biggie with a Southern twist, compared to HHNF’s Prodigy and Scarface imbued violence and paranoia. It’s an album with a youthful vigour, without another four years of industry bullshit to weigh them down, without the encroaching religious conscience of Malice and without the even further encroaching fear of the DEA. 

This sense of a youthful playfulness is emblematised perfectly by The Neptunes production, which is full of playful trumpet loops, their signature piercing drums, soulful samples, Pharell’s infectious hooks and funky bass lines– it’s music to dance to; it’s hard not to find yourself grooving to Grindin’, Young Boy or Ma, I Don’t Love Her without ever planning to. For an album whose predominant theme is selling coke, it’s a roaring testament to the timeless quality of The Neptunes that Clipse were able to stretch across genre appeal – Justin Timberlake’s Grammy nominated Like I Love You being the defining moment of this. Some beats feel a little dated now, FamLay Freestyle and I’m Not You are weak moments, the heaviness of the electronic influence leaving little to be desired, but they’re not helped by consistently weak features throughout. If the album suffers from any weak points it is the features, that lack the wittiness of Pusha and Malice, and as such just feel like they’re taking up space that one of the two MCs could better fill on their own. The astonishing skill of Clipse lies in the perfect balance between Pusha and Malice, who mirror and work off of each other so perfectly that other MCs tend to feel like they’re spoiling the broth. 

On Young Boy Pusha and Malice share memories of growing up in Virginia, practicing “gangsta leans” at thirteen, witnessing coke being cooked at four, how their grandma was a woman not to be messed with. For a Conservative right-wing pundit, the stories told might be a horror story, the racist terrors of growing up poor and black. For Clipse, with the help of The Neptunes’ up tempo beat, these are fond memories, touchstones of their youth – perhaps not a ‘normal’ youth, but theirs nonetheless. On When the Last Time the boys boast about their exploits with women, Malice declaring “club nights…one of the reasons I love life” and Pusha ending the song defiantly – “I’m a winner, man”. Pusha declares himself a king in two games at one point on the album, and the sentiment rings true. After nearly a decade of record label struggle, these two brothers would catapult themselves to commercial and critical success, and it wouldn’t even be their only source of income (allegedly). If the album perhaps lacks a depth and variety of content, it’s difficult to hold it against them too much – Clipse came out the gates with a celebration lap; the confidence and delivery in their own self-worth is infectious, you can’t help but like them. 

Those dilapidated buildings that point to a degree of social realism are lightly alluded to on the track Virginia, which acts in a similar vein to the palate cleansing Murder Was Tha Case on Snoop’s classic debut. The hook reveals a bleak lack of opportunity in the community, Pusha bluntly explaining that “I’m from Virginia, where ain’t shit to do but cook”. Pusha seems to straddle the line between confidence and insecurity on the track, “Lost it all, from lives to love/But my faith and money helped me rise above”. The lifestyle that he owes so much of his success to, and so much of his confidence and swagger on the album, slowly starts to crack before the listeners eyes. Yet, Pusha and Malice are always in strict control of how much of their inner self they wish to reveal. The line, “I miss you Shampoo, We miss you Shampoo” offers a glimpse of emotional honesty otherwise absent on the album, before Pusha snatches it away with his wry sense of humour by following it up with “And your grams too…”. Malice’s verse similarly is slightly more autobiographical than elsewhere on the album, but he pulls back even harder when the armour starts to slip – “what I look like spending my nights in jail,/ I could never be a thug they don’t dress this well”. We can forgive him though, because he ends his verse with two of the hardest bars ever spit. In a month where various fascist and neo-Nazi groups have rallied against the removal of Confederate monuments, Malice offers a wonderfully ironic ode to the racist history of the American South. If you don’t know it, go and listen now. 

Lord Willin’ is an interesting album on reflection. It’s full of witty punchlines, clever metaphors, hard bars and braggadocio delivery, and The Neptunes offer a wonderful contrast with their upbeat, funky and soulful production playing off against their lyrical content. At times the album can feel a little sparse on content, that ferociousness they unleash on HHNF is still waiting to boil over, and their structure and penmanship still has a way to go. But what HHNF has in its unrivalled lyricism and thematic coherence, Lord Willin’ has in its Souther swagger, its gangsta lean that leaves you with a smile on your face and a tap in your step when you throw the album on and take a trip down memory lane. Each Clipse album, and each Pusha and Malice solo project, operates within a unique space in time – the two brothers wear there emotional state on their sleeves; with Lord Willin’ they were on top of the world – and sometimes happiness, confidence, swagger and so on is good, sometimes it can imbue its readers with this state of mind too. In the troubled waters that lie ahead for 2017, I think we could all do with a little more confidence and swagger. 

