The Rawkus Era: Hip-Hop's Last Great Hope

This goes out to all area cliques...

(Ed.'s Note: What follows is a submission from Straight Bangin' Hot Isht Bureau Chief and Dork Magazine co-founder James. It was written in response to the discussion from last week about Cam, snitching, Kelefa, and all that. Big up to James, and please discuss.)


The Rawkus Era: Hip-Hop's Last Great Hope.

I remember the Rawkus era; I really thought Mos & Kweli were leading a movement that would bring some much needed intellectualism and levity to hip hop. They were basically outcasts in hip-hop and had to suffer through endless idiotic questions like "are you conscious?" or "why are you conscious?" Eventually all the pressure changed them. I'm not saying they sold out. If you ask me, Mos has given up any hope of being the kind of hip hop artist he wanted to be (the kind with street appeal, as well as college radio appeal). Kweli is still trying, but he’s seen better days. Where was the criticism then? There was a thriving underground scene and a number of great R&B acts as well. They were all marginalized. So after all that the Imus debacle has exposed in hip-hop, I’m pretty cynical about hip-hop getting it’s act together. The music has gone too far down the road of nihilism and anti-intellectualism to turn back.

But some context is needed, lets go back to July 2, 1996. Tupac was dead and Biggie had less than a year of life ahead of him. Jay-Z was winning over fans with Reasonable Doubt, an engaging album about an introspective hustler. Two albums dropped that day, and both would prove pivotal in the direction hip-hop was going in.

The first was It Was Written by the 22-year-old Nasir Jones. The album disappointed fans and critics alike, and not because it was bad (it was and still is a great album), but because we expected Nas to transcend the gangster aesthetic that was (and still is) de rigueur, with the street reporting he made legendary on Illmatic. Instead, we got Nas Escobar and he was rapping (and supposedly living) the "drug dealer’s dream." Here’s a review from Rolling Stone, back in the day:

Literary skill is not the prime attribute of most hardcore rappers; these days the main attraction in hip-hop seems to be authenticity, not articulation. So the second album from Nas is frustrating. It Was Written proves that this New York native from the borough of Queens possesses a phenomenal way with words and some savvy musical sense. It's a pity that he doesn't put his verbal dexterity and powers of observation to better use.

"If I Ruled the World," Nas' current hit single, is a less-than-representative example of his talents. It's more of a crossover con job. Amid the synth sweetening and the song's catchy chorus, Nas tips his hand and reveals his true vision: a place where we can raise our children in peace; marijuana is legal; cocaine comes uncut, so we can make more money from it; and cops can't go undercover to make a bust. The connections--and contradictions--may seem obvious, but Nas doesn't acknowledge any discrepancies. His self-serving dream world is the stuff of others' nightmares.

Nas was pressured to by Columbia to copy Big, who’d attained pop success with a mix of street singles, club songs, guest appearances on R&B records, and a silky smooth makeover courtesy of Puffy. The expectations for Nas to surpass Biggie in terms of record sales were high. Nas traded then manager MC Serch for Steve Stoute, and they conceived his second LP, It Was Written, a conscious attempt towards crossing over (the album went triple platinum). Perhaps Nas’ declaring Hip Hop Is Dead with his latest album came 10 years too late.

The other album released that day was Stakes Is High. Stakes Is High was the first De La album not produced by Prince Paul, and it was our introduction to the modern De La Soul, a trio of stalwarts who were defiantly opposed to hip-hop’s increasingly self-destructive ethos. This was best demonstrated with Dove’s verse on the title track of the album:

I'm sick of bitches shakin' asses
I'm sick of talkin' about blunts,
Sick of Versace glasses,
Sick of slang,
Sick of half-ass awards shows,
Sick of name brand clothes.
Sick of R&B bitches over bullshit tracks,
Cocaine and crack
Which brings sickness to blacks,
Sick of swoll' head rappers
With their sicker-than raps
Clappin’ gats
Makin' the whole sick world collapse
The facts are gettin' sick
Even sicker perhaps...

The album did poorly and proved that De La Soul and their brand of hip hop was no longer lucrative, meaning major labels weren’t going to waste money pushing it. Stakes Is High also introduced Mos Def and recast Common as a member of the Native Tongues. Stay with me, I’m taking this somewhere.

Enter Brian Brater and Jarret Meyer, two passionate (and possibly naïve) hip-hop fans, with a plan and a friend with a lot of money (James Murdoch, son of Rupert Murdoch). Here’s an excerpt from their bio:

In the Fall of 1995, the two of us, college friends from Brown University, saw a truly exciting underground movement emerging in New York's hip hop scene. Hip hop had always had an underground, but it had been a minor league, where artists cultivated their skills and awaited their shot at a deal on a major. But as the '90s progressed and the commercial potential of the genre became apparent to the majors, there became more and more pressure on the artists to emulate "the formula." In response to this the underground, instead of chasing the labels demands, did an about-face and began making music without regard for commercial palatability or crossover potential.

Of course all the labels ignored this movement and dismissed the artists. But we saw this as a tremendous opportunity. So, with bankrolling from another childhood friend, we started Rawkus and created a home for this rebel music. A truly grassroots movement, we released a string of 12's during 1996 and early '97, which we later repackaged as Soundbombing (the first label released mixtape), with the hopes that the cream would rise to the top. And it did, by that spring it was clear that we had 3 big acts on our hands: Company Flow, Talib Kweli, and, of course, Mos Def.

And that brings us back to the beginning; if there were any hope for hip-hop it was Rawkus. They had the money, the talent, and a noble mission. So what the fuck happened? After successful albums by Blackstar, Soundbombing 1 & 2, and Mos Def’s Black on Both Sides, reality began to set in. They inked a joint venture with MCA to take their proven talent mainstream. Sadly, MCA folded soon after the deal and Rawkus was purchased by Interscope/Geffen (the former home of Death Row, the current home of G-Unit and Aftermath). Interscope wanted to shift Rawkus's focus to something more marketable than underground acts making music they felt good about. The relationship didn’t last, but I think we all know what the executives at Interscope had in mind. Here’s what Hi-Tek had to say about Rawkus in an interview for allhiphop: "They took chances and gave their life to underground hip-hop when no one else would. I really appreciate them. I think Rawkus was part of keeping real hip-hop music alive in its down times." Sure Rawkus re-emerged in 2005, but they suck now. Sorry.

So, to those who say hip-hop isn’t so bad, I say you’re delusional--corporate forces dictate what will become popular. I mean, they have the money--they hold all the cards. But poet Taalam Acey does a better explaining this than me. Watch:



And to the people who still hope hip-hop can be a balanced representation of modern urban life, I was you 10 years ago and I got burned. Watch out.