Metal Lungies

I’ll be honest (probably more honest than most) — I didn’t know who UGK was before 1999. You could’ve handed me a copy of Vol. 3… Life And Times Of S. Carter, pointed to track 11 on the back cover, and said, “This kid right here is the next big thing out of Brooklyn. Jay just signed him. His name’s pronounced ug-kah.” Unless I just flat out didn’t trust you, I’d have no reason not to believe you (though that rap name sure would’ve sounded like a loser).

Radio in my hometown of Los Angeles, around that time, had plenty of local material flooding its airwaves — Dr. Dre (and his newly-discovered protégé Eminem), Snoop, and Kurupt all had hit records out, and a potential N.W.A. reunion was all the rave (yea, about that…). Sure, there were Southern rap records that would break through every now and again — some had undeniable cross-over appeal, some had outshining guest spots from West Coast legends, some were classic records that superseded regional boundaries. But, L.A. radio stations — and probably all major city radio stations outside of the South — weren’t putting aside time during long-drive-home-rush-hour for a duo out a Texas town not called Houston which couldn’t even get promotion from its bum-ass record label.

To be even more honest, it wasn’t until 2000 that I really got to know about UGK, when a visual was given to “Big Pimpin'”. There was Jay-Z, spitting rapid-fire on a cruise ship while Dame Dash poured liquor I couldn’t afford over women I couldn’t afford. Then there was Bun B, spitting even more rapid-fire than Jay, mispronouncing “scenario” just for the sake of not leaving out both sorry and scary hoes from consideration of whom he can’t fuck with. And lastly, there was Pimp C, delivering molasses-slow rhymes (at least in comparison to Jay and Bun) with an undoubtedly Southern accent that seemed to replace the last letter on every word with a “H” (as in “Smokin’ ouh, throwin’ uh…”). And that white fur coat… who would rock such clothing in the midst of a Florida summer? Probably the same type of dude who would brag about his hands-free phone while holding a phone to his ears.

When I think of how to describe Pimp C, his opening bars from “Murder”, off ’96’s Ridin’ Dirty, always come to mind: “It’s Pimp C, bitch, so what the fuck is up?/ Puttin’ powder on the street ’cause I got big fuckin’ nuts!” In the span of two bars, Pimp provided examples of five of the reasons why our elders (more than likely) collectively hate rap music. First, he introduced himself — on how many Beatles’ songs did John Lennon say his own name? Second, he insults his listener — likely a listener who just spent money to support Pimp’s cause (more so the case in ’96 than now). Third, he drops the F-bomb, with another one coming mere seconds later. Fourth, he glorifies drug dealing, by attributing the cause of his trade to the size of testicles… which leads perfectly into number five — he speaks candidly about his genitals. Most rappers not named Todd Shaw would need at least a full song to evoke all of these reactions out of their listeners.

But, if you could look past his outlandish boasts on the mic about partaking in illegal activities of all sorts, you’d find lush musical backdrops, driven by the funkiest of bass lines and the bluesiest of guitar licks, sometimes with vocals sung by the man himself. People that hate the type of music that Pimp C made would probably dismiss him as not being “musically talented” — little would they know just how wrong they were. Being on the late train in becoming familiar with Pimp’s discography made me that much bigger a fan of his — very few hip hop artists in ’96 were making music like him, and even fewer are nowadays.

Chad Butler took his craft way more seriously than he ever took himself. Bun B noted on “The Story” (off his solo debut Trill) how hesitant Pimp was to jump on “Big Pimpin'”, fearful of how UGK’s core audience would’ve taken to it. There’s no greater shame than the fact that Pimp’s death came just as UGK was starting to get recognized for their own achievements, with “International Players Anthem” (off their #1-charting self-titled double album) receiving a Grammy nomination. If there’s any positive spin that we can put on his untimely passing, it’s that, after a career spanning nearly two decades, Pimp C went out on top. To that I say, “Smoke something, bitch!”

