THE 10 RAP COMMANDMENTS (FOR MUSIC JOURNALISTS)
As told through ten ridiculous but true tales of covering the hip-hop gods who schooled me on the game
It’s been more than a decade since I stood on stage at a New York City nightclub beside an up-and-coming 50 Cent, scribbling bullshit in a notepad and identifying nearby corners I could hide in if a gunfight broke out. Following those early days of my career writing for far more indie mags than I can recall all the names of — Elemental, Yellow Rat Bastard (YRB), the list goes on — I contributed to the Source and several burgeoning hip-hop sites, the whole time covering whichever acts moved me, regardless of their underground or mainstream cachet. From there I took gigs at a daily, then a weekly publication in Boston, often interviewing several artists every day. What didn’t go to print went on a blog I shared with other rap writers.
Due to reasons that could fill another essay, but mostly because of my interest in covering hard news, I don’t take many entertainment assignments these days. I would say that I stepped down at the top of my game, but after covering more than a dozen retirement stunts from MCs who are still rapping today, I’m way over that gimmick. Furthermore, I still spend lots of time speaking to journalists and young people in general, at their schools and in more casual settings, and my stories about the lessons I learned on the rap beat are reliably the most effective way to illustrate the unconventional compendium of journalistic guidelines I’ve compiled through the years. Whether you’re an aspiring music hack or just a major hip-hop head, here are ten commandments worth heeding.
1 — GANGSTER RAPPERS ARE THE NICEST GUYS (M.O.P.)
You name the hardcore rapper, and I’ve probably interviewed him. Or her. Having grown up in New York during the Infamous Era, roughneck shit was more or less my forte, and I’ve spent hours talking with not only the most popular likes of Nas and Mobb Deep, but also the extended cast of characters who give the culture so much depth, from the extremely niche likes of Neek the Exotic to Big Noyd, the latter of whom has kindly entertained even my most personal questions about life on the lower tier. In my mind, these are hip-hop’s truest stalwarts, the performers I most faithfully look to for new product.
In my experience, the tougher an MC is in their persona, the nicer they are in real life. Dudes who roll with maximum heat don’t generally need to flex on a geek like me (conversely, the opposite tends to hold true for dainty hipster rappers). More than any other artists I’ve encountered, Billy Danze and Lil Fame are testament to this hypothesis, which is always a bit jarring since the kill count on an average M.O.P. track may exceed the number of bodies in the Godfather trilogy. I guess there’s no reason to expect them to holler at an interviewer like they do on tracks, but that doesn’t make it any less surprising when somebody like Fame thanks you for your time.
Image via Andre Castellucci Flickr
2 — BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU QUOTE (JEDI MIND TRICKS)
This is still kind of a touchy one to write about, but I think it’s finally been long enough, so here goes … Back in 2008, I went to Philly for a weekend to conduct a host of interviews with everyone from Gillie da Kid to Diplo. Some of the access was outstanding, and I wound up in the lab with Vinnie Paz, King Magnetic, and Jus Allah, among others who I greatly admire. I watched, they recorded the remarkable “Godflesh” for A History of Violence, and the interview went so well that we wound up doing shots all night at a throwback Philly dive bar where you could still smoke cigarettes.
Fast forward like a month or two. JMT was heading out on tour to promote their latest, and I ran a feature story in the Boston Phoenix for their New England release party. Only problem: I quoted Vinnie saying something very unsavory about cops, some of whom caught my article online, and called authorities in every city JMT was playing in. I’m not exactly sure how many shows were ultimately canceled, but let’s just say that it was bad for business. The whole thing makes no sense whatsoever, as virtually every MC says way worse things on record than what Vinnie said to me. Still, it was one hell of a lesson in the incomparable power of the printed word.
3 — B.Y.O.B. STANDS FOR ‘BRING YOUR OWN BULLETPROOF VEST’ (50 CENT)
As hinted at above, one of my first significant assignments was to tail a recently shot 50 Cent, who at the time was unquestionably the mixtape king of New York and steadily en route to major stardom. I can’t remember the name of the worthless promotional sheet that sent me there — if my article was ever published, I sure as hell never saw it. Otherwise, though, I still have an unusually vivid picture of the evening in my head, from the spliff I proudly rolled backstage that won unanimous entourage approval, to the sudden fear of having my chest pierced by a hollow-point.
I was pretty loose by the time we followed G-Unit onto the stage and 50's manager shouted over the bass, “HEY … YOU AND YOUR PHOTOGRAPHER FRIEND ARE REALLY GOING TO STICK OUT!” Without hesitation, I smiled and responded, “YOU MEAN ‘CAUSE WE’RE WHITE?” To which he laughingly replied, “NO — I MEAN BECAUSE YOU’RE THE ONLY TWO PEOPLE UP HERE WITHOUT A VEST ON.” I’m pretty sure that he was joking; though 50 and a few others were adequately armored, some of his hangers-on seemed vulnerable. Like me. Either way, I lived to tell the tale.
4 — PREPARATION PAYS OFF BIG TIME (LYOR COHEN)
If you’re not familiar with Lyor Cohen, it’s been said he actually ran the bulk of Def Jam operations in the label’s heyday while Russell Simmons, who is widely considered the brains behind it all, chased hotties. Of course the truth is much more complicated, but you get the picture. Cohen is all about business. And he’s not exactly known as Mr. Nice Guy. So when I was instructed to conduct an interview with him for YRB about his plans for Warner, which he had just taken over, I did even more preliminary preparation than usual, going so far as to type all of my questions out, print them in small font, and paste them into my reporter’s notebook. Good thing I did, too.
