BIG APPLE RAP

Rip It Up, Issue 112, 1 November 1986, Page 18

BIG APPLE RAP

(Run DMC have turned white American rock and roll upside down. When Funkadelic sang, “Who says funk bands can’t play dance music, who says dance bands can’t play rock music, who says rock bands can’t play funk music ..." they were predicting the coming of Run DMC. And that’s right — if it’s good, it’ll make you dance. The single ‘Walk This Way,’ which features the greasy talents of Aerosmith, who screamed it originally in 1976, has taken Run DMC to No 4 on the US singles charts, and the album Raising Hell has gone to No 6. Really.) Now, on the corner of Seventh and 55th, I watch as those familiar tracksuited, Adidas-sneakered rappers came clear of the crowd. DMC is making for a stretch limo, black for really important people. He’s smiling and signing autographs, and wearing the trademark Homburg hat.

Jam-master Jay, dressed in black, is already climbing into the limo. Run is standing in the road, looking downtown, tossing his head

angrily and cussing under his breath. I decide to approach Run. Sidling through the autograph hunters, I offer him my best salesman’s handshake. But I’m not through introducing myself when a mention of Bill Adler, Run DMC’s publicist and my contact at Rush/Def Jam

Records, provokes an angry interruption. “Bill Adler? You seen Bill Adler?” Run asks, but he’s not listening. “I’m looking for Bill Adler?’ he says, exasperated. “I’m supposed to be in Miami in six hours, and I can’t find Bill Adler and I’m getting real mad ...” Well. Getting in the way of Run getting mad isn’t something I want to add to my list of experiences, so I stand clear while Run fusses about finding a cab to take him downtown. Coming across the street is the elusive Bill Adler, who Run introduces to me as Adler gets him a taxi. Adler is a self-confessed “aging hippie,” a bearded ex-Rolling Stone writer. He wears this fixed frown and talks in a deep, no-bullshit growl. He’s an alright guy. Borrowing a quarter, Adler phones Rush, the management company headed by Run’s older brother, Russell Simmons,

who handles the business side of Whodini, Run DMC, LL Cool J, Kurtis Blow and about 30 others. Adler then gets off the phone and we look for DMC and Jay, but where, a few minutes ago, there was a crowd and the two stars, now there’s a bare pavement and an abandoned limo. So Adler pushes me into a cab, yelling at the driver the address of Rush’s new Greenwich Village address. It’s also the home of Def Jam Records. The centre of the hip hop universe. This Def Jam Rush/Def Jam is on Elizabeth Street, a block away from the Bowery, where drunks sit all day long with their bum friends and drink whatever poison it is they drink, and where the shops sell used restaurant equipment and where chic art hobo Keith Haring sells stick figure T-shirts. Rush have bought themselves a building, with an opaque glass-tiled front, and inside, a burnt-out decor blurred in twilight haziness. Rush is full of legend. The guy who answers the phone is one of the original rappers, while another young kid sits at a desk with nothing to do, “scratching" with a desk blotter. DMC’s little brother walks around rigged like his sibling: Homburg-hatted and shoelace-less. Lovebug Starski comes up and mugs for the camera in front of my jet-lagged photographer, while I talk to Russell Simmons, the 28-year-old president of Rush and co-partner in Def Jam. Simmons himself is a talented artist, his performances on Jazzy Jay’s ‘(This) Def Jam’ and LL Cool J’s ‘That’s a Lie’ show this. I ask him whether he

would release any singles of his own. “Can’t,” he says between bites of fried chicken. "This is a major label. Got albums to do. Big career. Overseas tours. Can’t do it.” Now everyone’s yelling, phones are ringing madly, calls from Time magazine, Spin and radio stations from all over. Def Jam is big news. Each time Adler handles them with the same manic promospeak: “Yes, NO! A bigger, better album than ever!” He motions to

Simmons: “Speak to her, she’s from Time, it’s important, just for five minutes.” Simmons doesn’t want to talk to anyone, but Adler cajoles him and he talks between chicken bites. A major label, busy being busy. King Kurtis I I turn to Simmons. You manage Kurtis 810w... “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says. What does that mean? "We haven’t heard from him lately, I don’t know if he’s still with us.” So you and Blow aren't talking? Russell’s still on the phone to Time. He looks up. “He’s just jealous.” Adler spins around in his chair. “What, about KB? KB? Fuck hi ml” Can we print that?