Read More

A guide (of sorts) to Bushwick Bill

Born December 8^th 1966 in Jamaica, Bushwick ‘Richard Stephen Shaw’ Bill is a Jamaican-American rapper who rose to prominence in the late 80s and early 90s as part of the rap group Geto Boys. A central figure in the Houston rap scene, Bushwick and the Geto Boys helped put Southern hip-hop on the map, paving the way for entire new generations of MCs. Overshadowed by his fellow Geto Boys member Scarface, Bushwick is an important figure in rap history in his influence on Southern, gangsta and horror-core rap, who since the dawn of the 21^st century has struggled to maintain the same importance and reverence that I feel he deserves from rap fans. The Geto Boys are a legendary group, essential listening for any hip-hop fan, with multiple classic albums, and Bushwick is the only member to remain since the groups first reformation in 1988 – admittedly he was only a hype man and dancer on the first album, but he would come into his own in the group with subsequent releases.

Interviews with Bushwick reveal some absurd stories from his life, including the now famous cover of We Can’t Be Stopped, which sees Bushwick being pushed through hospital by Scarface and Willie D after he had attempted to kill himself. The background to this story is that Bushwick forced his own girlfriend to shoot him in the eye by threatening to hurt their child so he could claim insurance money to help his mother; he even awoke in the morgue after doctors had declared him dead, now blind in one eye. He covers this event on his album Little Big Man in the song ‘Ever So Clear’.

Bushwick’s early solo albums are also impressive, the rapper tackling heavy themes of depression, suicide, and American politics, alongside his trademark gangster and horror-core blend of rap. His output has continued to persist into the 21^st century, if lacking the same relevancy he achieved in the 80s and 90s, but his dedication to the rap game has not dwindled. This guide aims to look at the essential works of Bushwick Bill, to shine insight onto an oft-forgotten MC who is a masterful storyteller, able to intertwine comedy, tragedy and horror with the deftest of touch. 

 Making Trouble (1988)

Critically panned and a commercial failure, the Geto Boys’ first album barely received any attention at the time of release, with the resulting changes to the group that occurred because of the disappointing reception leaving this record to be largely forgotten. Bushwick Bill does not feature until the final track, and even then he is only given a small speaking role – perhaps if the MC had been given more opportunities to rap the album wouldn’t have been such a failure, but then perhaps this would have stopped the later classics that were released? For what it’s worth, ‘Assassins’ has been called the first ever horror-core track, and ‘Why do we live this way?’ stills hold up today – the verses are reasonably basic, but the production carries the track, including a fantastic jazz-solo at the end over the beat. The album is by no means essential, but could be an interesting listen for fans interested in the history of the Geto Boys and Southern rap in general.

Grip It! On That Other Level (1989)

With the failure of Making Trouble, Scarface and Willie D were brought into the group, and the Geto Boys that we know and love today was born. Grip It! has been compared to Straight Outta Compton for its controversial, politically charged and shocking lyrics, and whilst it’s impact and influence was not as far reaching as the seminal NWA classic, it’s still an exceptional record. The production is very much of the period and may be off putting for new listeners unaccustomed with the Geto Boys’ sound, but it’s a fitting backdrop for the newly formed group, complimenting their blunt and brutal sound. Willie D and Scarface (then going as DJ Akshen) dominate the record, with Face’s flow and persona quite different to the artist he would transform into on follow up records. As for Bushwick, of the three MCs he’s given the least to do on the record, but when he does rap, he shines. ‘Size Ain’t Shit’ is all Bushwick, a hilarious track that sees Bushwick explain how easily he’ll fuck you up and please your woman if you take his size for granted. On ‘Trigga-Happy Nigga’ Bushwick brilliantly tells the story of a liquor store robbery, before rounding out the album on ‘Mind of a Lunatic’ with one of the most shocking, horrific stories verses ever laid on wax. I won’t spoil the content of it, because if you haven’t heard it you need to now; needless to say before Tyler, The Creator, Eminem or Big L there was Bushwick Bill and he was making everyone else look tame.