Contributing to this Beat Drop (in addition to myself and AaronM) are Noz from Cocaine Blunts, Quan from Hater Player, Ivan from Hip Hop Is Read, Brandon Soderberg from No Trivia, and Jonathan from Screw Rock ‘n’ Roll. And, on the (very, very, VERY) special guest tip, ML is esteemed to have none other than Bernard “Bun B” Freeman, the yin to Pimp’s yang as one half of UGK, joining us. Bun chopped with up with Knobbz (credit due for providing transcribing, homie) to discuss his five favorite Pimp C productions, and provided some great insight and historical anecdotes about Pimp.

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You know how most hip hop magazines will have that issue where they go back and gave perfect ratings (5 Mics, XXLs and what have you) to certain albums that they had given lesser ratings to before? You know, basically rewriting history to cover up their prior mistakes? Well, we here at ML have no respect for such tactics…

Just kidding! In fact, we’re kind of doing the same thing now.

Back in June 2007, when DJ01 and I came up with the Beat Drop idea, our guest lists were practically non-existent — in fact, our very first Beat Drop post, covering Alchemist, was just he and I. And I laugh at myself for suggesting in that first post that we’d try to put these out on a weekly basis. I was so ambitious in my early blogging days!

In our past few Beat Drops, though, we’ve established connections with some great hip hop bloggers (and even a couple of artists) — so, we reached out to as many as we could and asked them what ALC productions we missed the first time around (including his work since June 2007, of which we can’t fault ourselves for not picking). In the process, though, we encountered a couple of big-name first-time contributors who weren’t able to read our first Alchemist Beat Drop in advance, so some picks may overlap. Oh well, charge it to the game.

Are we re-writing history? Well, if we are, that would mean that we had made history before, which is something we wouldn’t want to say about ourselves. But, thank you for suggesting it.

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As a Wu-Tang stan — and a stubborn one, at that — I always hated reading and hearing people say shit along the lines of the Wu being “over”, or “dead”, or trying to start rumors that they were “breaking up”. Yes, the quality of music coming from the Wu camp is not the same as it was some 10 years ago, but that could be said for roughly 95% of rappers, and that’s an underestimation if anything. And recent history has only further proven the fact that rap crews can’t be on top forever (i.e. G-Unit now, DipSet circa the last time Cam’ron and Jim Jones spoke to each other). It’s as if the fact that the Wu was the greatest shit in the game back in the mid-to-late ’90s means that they shouldn’t be allowed to still put out records today.

As for the “breaking up” rumors, I would always tell my non-Wu-listening friends that the relationships within the Wu dated back to before music — at least, that’s the impression I’d received over time listening to their music, reading interviews and what not. I’d always believed that the Wu would never “break up”, even if they decided to stop recording music together… and, unfortunately, things may have come to this point with the disaster that was 8 Diagrams. (And, when I say “disaster”, I’m referring to the well-publicized complaints over the sound of the album from Wu members, not the actual album itself, which I honestly enjoyed. But, again, stubborn Wu-Tang stan talking over here.)

I say all of that to say this… I was initially skeptical about doing a Beat Drop for The RZA. I mean, I figured it would have to come — if the aim of these posts is to compile different opinions on the greatest beats from the greatest producers, then leaving the Wu-Tang Clan’s maestro out of the equation would be criminal. But, unlike many of the producers that we’ve covered in the past, The RZA’s best almost entirely comes out of one collective group of albums, those being the Wu-Tang Clan and its many members. Likewise, Organized Noize’s best would almost entirely come out of Dungeon Family releases, and DJ Paul and Juicy J’s best would almost entirely come out of Hypnotize Camp Posse releases.

I guess that my skepticism was based around the likelihood that a RZA Beat Drop would come off like a whiny bitch-fit about how hip hop was great before, and sucks now, and so on and so forth. So, I had a by-myself meeting, as I do every evening, and I asked myself, “Self… so what?” That is but a small price to pay to properly honor someone like The RZA.

Robert Diggs has one of hip hop’s greatest ears for music, using innovative samples that helped pave the way for the future of hip hop production, always willing to take risks to advance his sound (though those risks and advancements may not have always pleased everyone). He had the foresight necessary to build the first true hip hop empire, strategically planning out the first wave of Wu-Tang solo projects. And, above all, he’s a really intelligent dude.