“Please,” says Adler. “Kurtis Blow has been attacking us in the press. I hate to use the term but Kurtis is like the black sheep of rap right now. He’s really set himself off from all his old friends. In effect, he’s lied to the press about what Run DMC are all about. There’s been this ongoing controversy, and we’ve been at great pains to demonstrate that our music isn’t violent. Our music, the music of Run DMC in particular, promotes the most benign qualities. It’s about peace and love, it’s about, what?” He turns to Simmons. “It’s very positive,” Simmons stresses. “None of this peace and love shit. It’s positive, that’s all. The lyrics in 'Raising Hell,’ ‘‘Cut the head off the devil and throw it at you.” That’s a positive statement. Run DMC’s music is hard, but it’s not mean.” Concert violence is an obstacle to rap gaining wider acceptance. A Run DMC concert in Oakland was stopped after 45 people had to be hospitalised. The next night’s concert in LA was cancelled by the authorities who didn’t want a repeat performance. Rush says the troublemakers are the gangs, not Run DMC fans, but the general public isn’t making that distinction. King Kurtis II A little sensationalism never hurt a story, so when I spoke to Mr Bill, whose job it is to get Def Jam played on the radio, I pressed him for more on KB. "Well, you’ve got to be realistic. Run DMC’s first album went gold. Run DMC on their second album went gold. Run DMC’s third album is a massive hit. LL Cool J sold over 700,000 copies. Whodini’s had two gold

albums. The Fat Boys, who Kurtis produced, have had two gold albums already. "Kurtis Blow’s yet to have his first gold album, even though he had one of the first gold rap singles in ‘The Breaks.’ I can see him saying to himself that he’s getting kind of older, and the successful artists are getting young. I can see him saying maybe I’m losing my position as the King of Rap. As it is, it’s a position he kind of gave himself. “But he’s had a good career. I know one of the first rap records I appreciated when I was in high school was ‘Christmas Rapping’ [1979]. And in 1984, when I was working in radio, one of my favourite cuts on my rap show was ‘A J Scratch’ by Kurtis. But I don’t know, they say the average life span for an artist is six months, and Kurtis has had six years, but maybe his time has come. "It’s hard to say about Kurtis right now. I mean he has this project with Bob Dylan, where Dylan does a cameo on his new album — maybe that’ll be interesting. I'm just sorry about these comments he’s made in the press lately, they’re totally without base. He goes in the papers and says the raps of LL Cool J and Run DMC cause violence, and yet Kurtis’s last name “Blow” means cocaine. So in terms of putting, positive messages to the kids, here’s a guy whose last name means cocaine to the B-Boys. So it’s really ludicrous, I don’t think Kurtis is thinking about what he’s saying right now.” Deliberately Def The other string to Russell Simmons’s bow is his talent as a producer. This led to the partnership with another producer, Rick Rubin, then a NYU student. Together they set up Def Jam Records in the summer of 1984, and they now rival ZTT boss

Trevor Hom for the most innovative production of the last decade. Aside from production, Def Jam recordings are notable for their blend of

megalomania and self parody. Def Jam are cool because they tell you they’re cool. Def Jam are fun because they find themselves funny. Who else but Def Jam would chronicle a visit to their own offices as being the def event of the year (Original Concept: ‘Knowledge Me 1 ), and who else but Russell Simmons would brag that, "Me and my man Rick, we’ve got millions of gold albums. I’m getting cold money every day, we’ve got wheelbarrows full of the shit...” (LL Cool J: “That’s a Lie”). Last year media giants CBS did a million dollar deal with Def Jam that achieved worldwide distribution for their records and gave CBS access to some very hot property. It means that Def Jam have to put out 15 albums a year, but with over 30 acts signed to Rush, talent doesn’t seem to be a problem. In fact, over the next few months we should see a new album from LL Cool J, the debut album from the Beastie Boys (just finished), albums from Tashan, Chuck Stanley,

Original Concept, Public Enemy and Alyson Williams. Plus singles from Busy Bee ‘Oom Tang,’ MC Breeze and Jimmy Spicer’s ‘Crack Attack.’

Most of the recording is done at “Chung King, House of Metal" in nearby Chinatown, an address that LL Cool J once refused to reveal, explaining it was “too def.” But now, with the new Def Jam/Rush headquarters at Elizabeth Street, a studio is planned for the basement. “Deliberate sounds, a deliberate beat,” Simmons says, describing the Def Jam sounds. “There’s something real about an image, deliberate execution, delivery. Not like dance music. I like a real image ...” Russell defines the major difference between Def Jam/Rush artists and their competitors. “Roxanne Shante is the best female rapper, one of the best rappers around, Divine Sounds, the Fat Boys are good, UTFO and Whistle are good, but the real difference between them and Def Jam artists is tangible imagery. When you see Run DMC you see very strong artists, you see characters. With Whodini there’s the lovers, the romantics, sartorially splendid. With LL Cool J you see the kid, the gold, the

kangol. When you see these other artists there is no identifiable imagery!” The kid, Ladies Love Cool James, was in and out of town in the week I hounded