We Can’t Be Stopped (1991)

The follow up album to Grip It!, We Can’t Be Stopped is another essential album in the pantheon of Southern hip-hop, taking the core shock-rap the group made their name on and venturing deeper into the politics of it. The opening title track sees Willie D and Bushwick trading bars over their previous album, calling out the racist hypocrisy of major label Geffen Records, and the failure of the media to report the ugly reality of being black in America. The rest of the album follows in a similar fashion, the Boys saying what they feel and not apologising for it, and whilst sometimes this can make for uncomfortable listening, particularly in regards to the misogyny present throughout, it’s unsurprising for a group that tried to push the boundaries of what you can and can’t say. The album is best when it’s not trying to immediately shock for the sake of it, such tracks as ‘I Ain’t With Being Broke’ earnestly tackling poverty, and Bushwick’s solo track ‘Fuck A War’ ripping to shreds the United States military, which includes one of rap’s best intro skits. The delivery across the album from all three MCs is fast, angry and blunt, and the production holds up far better than Grip It!. It’s an album that’s a shock to the system and Bushwick, Scarface and Willie D are all on top form weaving politics, shock rap, storytelling and bleak comedy to form their unique sound. Finally, of course, the album includes ‘Mind Playing Tricks On Me’; the Geto Boys’ haunting, intoxicating tale of drug infused paranoia and violence. Simply one of the best songs ever made.

Little Big Man (1992)

 

Bushwick Bill’s first solo album is a fun, silly and solid effort. It’s far from a classic album or even essential, but fans of Bushwick and the Geto Boys will certainly enjoy it. There are some great hyped up tracks, including the titular ‘Little Big Man’ and ‘Call Me Crazy’, the latter of which has a really wild, enjoyable hook to rap along to. The production is fairly standard early 90s, but it holds up quite well, dominated by strong drums and basslines, with some funky and soulful samples laced throughout for good measure to break up the potential monotony of it. Bushwick covers his usual topics, including his relationships with women, his height difference and his crazier side; all of which are tackled in his juxtaposed style of black comedy. ‘Ever So Clear’ is the stand out track on the album, the most personal song that explains the story of how he lost his eye and the famous cover of the Geto Boys’ We Can’t Be Stopped album. The production on this track has underlying tender beauty to it, complimenting Bushwick’s honesty about his impoverished background, physical disabilities, depression, paranoia and other personal tragedies that is difficult to listen to, providing a new insight into the psychotic, gangster persona that is normally fronted. This sort of deeply intimate and personal track is indicative of Bushwick’s importance at the forefront of rap, willing to open his soul to the listener long before this became the norm.

  

Till Death Do Us Part (1993)

 

Bringing in Big Mike to replace the recently departed Willie D, the Geto Boys’ fourth album is a safe, solid effort in their already strong catalogue. Offering the cleanest production of their albums up until this point; a steady Southern boom bap laced with funky basslines, but it ultimately lacks the abrasiveness of their first few efforts, reflecting a lack of energy throughout the album. Scarface steps up as the main MC on the album, however, and he is impressive throughout, especially on tracks like ‘Street Life’ and ‘It Ain’t’ – setting the stage for his classic solo release The Diary a year later. Outside of Face, Bushwick and Big Mike are unimpressive, trading basic rhymes about the gangsta rap lifestyle, without any of the forced shock of their previous efforts. There’s very little to fall in love with or hate about this album, it’s simply a safe effort and it’s clear that the change in group dynamic put the Boys on the back pedal. This is a nice album if you’re in the mood for some mindless Southern hip hop, but it’s far from the best Bushwick and the Geto Boys have to offer.

Phantom of the Rapra (1995)

Returning to another solo album, Bushwick released the excellent Phantom of the Rapra, and I’ve often felt it acts as a companion piece of sorts to 2Pac’s classic 1995 album Me Against The World. I don’t think anyone is going to argue that this album is better than MATW, but if you’re in the mood for more brooding, dark, angry and emotionally raw music then Phantom of the Rapra is certainly worth a listen. Bushwick’s style is honed and refined on this album, flowing with a relaxed Southern drawl that sees him ride the beat as well as he has ever done in his career. He’s rapping near his peak on this album, carrying it with barely any features, and packing in an enormous breadth of content. The concept of an opera x rap crossover is an interesting one, and at times Bushwick truly embraces the performative nature of both genres, rapping as though he’s the last man on earth – a crazed messenger for the end of the world. Tracks like ‘Wha Cha Gonna Do?’, ‘Times Is Hard’ and ‘Only God Knows’ are brilliant, painful listening; ‘Who’s the Biggest?’ and ‘Subliminal Criminal’ are angry, posturing tracks; and the final track ‘Mr. President’ is a first amendment address attacking the hypocrisy in blaming the rap game for violent crime, with some fantastic synth filled production. The second half of the album undoubtedly is weaker than the first, ‘Inhale Exhale’ and ‘The Bushwicken’ are forgettable, and it can’t quite capture the cutthroat honesty of the first half. Ultimately, on this record Bushwick hones his craft as a rapper, pushing his boundaries in terms of concept albums, but still grappling with the themes that have defined his career until this point. Bushwick has never been a particularly nuanced or subtle MC, but when he’s on point he can cut right to the core of the listener as well as anyone else.