I had the honor of hearing him speak back in my undergrad days, during his promotional tour for The Wu-Tang Manual (which I’d still like to read one day). It was an experience that I’ll never forget — hearing him talk about going to his first block party at 8 years old with The GZA, selling newspapers with Ol’ Dirty to save up money to buy equipment, how one could make a breakbeat out of everything from rock-and-roll to samba, how he loved Kung Fu because it reminded him of struggles he encountered as opposed to the black history at the time that seemed to focused on either slavery or pimps. Though I certainly wouldn’t want to take on the task of transcribing his at-times-mumbled words (word to AaronM), hearing him speak makes it clear how hard he has worked to get to where he is, and how humble he has remained. Simply put, success didn’t stumble upon The RZA — he sought it out, made it his, and it can never be taken from him.

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Before there was…

… there was…

Like previous Beat Drop subject Isaac Hayes (and unlike all other Beat Drop subjects), Curtis Mayfield has not produced any hip hop records — at least not directly. However, he has produced, written, and performed (either with his heavenly voice or ability to play multiple instruments) many great songs that have been sampled by some of the best hip hop producers, some of whom we’ve highlighted in the past.

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The “Neptunes sound” is candy sweet. Allow me to explain (so that I don’t have to say “no homo”)…

Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo, despite their initial successes as hitmakers for the likes of Noreaga and Ol’ Dirty Bastard, are responsible for some of the most “bubble gum” music of the past few years. Britney Spears, Robin Thicke, Justin Timberlake, Mariah Carey, Kelis, Usher, Gwen Stefani — the ‘Tunes’ signature spaced-out drums, synths and keys, coupled with Pharrell’s crackly crooning, are all too familiar to 13-year-old white girls and “To Catch A Predator” detainees alike.

Yet, the “Neptunes sound” is also all too synonymous with another type of candy — the one that makes you dandy. Nose candy. Booger sugar. That white that, when cooked over a flame with water and baking soda, creates a rock-like substance that has contributed to such racial disparity in America’s prison system that Lil’ Wayne felt it necessary to dedicate about 5 minutes of Tha Carter III to discussing it. But I digest digress…

For all of their pop music and Kids’ Choice Award successes, they have continued to work with and develop artists like The Clipse, FamLay, and Rosco P. Coldchain, despite the label politic drama that seems to consistently rear its ugly head and shelve their albums. In fact, I’ve read at a couple of sites — and if random Internet blogs are no longer credible sources of information, I don’t want to live in this crazy world — that the Neptunes refused to sign off on their contributions to Timberlake’s FutureSex/LoveSounds album if Jive Records did not release Hell Hath No Fury (which would have been the second shelved Clipse LP). The end result was an insanely-successful Timberlake album with no input from the ‘Tunes, and a horribly-promoted album release from The Clipse’s former label.

Most would probably kick themselves when considering the amount of money lost by refusing to work with Timberlake, one of the biggest record sellers of our generation, at the expense of convincing a major record label that hasn’t cared about rap music for years to toss a “hit single”-less LP to the public, essentially as a tax write-off. But, I don’t think that the Neptunes regret this costly decision. Why?

Because Pharrell and Chad could have gone the easy route, ditched the flailing genre that is hip hop music, and stuck to making pop records, but they haven’t… at least, not yet. (Pharrell, Chad — if y’all are reading this, don’t let me give y’all any ideas). That’s why I respect ’em, and why I was willing to break away from paying homage to the oft-praised “boom bap” producer — your Primo’s, Pete Rock’s, Large Pro’s and what have you — and tip my trucker cap* to the guys that “lace the beat like one of the best”. The Neptunes spent years crafting their unique sound, dating back to the days when they were carrying Teddy Riley’s bags and ghost-producing “Rump Shaker”, and deserve the right to share it with fans of all musical artists — even shitty ones.

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The College Dropout. Late Registration. Graduation. You don’t have to be too edumacated to notice the trend in Kanye West’s album titles.