the offices of Def Jam, a week where my photographer and I came to be known as “the New Zealand mafia.” I rang LL on a number of occasions at his grandmother’s house where he lives. But the bugger was never in. Crack Attack Jimmy Spicer is a rapper who was recording from the late 70s. His ‘Crack Attack’ single is being recorded now, and the demo ran like this: ' ‘A freebase cocaine, crack is the name, makes you skinny as hell and eats up your brain. As of now the " strongest drug on the street, will turn a million dollar man into a five dollar freak” “Sounds like the B-Boys are gonna like it,” says Spicer, “ain’t the beat stupid def man? ... We’re gonna get a girl DJ, her name’s Spinderella.” Do you think you are going to beat crack? "I hope so. It’s like a fashion, but if it’s as bad as they say it is, it might last a lot longer than a fashion. It’s like heroin. We licked that. I think we can lick this too.”

Def Jam are doing their utmost to confront the crack problem, which is rife in New York right now. An anti-crack concert in Miami will feature Run DMC, the Beastie Boys,

LL Cool J and many others from the Rush stable, as well as other rock artists. Growing Up "The thing about hip hop," says Mr Bill, “is that it’s an appreciation of all sorts of music. I could go to a party and I could hear Aerosmith, I could hear Africa Bambaata, or Kraftwerk. I could hear Billy Squier, or AC/DC. There’s no other music that's more varied than hip hop. The music is getting more intelligent. It’s certainly more intelligent than when the music was coming from Harlem World and Broadway International. “You look at where most of the successful artists are coming from now, they’re coming from Hollis, Queens or Long Island, like Original Concept. These are areas where the kids are coming from nice homes, nice families, getting a good education, they’re often 1 college kids. They’re a lot more sophisticated than your basic ‘party over here, party over there’ rapper of 1979. And the music itself has just grown up.

“Chuck E Dee is one of the most respected rappers to come out of Long Island. He’s going to be releasing and album pretty soon, with a group called Public Enemy. They’re going to be the first punk rap group, like real punk. If Johnny Lydon doesn’t bother us. We’re in the studios right now working on the single; ‘Public Enemy No 1’ and the album ‘Yo Bum Rush the Show’ At first it was going to be called ‘The Governpient’s Responsible. “Now you’d think at this point, given the violence factor, that maybe it’s not the right time for a very aggressive rap artist. That’s exactly why we’re doing it. We’re going to represent a different point of view for rap, maybe a darker point of view. It may get political at times, it may be socially relevant at times. Somebody’s got to talk about what’s going on. But it won’t be in a preaching manner, a la Melle Mel.” The Rite of Slayer Rick Rubin’s love of heavy metal is undoubtedly instrumental in Run DMC’s success — and the Beasties’ headbanging beat on ‘She’s on It.’ Newly signed to Def Jam are the Californian group Slayer, speed metallers in the mould of the Butthole Surfers and Black Flag. Their third album, and first for Def Jam, is called Reign of Blood. MCA of the Beastie Boys spoke of Slayer more academically. “I’ll tell you,” he said. “I was listening to Slayer yesterday, and this might sound stupid to some of your readers out there, it sounds like Stravinsky. The Rite of Spring. Classical music played on guitars and drums. I couldn’t believe it! Like, the fast stuff is shit as far as I’m concerned, when they start playing fast. Nnnnnnnyyyyy ... nnnnyyyyyyy ... it’s noise.

Garbage. But when they get into this other shit, it's not like other heavy metal bands, it’s really =: - complicated. I love that shit.” Beasts of Burden Asking the Beastie Boys to talk is like inviting Linda Lovelace to your pyjama party. I steered the conversation off their favourite subjects and asked them about their early days. “The first record we made was when we were a punk band. It was caled ‘Pollywog Stew,’ says Mike D. Then ‘Cookie Puss,’ when we were with Important Records. We weren’t actually signed to Important, in fact we’re actually sueing them now for a few thousand dollars, because they’re really not very good people.’’ “We’re going to sue their balls off,” prompts MCA. “I think that’s the best way to put it,” agrees Mike D. “I mean we’ve already done it with British Airways, I think Important’s next up, they’re really gonna get their balls sued right 0ff...” The rumours that are being spread around Auckland are not in the

slightest bit true. If the Beastie Boys do in fact make it to New Zealand for their much-vaunted live tour, neither Customs nor the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries will let them in the door. However, a few letters addressed to key people in the record industry might bring the first Beastie Boys album to the bargin bins of your local record shoppe ... Blank Label Business The story behind ‘Walk This Way’ starts with Jammaster Jay, Run DMC’s deejay. Like any DJ, Jay spends a lot of time hunting out fresh beats or riffs to use in his mixes, sounds that will set him apart from the other DJ’s. It’s such a competitive business that most DJs will soak the labels off their records so that the others won’t find out what they’re playing. Very often the sources of their beats were among the worst record stores in the city. The record labels would be wrong. A DJ wouldn’t much care what the song was called or who sang it, since he tore the label off it the moment he got it home

anyway. Run DMC knew ‘Walk This Way’ as ‘Toys in the Attic.’ They told Rick Rubin they wanted to use ‘Toys in the

Attic’ and Rick knew the song proper. He suggested they cover the song in its entirety, and then thought of ringing Aerosmith in California and asking them if they wanted to play on it. Aerosmithers Steve Tyler and Joe Perry agreed to give it a try. The result was a marriage that pleased both metallers and B-Boys.