The Resurrection (1996)

The aptly titled fifth Geto Boys album sees the return of the most beloved three members: Scarface, Bushwick Bill, and Willie D. With production led by Mike Dean (of Kanye West collaborator fame), The Resurrection is arguably a Southern classic. Dean heralds the production on the album alongside N.O. JOE and Scarface, lending The Resurrection far better longevity than any of their other albums. Soul samples, funky basslines and a general sound that oozes Southern rap makes this feel like their most mature album. Largely gone are the pure-shock raps from their previous albums, instead the album switches back and forth between gangster rap and hard-hitting political songs. It perhaps feels less like a Geto Boys’ album because Scarface takes the lead on verses, and whilst he is clearly the most gifted member of the three, Bushwick and Willie D do feel somewhat side-lined. Bushwick’s verses are few and far between, but they’re really strong throughout; ‘The World Is a Ghetto’, ‘Time Taker’ and ‘I Just Wanna Die’ are brilliant, open-hearted tracks, with Bushwick continuing to follow on from his style in Phantom of the Rapra. There are a handful of good features throughout, including members of FACEMOB and Menace Clan, but the album is strongest when the three members are on the track together. At this point in time if you don’t like the Geto Boys, you probably won’t like this album, but on The Resurrection the Geto Boys refined their style to its peak, offering an ode to the South and Southern rap in general that stands the test of time.

Concluding Thoughts

If this guide seems somewhat short it’s because it is. There are already seven Bushwick Bill albums that I have recommended to varying degrees, and more than an enough content to get to grips with and become a fan of, despite his lofty career after 1996. In a matter of seven years Bushwick Bill was involved in seven original albums, as well as a remix of Grip It! that came out in 1990. Essentially releasing a new album every year, Bushwick not only has the quantity but also the quality, pioneering Southern hip hop with the Geto Boys and releasing three classic albums in this period. Whilst his solo albums have never quite reached the lofty heights of his work with the Geto Boys, there’s still a lot to be enjoyed, and in his heart-wrenching lyrical honesty Bushwick was at the forefront of brutally autobiographical rap, the likes of which 2pac, Nas and Scarface made a career out of. A legendary MC who has arguably been forgotten with time, emphasised by the fact that the Geto Boys were unsuccessful in Kickstarting an album recently, I hope that this guide sheds some light on Bushwick Bill and the Geto Boys, and encourages more people to give his and their work a chance.

Read More

Returning to the language of GZA's Liquid Swords

GZA. The Genius. 'He the head, let's put it that way. We form like Voltron, and GZA happen to be the head.' 

Rap is a notoriously competitive genre of music, with MCs claiming to be the best as soon as they step up to the mic, and whilst the respect to the previous generation of MCs as being the greatest is always there, the importance of their role existing in the past cannot be ignored. Rarely will an MC claim they are not the greatest in the moment that they exist. So for Method Man (and the Wu-Tang Clan as a whole) to hold up GZA as 'the head', the apex, perhaps the most important piece in the Wu-Tang puzzle, it is clear that someone special is being revered. The bars from GZA on Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) are often excellent: 'My Wu-Tang slang is mad fucking dangerous/And more deadly than the stroke of an axe/ Chopping through your back *swish*, giving bystanders heart attacks' or 'I gamed Ella, the bitch caught a Fitz like Gerald-/-ine Ferraro, who's full of sorrow cause the ho didn't win/ But the sun will still come out tomorrow'. Yet, in a debut album packed full of now legendary MCs it's hard to truly stand above the rest like Method Man claims GZA did at the time, and so it's not until the release of his 1995 solo classic Liquid Swords that the breadth of his lyrical genius fully flourishes.  

