CF Miley, OP Contributor The so-called Hiphop that you hear on radio today sucks ass. The beats are soft (I’m talking to you Timbaland), the hooks are made of Velveeta, and the lyrics—mostly “bling-bling” related, are freakin’ weak. In the interest of “spreading a little love,” I am going to lay a foundation down for anyone out there that has heard some Hiphop and liked it. For the heads out there, this'll be a little stroll down memory lane. Hiphop is all about those crazy words over crazy beats that make you sit up and take notice. It’s about those songs (or albums) that make you jump up and lift the needle on the record, or hit rewind, to ensure you just heard what you thought you just heard. Hiphop is break dancing, emceeing, deejaying, and graffiti art. Hiphop appeared to begin as “inner city street expression,” but really it has always been about self-empowerment through self-expression. Imagine growing up dirt poor in a city ravaged with crime and drugs. I could spend 1000 words explaining those last two sentences, but KRS-One does a much better job than I could hope to in his essay, “Hiphop, Its Meaning and Purpose.” You get it with his new album, Keep Right. You should peep it, the man’s kickin’ straight sci- ence and math. Word. Enough waxing philosophic, let’s talk about you; or, more precisely, me, and the albums and artists that hooked me on Hiphop. Batten down your hatches kit- tlings; these memories can’t wait. 2 | OUNEPPPeSS Part One: Foundation It all began when a skinny white kid in Langley heard What the hell?” Something in me clicked, but Hiphop wasn't cool with my friends, so I bought the tape and only listened to it on my daily drive to White Rock to go to school. I also bought the instructional LP, Breakin’, and loved that too. Within a few months, I had NWA’s Straight Outta Compton welded into my tape deck, and a true love was born. Next came Ice-T’s OG, Original Gangsta, The Beastie Boys, Pauls Boutique, De La Soul’s Three Feet High and Rising, and anything by Boogie Down Productions (BDP). I knew I was hooked on Hiphop when I began refusing to change the music over to classic rock to appease my friends. Like all good love affairs, this one was about to grow. I discovered Public Enemy (PE) in the same way I discovered most of my early Hiphop—by stealing tapes from my _ older brother's collec- tion. Chuck D and Flavor Flav were different though. They were actually saying something. I no longer dreamt of writing epic novels or becoming a doctor; I wanted to be an S1W (the militant looking bad asses that constitute PE’s posse). I think I loved PE so much for three reasons: Chuck D’s intelligent, lyrics, Terminator X’s mad cuts and occasional servings of knowledge, and Flavor Flav’s mad-ass stylings, gold teeth, and “Yeah in-your-face photo on the cover of this issue and you'll see what I mean). Chuck D became the strong, intelligent father figure that I felt was lacking in my life. It didn’t matter to me if I was white and he was black. The con- cept of “one human race” began to actually sink into my pubescent skull. For this reason, I still love PE. The music was changing me. In this, my “Black Militant” Hiphop phase, I also discovered Paris’, The Devil Made Me Do It. This album is an absolute must have for any Hiphop head. been re-mastered and re-released recently, so you go buy it. Now. It kicks more ass than a wheel boot at the end of each spoke trailing along Daffy Duck. And that’s a lot of ass to kick. Phase Two: Knowledge of Self This phase actually began with my first De L album, but it really took off when I discovered + Called Quest. Their first three albums, People Ins. Rhythms and the Paths of Rhyme, The Low End and Midnight Marauders, absolutely blew my m you don’t know the Questers, I suggest you do thing about it, stat. Beats, Rhymes and Life also h flava (Is “mad flava” named after Flavor Flav, versa? It doesn’t really matter. He's got it and we it. See cover again). Q-Tip (the Abstract Poetic), Dawg, and Ali Shaheed Muhammed are all b: Gods on par with the Rheostatics and Tom Waits eyes. They're that good. Social consciousness in Hiphop grew dram after “the Tribe” was in the house. Mos Def, Talib The Roots, Blackalicious, Common, and all thi Hiphoppers that come correct these days owe Public Enemy debt to the Tribe. They made funky jams that tc ries, taught, and still had a good time. “People kn time when Quest is in the jam, I never let a sta me how nice I am.” Word. I also discovered Nas’s [//matic, Spearhead’s and a whole host of other Hiphop albums with sage during these years. Then, I heard The Wi Clan. SEPHEMbEF 29/2000