Krushgroove, the film, was released last year and purported to tell the story of Def Jam and in particular the stories of Russell Simmons

and Rick Rubin. The B-Boys thought it was a scam and Simmons and Rubin were more than unhappy with the fiction. Hollywood had tried to sanitise the rap story. "Just as you can’t sanitise The Godfather you can’t sanitise rap,” says Mr Bill. “Krushgroove came out as a slightly heavier version of Beat Street”

Simmons and Rubin . resolved that the next one would be a success, and that they’d have a tight rein on artistic control. The first, such film is Tougher Than Leather, in production even as we speak. Another movie being planned is for the Beastie Boys. It’s tentatively titled The Beastie Boys: Scared Shitless. Nightclubbing “Check out the Latin ■ Quarter;’ Bill Adler had said,, “it’s Tuesday so it’ll be , rapper’s night.” It was 10 o’clock and the camera and T-shirt shops were still doing business. I walked up Times Square and down the other side. Finally I asked a cop how to find the Latin Quarter. “Walk up to 47th Street and Broadway and turn right,” he said. I moved over to the crossing. A second later he tapped my back. “You’ve not been there before? I wouldn’t go there, the place is full of smart arses.” . I found it, and loosening my tie, walked up to the . , entrance. A line of black kids watched me. At the cashier sat a mother of a bouncer. He looked at me in surprise. “It's disco,” he ventured.

That’s why I’m here, I told him. Inside the door another bouncer brushed past me. ' He spoke to himself and looked straight ahead as he did so. “Don’t flash your money around and just stay cool," he warned,'Til be watching if you need me.” I went straight to the bar. They were all black kids from about 13 to 18. It was a large room with a sunken dancefloor that ringed a long catwalk. A stage was behind it, higher up. When the guys danced, they danced together in a huddle, sinister like vultures, using their • shoulders as battling wings. A little black girl, hair dyed ■ blonde, with white pants and a flowing lace blouse, danced deliberate waves, lifting her knees high and picking out spots to stretch , her pointed toe to. The music was heavy and laden with bass and tom toms; they played the records of Fresh Gordon, Eric B and Cutmaster DC. Paradise, the DJ and MC, came on stage to announce the first rappers. They were a duo, in three-piece suits and Ivy league glasses, and when they kicked the place came alive. A blast that hit, a great wave, like you can only get from a live performance. Not a record, this had force and frantic pace, your blood rose and you went drunk with the beat. I was smiling madly when, with one shout, the house moved as it took up this sensation. That’s what they mean by the phrase “rockin’ the mike," there’s a hell of a lot of. power in the men who hold it, “Come on, come on,” the rappers shouted. You witnessed victory in the vulture dance and the pride of the boroughs, “We’re from Brooklyn!” Three girls followed: one enormous, one weighty, and one skinny. The last was called “Slim.” The boys moved up and hooted at them, the girls leaned back and grinned. Then a lone girl rapper, who halted her rap, calling the DJ to stop, and confronted the hecklers. She tore into them, disrespecting their manhoods, size and performance. “Okay,” she said, “give me a beat, just clap it, and I’ll do my rap to that.” The boys started a beat. And she rapped. A rapper from Philly, a burly guy with his own DJ came onstage. The DJ did the talking for him, switching like a ping-pong player from turntable to turntable, his assistant handing records to him as his hands began and ended a dozen beats and cuts. I looked to the club DJs, not believing he was doing all this himself. They " weren’t doing a thing. “You’d better go,” the bouncer said to me. “We’ll be closing in a minute and you shouldn’t leave with the crowd.” I walked home through a much quieter square. On the Run I left New York. I rang Def Jam a week after I got back. The phones were still ringing madly, they were still making cold money by the wheelbarrow-full, the sun was still shining strong. The Beastie boys were out doing a photo shoot. LL was still living at his grandmother’s. “Are we going to see Run DMC promoting Pepsi-Cola?” I asked Simmons once, “Run DMC Adidas or Run DMC Lee Jeans?” “Run DMC Adidas, that’s it,” he replied. "They love Adidas, so they can do it. They don’t care about money now, they really don’t.” He looked me firmly in the eye. “Sounds dumb, right? Sounds fake to say that. It’s bullshit, right? If Pepsi offered us three million right now, we’d love them, too.” ©