The legendary cover of the album sees the Wu battling on top of a chess board; the stars of the universe their backdrop. A battle is perhaps slightly biased against the Wu, for this is no battle, but a slaughter - their cheap imitators are dispatched with brutal ease. At the centre background of the cover is a slightly more mystical figure. Arms crossed, dressed in a cloak rather than a hoody, he does not engage in battle but instead calmly watches over like an ancient war-weary commander. Perhaps it's meant to represent GZA? Perhaps not. The ancient meets the new; violence meets civilisation; the minutia of the chessboard meets the grandeur of the universe; RZA 'meets' GZA. It is this final clash that this is most interesting. Both men symbolise the chess board, the Wu-Tang soldiers, and the central leader. 

Discussions about Liquid Swords tend to revolve around a handful of adjectives: dark, gritty, winter, and basement to name the most recurring ones. They point towards a sound and atmosphere of Liquid Swords that it captured perfectly, and whilst these descriptors have been repeated to the point of parody, it's a testament to the quality of the album that they continue to be such a focal point of discussion. RZA's production is indeed emblematic of a musical blacksmith forging his masterpiece in a grimy, dusty, marijuana hazed New York basement. GZA's lyrics, whilst always praised, perhaps sometimes miss out on the credit they deserve in creating the consistent sound of the album. Like the cover, it's an album in perfect balance; GZA's lyrics require RZA's production and vice-versa. For those of us without a musical background, we cannot properly discuss the production of the album outside of somewhat vague emotive descriptors, but getting into the nitty-gritty of GZA's language is a little easier. 

[Liquid Swords could be taken through an extensive line by line analysis, but that would take far too long, and RapGenius has already attempted that. Instead, here's a selection of lyrics from that album that I love and wanted to explore further.]

'Fake niggas get flipped/In mic fights I swing swords and cut clowns/ Shit is too swift to bite your record and write it down/ I flow like the blood on a murder scene, like a syringe/On some wild out shit, to insert a fiend' (A return to the cover will quickly show the mirroring occurring here) 

From the offset this record is a declaration of rap prowess through the lens of violence - any who attempt to challenge me will be murdered on the mic. The third line is reflective of the intent, with the internal rhymes of 'shit/swift' and 'bite/write' allowing the smooth progression from one syllable to the next so that the line is finished before it can be processed. GZA's flow is at one with the violence he describes; pouring forth from him like blood from a dead body, or like drugs into a user's veins - the near palpable sense of disgust in his voice is representative of a man whose raps aren't simply better than yours, they will physically harm you as well. That handful of adjectives recurs again, but it's simply so hard to escape. Structurally GZA's album is violent from the offset; in its metaphors, its delivery, and its intent, and by the time the first verse is finished, images of 'zodiac signs', 'roundhouse kicks', 'cyclones or tycoons', and 'megaton bombs' have been spat. The physicality of the imagery is so brutally unapologetic that it's difficult to feel as though GZA is not coming after the listener himself, as if stepping into a cold, dark lair where we do not belong. 

'Yo, picture blood baths and elevator shafts/ Like these murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft'

In an interview with Neil DeGrasse Tyson GZA talks about how the imagery of 'blood baths' in 'elevator shafts' is in reference to kids that lost limbs whilst playing around in elevator shafts when he was growing up. This graphic detail is indicative of the way GZA builds layer upon layers into just a couple of rhymes, all the while revolving around that thematically consistent imagery. Here this imagery, which is eerily fitting to Stanley Kubrick's horror classic The Shining, is an example of the subtle politics of GZA's raps. This is not an immediate political statement on the minority struggle in America, but a glimpse into the world of the underprivileged, where horrific accidents involving children become normalised in underfunded federal housing. The layers build in the following line, where the imagery is repurposed from a combination of realism with horror core to GZA's violent style of braggadocio rap. There's even an element of black comedy, with the informal introduction of 'Yo' inviting the listener in, only to immediately repel. GZA's ability to pack all these different styles into two lines without any sense of a jarring awkwardness is a technical marvel, and this is just one instance of this level of intricacy that occurs throughout the album. 

'Look out for these fatal flying spikes, of massive/ Sleep-holds, put strangle on commercial angle/ Microphone cords tangled from being Star Spangled'

Metaphor, assonance, onomatopoeia, rhyming couplets - rolling these lyrics off the tongue with ease, GZA reflects on the state of the hip-hop industry and its increasing commercialisation with a mastery of poetic technique. The internal rhymes build upon one another: 'strangle', 'angle', 'tangled', 'Star Spangled'. Leading towards a crescendo of mockery, as GZA avoids a tangling of the tongue and flaunts his lyrical ability whilst not conforming to the increasing commercialisation that he sees around him. Once again, his braggadocio threats of violence return, and the use of onomatopoeic phrases like 'fatal flying spikes' drive home the fierce intent of his words to actively go against the 'commercial angle'. It's a line that is self aware of its intent, as GZA avoids the pitfalls of commercialisation throughout the album with classic East Coast production and a lyrical sensibility that would leave a white suburban family mentally scarred. 