It’s only fitting, though, as one could call Kanye a “student of the game”, so to speak. He encompasses so many aspects of so many great producers. He’s openly discussed the influence that RZA and the Wu-Tang Clan has had on his production style, going as far as to admit to making his Blueprint-era beats with Ghostface in mind. He worked closely with J Dilla, honoring the late legend by chopping samples the way Dilla would have on his beat contributions to Common’s Finding Forever (and doing a fine job, I might add). And his sound has always held a sense of purity rivaling that of DJ Premier, so much so that on the few occasions where Primo has added scratches to Kanye-produced records (on “Everything I Am” off Graduation and “The Game” on Finding Forever), they could have easily passed as Primo-produced records themselves.

But, Kanye isn’t your typical “student of the game”-type rap star — Kanye isn’t your typical anything, matter of fact. ‘Ye is the student of the game who’ll stand on his desk to show off when he’d get an A+, and who’ll throw a fit and squeeze out a few tears when he’d get anything less than that. He’d be nominated for “Most Likely to Succeed” and “Class Clown”. Sure, he was a mama’s boy (R.I.P.), and he idolized his big brother, but he was honest enough about it that he never set himself up to get teased. Although he had his close circle of friends who may not have been the most popular kids in school, all the cool kids knew who he was. And his personality was so likable that only the biggest bully on campus would try to pick a fight with him… AND, the bully wouldn’t even win.

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Many of us can (and will) bicker over what might be gained and/or lost by Nas’s upcoming controversially-titled album (so much for December, ay, Def Jam?), but few can argue with the statement he made on “Where Are They Now?”, possibly the stand-out track from his ’06 publicity stunt album Hip Hop Is Dead. There is no pension plan in hip-hop. If you’re lucky enough to get some fame, invest in it wisely. Those early ’90s accolades aren’t worth much more than a spot at Dan Majerle’s Super Bowl party. (Who’d have thought Thunder Dan to be the “block party” type?)

Large Professor’s name was nowhere to be found on “Where Are They Now?”. In a sense, it may not have been out of place on the song — outside of the occasional instrumental LP, production credit and DJ gig, Large Pro doesn’t pop up too often nowadays. And, his claims to fame stem from that same late ’80s/early ’90s golden era of hip-hop that the majority of artists mentioned in “Where Are They Now?” got their names from. If you were to ask Soulja Boy about Large Pro, he’d probably take a break from applying white-out to a pair of black sunglasses to suggest that he drop “Crank Dat Large Pro”.

But, Extra P’s contributions to hip-hop are simply too timeless to warrant him being remembered by future generations based on a name-drop. (“Played out like Kwame and them fucking polka-dots”? Never that!) Large Pro was, and always will be, an integral part of Queens’ never-ending legacy. He was the Main Source back when the Main Source was the Main Source. He let an unknown teenage MC get on record and talk about snuffing Jesus (and, to think, a T-shirt with one word on it had folks up in arms!). Many hip-hop producers (not that I’ve talked to any of ’em) will tell you that they’ve learned something from DJ Premier, but how many could tell you that they taught him something? Actually, scratch that… how many could truthfully tell you that they taught him something?

Well, there’s at least one in Large Professor. Granted, Wikipedia isn’t always the most trustworthy of sources, but there’s a direct quote from Extra P saying so — and, like they say, you can always trust a man with glasses.

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People didn’t wear t-shirts that read J Dilla Changed My Life back when James Yancey was alive. It wasn’t because he hadn’t changed people’s lives back when he was alive — it was because it took his death for most of us to realize it.

Some may take the opposite approach and chastise those who spent more time paying homage to Dilla on the day of his passing than they had in the 10+ years that Dilla spent building one of the most thorough hip-hop-producer discographies ever. I was listening to Phat Kat’s last album Carte Blanche the other day (mind the shameless plug, but DJ01 interviewed Kat last year), and on the track “True Story, Pt. 2”, a phone call interlude features someone talking about how it took Dilla to die for radio stations to finally play his music, and how the program directors didn’t even know what tracks he produced. Jadakiss once said “Dead rappers get better promotion”, and the adage seems to apply to rapper/producers as well.