'The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release triggers/ And live large and bigger than my nigga/ Who promised his mom a mansion with a mad room/ She died and he still put a hundred grand in her tomb/ Open wounds, he hid behind closed doors/ And still organises crime and drug wars'

GZA's storytelling ability is often under appreciated, especially when Liquid Swords came out at a similar time to Wu-Tang member Raekwon's crime epic Only Built 4 Cuban Linx, which is an album renowned for its narrative structure. As with all things GZA he is less explicit than this, and rather than focusing on entire narratives in a song he paints fictional worlds in just a few lines, reminiscent of writers like Kafka and Hemingway. In this example, we see the cyclical destruction in the life of a drug lord. Despite the wealth he accrues, he cannot save his mom from dying and delivering on his promise, instead the attempts at emotional fulfilment by leaving the money in her tomb only add to the sense of desperation. GZA's contrast of 'open wounds' and 'closed doors' subverts the external-internal norms of the criminal underworld, where emotions are hidden and an image of power flaunted about for respect. The damning final line highlights his continued involvement in this lifestyle; unable to escape the cycle of violence his emotional trauma is left to fester. GZA leaves no room for a 'happy' ending, instead the listener is left to reflect on the harsh realities of the drug world, rather than the glamorised perceptions that other rapper's might propagate. 

'It ain't hard to see my seeds need God-degree/ I got mouths to feed, unnecessary beef is more cows to breed' 

Perhaps less so than any other example from this list, the immediate quality of this line is not as apparent. It's fundamentally a connect the dots of internal rhymes. Starting at 'see' and ending at 'breed', GZA has a total of eight internal rhymes (some para/half rhymes) and it's a fluency of assonance that is rarely seen. To pack so many internal rhymes into two lines and for it to still tell a cogent message is by no means an easy feat, and this fact becomes more impressive when you realise GZA just drops this into a wider verse as a whole, calmly dispatching these impressively and then casually moving onto the next line, as though this poetry is something completely natural. The metaphor of consumption is deftly intricate, with GZA recognising the fact he has to raise his kids alongside a lifestyle that can have dangerous consequences. GZA never relents in his desire to go against the commercialised grain, opting to introduce complex rhyme schemes as and when he pleases. The layers of his talent are rich and rewarding to the observant listener, where even lines that may not seem overtly impressive on a first listen offer so much more hidden depth on repeat - this is but one of these. 

'Like my man Muhammad from Afghanistan, grew up in Iran/ The nigga runs a neighbourhood newsstand/ A wild Middle Eastern, bomb specialist/ Initiated at eleven to be a terrorist/ He set bombs in bottles of champagne/ And when niggas popped the cork, niggas lost half they brains'

Another example of GZA's aforementioned storytelling talent, however, this one is focused on darkly comedic imagery alongside perfectly structured rhyming couplets. In just three couplets the story of an Afghani bomb maker is laid out before the listener. Details of his childhood, his current livelihood and his underground activities are revealed, and whilst orientalist cultural stereotypes leer throughout, GZA is able to create another eccentric character in the universe of Liquid Swords. The icing on the cake is the final two lines, with the wonderfully creative murder weapon of 'bombs in bottles of champagne' revelling in a wickedly playful side of GZA's writing that conjures up a wholly unique image. The ostentatious nature of popping a champagne cork only to be met with a shockingly violent response borders on the absurd, and yet in the universe of Liquid Swords that GZA has created it is entirely plausible. 