I’m proud to say that I didn’t need to hear about Dilla’s death to know about and appreciate his catalog. I was a fan of his work since back when he was simply “Jay Dee”, before he switched his alias to “J Dilla” to avoid confusion with Jermaine Dupri. (Even though it likely wasn’t Dupri’s fault that this confusion existed, I’ve disliked Dupri ever since — although, I’m sure, like most of y’all, I can’t isolate a single moment that made me dislike Jermaine Dupri, it’s kind of just a culmination of a lot of things.) Despite this, if you asked me at any time prior to February 10, 2006 if Dilla was the best producer of all time, I probably would’ve responded, “Maybe top 5.” And, if you asked me whether Dilla changed my life, I probably would’ve asked you if you were high… and then I probably would’ve asked you who your supplier was. I was a bit of a different person 2 years ago.

I believe that people don’t truly change your life until your life has gone on for some time without them — only then do you realize the difference that they made on you. That’s probably why the usual names that come up in the hip-hop-nerd-universe’s “greatest producer of all-time” debate are guys like Primo and Pete Rock and RZA. We, as listeners, got to know Primo as one-half of Gang Starr — the fact that Gang Starr doesn’t record anymore certainly adds to Primo’s legacy. We got to know Pete Rock for his work with C.L. Smooth, and we all know how their reunion plans went (see: “nowhere”). We got to know RZA through his work with the Wu, who have all branched out to an extent with their respective solo careers (though willing to put aside some time to reunite every few years and make an album that most of ’em will then talk shit about in the press). We praise these producers not only because they make great fucking music, but because the music that we praise them for most likely won’t get made again.

When you look at J Dilla’s discography, though, you don’t see that one artist or group that defined his body of work. You don’t see that big name that just sort of stopped working with Dilla over time — I wouldn’t count A Tribe Called Quest and The Pharcyde under this classification, as they each broke up on their own. And though Dilla bounced from Slum Village after Fantastic, Vol. 2, he still contributed to their most of their future albums, though to a much lesser extent. Dilla worked with Busta Rhymes. Common. De La Soul. There was Champion Sound with Madlib. His other work with Stones Throw. Work with local Detroit artists like Frank-N-Dank, Phat Kat and Guilty Simpson. Welcome 2 Detroit. Ruff Draft. Donuts, The Shining, and all of his posthumous production credits, of which he sadly can’t see the final results.

There was never really a period of time where Dilla wasn’t contributing something meaningful to hip-hop. Maybe that’s why his limitless contributions to hip-hop may have been “overlooked” during his lifetime, or “taken for granted,” if you may. And maybe that’s why the fact that his health was slowly deteriorating as a result of lupus caught everyone by surprise, when those pictures of a sickly-looking, wheelchair-bound Dilla on stage in Europe popped up on the internet months before his eventual death.

Dilla was putting the finishing touches on Donuts from his hospital bed — his dedication to his work was why there was never that period of time where he wasn’t contributing to hip-hop, and why, even 2 years after his passing, that period of time still hasn’t arrived just yet. If we could all have half of the drive and inspiration that J Dilla possessed, we might just be OK after all.

If you were to ask me today whether J Dilla changed my life… well, I think I’m still too stubborn to say something like that (let alone announce it to the world via a t-shirt). But, I know that one day, probably in the very near future, an album is going to come out which includes a J Dilla beat (perhaps the elusive Cuban Linx II?)… and that J Dilla beat will be the last J Dilla beat ever. When that fact hits me square in the face, and I realize it, then I’ll be able tell you that, yes, J Dilla did change my life. Might even cop me that t-shirt, too.

R.I.P. James Dewitt Yancey (2/7/94 – 2/10/06). To echo the sentiments of everyone that contributed to this touching tribute over at Prefix Magazine back in ’06, we miss you, J, and we’ll never forget you.