'Kids are slinging in my lobby/ Little Steve and Bobby/ Getting paid but it's a life-threatening hobby/ Yeah, they still play hide and seek/ The fiends seek for the crack, and they hide and let the cops peep'

Playful, political, subversive, comedic, tragic. The adjectives in which to describe Liquid Swords are so much greater than that handful initially touched upon, for it is an album of far greater depth than listeners often give it credit for, even in their flattering praise. The five given at the beginning of this paragraph are by no means a conclusive list either, but they are certainly fitting for the last example on this list. It is political in the reality of the ghetto situation in America, where kids no longer play innocent games of hide and seek, instead these expectations are subverted and the kids' game of hide and seek now revolves around the drug trade. Trapped in a terrifying, near-unimaginable situation for the majority of GZA's audience (myself included), his throwaway line naming them 'Steve' and 'Bobby', names that bounce with rhythm and seem contradictory to the tone, is a moment of darkly comedic relief, only before we are immediately brought back into the tragic reality of their lives, and the lives of many others. On Liquid Swords GZA turns the listener into a piece of blu-tac, stretching and distorting experiences at a break neck speed, but with a deftness that avoids a breaking or tearing in the reality of the listener. The delicate balancing act present in his lyrics allows GZA to cover such a range of themes, tones and topics in mere lines that it's not only difficult to comprehend what's going on, but even more difficult to comprehend just how he created it. A true genius at work, indeed. 

Read More

Scarface - Deeply Rooted Review

Its been seven years since the last Scarface album, the well received Emeritus, and whilst I've only become a big Face fan within the last few months, the knowledge that he was to release a new album this year filled me with anticipation. As always, Scarface does not disappoint, and whilst the days of a stone-cold classic like The Diary or The Fix are probably behind us, Face always delivers strong content, and Deeply Rooted is no exception.

The album is fundamentally split into two styles: one where the production and lyrical content is that of Scarface as an exaggerated character - drug-slinging, gang banging and trapped; combined with Face's threatening voice and faster, more violent production. The other is far more introspective, softer instrumental production broken up with melodic hooks, which in turn tonally reinforces Scarface's emotional side, exploring ideas of fatherhood, his religion and self-worth. It's a contrast that has never been too distant in Face's previous work, where albums like The Diary have presented lyrical contrast from the legendary, haunting "I Seen a Man Die" to "G's" near-bragadoccio story telling. Yet, with Deeply Rooted this contrast is far more forced in the production styles than ever before, lending an album that feels slightly less cohesive as a whole, for example in the placement of the last song. It's another strong song on the album (there isn't a bad one on here), but it offers such a sharp tonal contrast after "Voices" that it always feels jarring, even after several re-listens.

Elsewhere on the album, the first eight tracks present the aforementioned rapper character, with typical themes presented in the always enjoyable Scarface flow, yet the anger present on "The Hot Seat" at Face's own incarceration and the chaotic fear at the heart of "Steer" are standout tracks, alongside some excellent work from Papa Reu and Z-Ro. It's worth mentioning, the two big name features on the album (Nas and Rick Ross) frankly deliver disappointing verses, neither of which really warrant further discussion. The final seven tracks are where Scarface starts to open his heart up a little bit, "God" is a typically strong John Legend feature, but it's elevated by Scarface's hopeful and tragic exploration of his relationship with God. "Keep it Movin" looks at relationships and love, whilst "All Bad" and "Voices" delve into a melancholic look at life and Face's own valuation of his life. However, it's "You" that is the standout song on the album, with as-always excellent vocal work from Cee-Lo Green, Scarface goes in hard on his mistakes in life, opening up on his relationship with his mother and the fears that his mistakes in life will impact his own children. It's worth noting that "Anything" seems to advocate violence towards women, something that Scarface probably should have been mature enough to exclude, but it's far from anything worth spoiling the album as a whole.

Ultimately, whilst for many older fans of Scarface the wait has been long, it should not disappoint. The production is strong and always in cohesion with the lyrics, even if the album lacks a cohesive sense overall, and the hooks are all worthy of praise too. Lyrically, Scarface never lets you down, and as always his range of thematic depth after all this time is still impressive, the breadth of honesty that he writes with nearly always leads to an emotional, haunting project, and Deeply Rooted is another worthy addition to his discography.

8/10

Read More

The 5 Hip-Hop Biopics I Want to See

With the recent release of Straight Outta Compton, the biopic of rap group NWA, storming into cinemas and raking in a tidy $60.2 million along the way, we might just be about to see some of the greatest hip hop artists get the big screen treatment. Here are the five that I'd love to see:

1. MF DOOM

Superhero films are all the rage right now, so it only seems fair that THE super villain gets some screen time of his own, and after all, there are fewer interesting stories to tell in hip hop than that of the enigmatic DOOM. Starting his career in the early 90s with the hip-hop group KMD (then known as Zev Love X), alongside his brother Subroc and Onyx the Birthstone Kid, the group were weeks away from releasing a politically charged classic in Black Bastards before tragedy struck. Subroc was killed in a car accident, and the record label dropped Black Bastards due to its controversial cover art. From here, it looked as though DOOM's career in hip-hop was finished, he spent years out of the industry, allegedly living it rough on the streets of New York, determined to take revenge on the "industry that had so badly deformed him". And take revenge he did, starting out free-styling at open mic events wearing women's stockings to cover his face, he would rapidly take on the moniker of MF DOOM and acquire the infamous mask. 1999 would see the release of his classic album Operation Doomsday, and the next seven or so years would see DOOM go on a streak in hip-hop that only a few can hold a candle to. DOOM's life, whilst rapped in so much mystery, is ripe for a biopic, because it's so damn interesting - few MCs can hold a candle to his discography, and even fewer to his character building (King Geedorah, Viktor Vaughn, DOOM). The life of Daniel Dumile deserves to be told on the big screen, for its not just a story of the black struggle in America, it's also a story of the inner strength of one man to fight back against personal demons, industry bullshit and pure bad luck to become one of the greatest to hold a mic. Just remember the all caps when you spell the man's name!


2. AFRIKA BAMBAATAA

Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaataa. These are the three men who created hip-hop from the fires of the Bronx, but it's Afrika that has the most interesting story to tell. From a young age Afrika was a key player in the Bronx gangs, acting as a warlord for the Black Spades - one of the biggest gangs in the Bronx - yet it was a trip to Africa that changed his view on life, and thus changed hip hop entirely. Hip-hop became a medium that could incite change, and Afrika was one of the most important figures in this. Founding the Universal Zulu Nation, Afrika helped draw kids out of the gangs and into the music scene, with the intention of building a youth movement from a new generation of outcasts that would have an authentic, liberating world view. Alongside his outstanding political work, Bambaataa had an important impact on the music itself, releasing a series of genre defining electro-tracks in the 1980s that would heavily influence the entire genre. Bambaataa is a legend in the game, he took hip-hop from a cultural movement and moulded it into a social and political one, helping change the lives of countless underprivileged youths throughout the entire world, Bambaataa - more than anyone else on this list - deserves a biopic so that he can continue to inspire countless generations.

3. WU-TANG CLAN

When it comes to hip hop as a purely musical medium, it's hard to top the simple number of classics that the Wu-Tang Clan has released over the years; from their genre defining debut Enter the 36 Chambers to Only Built for Cuban Linx Pt. II fifteen years later, no hip hop group can claim to have lasted for so long and so successfully as they have. The chances of getting ten of the most talented artists together, each with their own distinctive personalities, and managing to creating classic after classic after classic is unbelievable. This would be an incredibly fun film to create as well, from their days of selling drugs so that they could fund the studio time for their debut, to selling out worldwide tours and working with the best in the game (Biggie, Nas, DOOM etc.), the Wu-Tang Clan have most likely got an endless stream of stories to tell.

4. KANYE WEST

To be completely honest, this isn't a serious entry into the list, not because Kanye doesn't deserve it, but more because of the assumed idea I have in my head for this film. If there is ever going to be a Kanye biopic, I can only imagine that Kanye wants to star, direct, write, basically do everything with the film so that he can tell his story in the most outlandish way possible. Kanye's the most important hip hop artist of the last ten years, releasing classic albums, influencing the entire sound of the industry and just about pissing off half the world along the way, there are few characters like Ye. And so imagine what a film we would get if Kanye directed his own life's story - one thing is for certain, it would definitely divide a lot of people.

5. LAURYN HILL

Lauryn Hill is perhaps the most tragic story on this list, as she's arguably the most talented musician on the list. With the Fugees she released unbelievable records, and with The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill she released not only one of the greatest hip hop albums ever, but one of the greatest albums ever, period. Since then, however, her story has not been the dream it deserved to be - struggles with fame and anger at the music industry itself led to numerous controversies, and she has not released an album since her 1999 classic. Instead reunions with The Fugees came and went, she managed to infuriate the Catholic Church (not that that's a bad thing) all the while trying to balance a personal life, before in 2013 she served three months in prison for tax evasion. Recently though Lauryn Hill appears to be back to form, narrating an award winning documentary, and garnering critical acclaim for her musical work for this year's Nina Simone documentary. Despite this, in many ways, I don't want this biopic to be made, or at least not yet, Lauryn Hill doesn't need the full-force of the public eye judging her again, even if her story is an incredibly fascinating, yet sad one.
             

Read More