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There’s “classic” rock. There’s “old school” hip hop. Cheesy pop music from the ’80s has pretty much classified itself as its own sub-genre. Basically, most every genre of popular music somehow reflects upon music from past generations, either by paying homage to the older music by borrowing notes, lyrics, sounds and the like, or — in hip hop’s case — by simply not being as good as the older music. Let me put it like this… think of any hip hop album from the ’90s that you consider to be a “classic”… is that album “classic” because of how it sounds when you hear it? Or is it “classic” because the majority of albums that have come out since just aren’t as good? In the least, it would have to be a combination of both.

When it comes to soul music, however, there’s no such hand-me-down props. In fact, calling soul music a “popular” genre is a bit of a stretch in itself. Simply put, people like (to name a few) Curtis Mayfield, Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye, and Isaac Hayes — the topic of discussion here — are not being remembered by today’s generation because there’s no real artists in the present who are making the type of music that they made.

Hayes may be an exception, however, based on his work as Chef on South Park (before he bounced after his religion-of-choice, scientology, was put on blast), his brief hawking of Lay’s potato chips, and his buttery-smooth vocals blessing the theme from Shaft, the finest display of badassery known to man… not to mention the fact that Rick Ross is a dead ringer for him. But Hayes’ catalog extends far beyond blaxploitation and “Chocolate Salty Balls”, and, like many of the legends of soul music that we’ll be covering in the future, hip hop has kept Hayes’ music alive through the sampling of his records.

Read on for a brief glimpse into Black Moses’ career, as well as some of the finest hip hop records that have been built utilizing Hayes’ music as a foundation. And be sure to check out some of the great blogs out there that help to bridge the gap between soul music and hip hop music, like Souled On (a site I’ve happily contributed to in the past) and Oliver Wang’s Soul-Sides.

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[Before we get started, is it just me or does Just look a LOT like Dame Dash? With that out of the way, let’s move on…]

The Dynasty: Roc La Familia is probably the least recognized of Jay-Z’s solo albums, in large part because it’s the least solo of Jay-Z’s solo albums (2 songs didn’t even feature Jay). If that album taught us anything, it was that Rick Rock production, while dope in its own right, just isn’t meant for a (at the time) potential King-of-New-York.

However, nestled within the multitude of guest verses on that album were some of Jay’s finest performances to date. On “Soon You’ll Understand”, he put forth some of his most personal rhymes ever over a beautifully-somber piano melody, introduced by sounds of rain and thunder. On “Streets Is Talking”, he spit hard toward all the haters and gossipers over an intense, rumbling beat of horns and drums. Even the album’s intro was self-proclaimed “food for thought, you do the dishes”, over one of the tightest vocal samples this side of Shaolin.

Listening to the diverse styles of these 3 tracks, you would think that they were put together by 3 different producers… or, perhaps, by 1 soon-to-be-legendary producer. The Dynasty served as the springboard for one Justin Smith, a relative-unknown at the time whose resume didn’t extend too far past a couple production credits for Beanie Sigel, Busta Rhymes, and Amil (back before she permanently became a punchline in Fade To Black).

While Kanye West’s rapping ability got him the public recognition for helping make Jay’s follow-up, The Blueprint (and the trendy soulful sound that came out of it), as classic as it was, Just was raking up the behind-the-scenes recognition. The liner-note-readers among us don’t have to be reminded of the role Just played in creating Roc-A-Fella Records’ discography, back when Dame was still there and they were signing up free agents like the Yankees. The Reason, Come Home With Me, Philadelphia Freeway, M.A.D.E. (solid album, don’t front) — Just was like a one-man, modern-day Bomb Squad. And it only gets better — Just’s magnum opus, and the first release on his Fort Knocks Entertainment imprint, Saigon’s The Greatest Story Never Told, will hit shelves on December 4th in early 2008. (If you haven’t already, peep the “Come On Baby” remix with Jay-Z here.)

If only Just chose to pick up a mic in addition to producing, maybe he could be where Kanye is now, snapping flicks with Tom Cruise and throwing tantrums after awards show… the good life, indeed. Just, if you’re reading this*, remember that it’s never too late. I mean, Swizz Beatz can’t rap, and he made an album!

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