Almost as soon as we walked into the Warner offices, Cohen walked right up to us and said that my photographer (David Yellen) and I had five minutes apiece to do whatever we needed to do. That impossible feat before us, Yellen performed a close-up miracle shot that remains one of the greatest pics to ever accompany one of my pieces, while I began hurling researched inquiries at Cohen. He was impressed by all of the rare shit I’d dug up, and wound up spending more than a half-hour chatting while he showed me vintage pics of him with the Beastie Boys. “Most music journalists,” he said, “don’t bother asking about my life before Def Jam.”
5 — THOSE GUYS TAILING YOU ARE REALLY COPS (THE GAME)
First of all, I love interviewing The Game. Though I’m more of an indie rap nerd and tend to dig more sophisticated rhymers, this guy really is the total package. Five minutes around him, and even the most stubborn subterranean snob would understand why he’s the guy on television rather than their favorite lyricist. On the two occasions I got to meet him in person, The Game also happened to be drinking — Patron, which he calls his “friends Pat and Ron,” to be exact — which typically makes for awesome quotables. Overall, he’s one of the most personable heavyweights I’ve met. Pretty funny too.
I was asking The Game some questions in the lobby of a hotel in Midtown Manhattan some years back when, appearing aggravated over something, he suddenly excused himself and walked over to a pair of cheap suits who looked like the American cops chasing Frank Dux in Bloodsport. A terse exchange ensued, after which my subject returned to our table and said something to the extent of, “Motherfucking police been in my ass since before my plane even touched the ground.” So there you have it: further evidence suggesting the NYPD does in fact have a hip-hop unit.
6 — STAKE OUT YOUR TURF AT PRESS JUNKETS (LIL WAYNE)
In promoting their Like Father, Like Son collaboration, Lil Wayne and Birdman came through New York City on a junket for the ages. With at least a dozen journos on hand (including DJ Vlad, whose obscure online video portal would soon after go insanely viral), the label hooked up an entire afternoon of partying and bullshitting in a most excellent loft over the Hudson River. The talent was notably late — though there are some exceptions, rappers are notoriously tardy — but it was all worth it when Weezy finally arrived with no fewer than 50 pairs of Lugz, an employee whose sole job is to roll blunts, and a pair of centerfold-caliber vixens in tow.
For food, the event organizers must have thought it would impress the southern boys if they arranged for BBQ with all the fixings. It didn’t. Unhappy with the spread, Wayne took a bite of the macaroni and cheese, spit it out, hurled the plate, and shouted, “WHO THE FUCK MADE THIS? MARTHA STEWART?” He then turned to his assistant and ordered, “Yo get me some Chinese food, and make sure they don’t forget the ketchup this time.” All while wearing sandals and a bathrobe. Since there was a horde of reporters, I shamelessly requested to exclusively use that particular anecdote. To my surprise, they obliged.
7 — DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT COUNTING ON A WU-TANG INTERVIEW (WTC)
From a piece I wrote for Esquire last year about the most elusive rap group on earth: I developed a reputation for being a leading Clan aficionado, and even wrote the liner notes for reissues of early Ghostface, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, and GZA releases. But while RZA, who produced those projects, has signed off on my participation — all handled through the boutique imprint, Get On Down — none of the artists has made it easy. The process usually goes like this: I’m typically told to text or email their managers, who occasionally pass me the direct digits, and wait …
From there, I’m guaranteed at least an 80 percent cancellation rate on planned interviews, and then maybe one or two half-hour phoners if I’m lucky. If there’s one perk to my career in hip-hop — other than the 20,000 useless CDs crowding my Timberland boot-sized apartment — it’s that I can connect with almost any MC in two emails or fewer. Still, my chances of locating Inspectah Deck in less than a week are infinitesimal. To put this in terms that Eminem diehards will understand: Every Clansman is a godly anti-hero in his own right, and the rest of us — the writers, the biters, the Wu-Tang logo bathroom stall graffiti writers — are Stans.
8 — SOMETIMES YOU FIND ARTICLE IDEAS IN THE DARNEDEST PLACES (CAGE)
I’m not embarrassed to say that I regularly read Vanity Fair. I’ll admit it because anybody dumb enough to hammer me for that probably thinks it’s full of articles about high society celebrity baloney, which is only two-thirds true. With that said, several years ago I was reading one such rather shallow profile of Shia LaBeouf, who was at the time transitioning to lead roles, when I spied a nugget near the end in which the actor mentioned that he wanted to play underground anti-hero Cage in a movie. As it turns out, he had become friends with the New York rapper, whose turbulent youth is believed by many to have been co-opted by a young Eminem.
Going on that and little else, I pitched a story about LaBeouf’s passion project, and several months later — after interviewing both him and Cage — my piece ran in Spin. It was hardly a career-maker for me; these days, the news would have probably just made for a quick blog post. Thinking back, though, there’s actually another lesson here, which is to be careful writing about hip-hop for rock rags. Though I still appreciate the Spin editors giving me a chance, by the time my clip finally surfaced they’d twisted it beyond recognition, even going so far as to misidentify Cage as a “Horror-Core” MC. So goes the torture of being a rap critic in an indie rock world.
9 — COMMERCIAL DJS HAVE NO CLUE ABOUT WHAT’S POPPING UNDERGROUND (FUNKMASTER FLEX)
It’s true. Sad, but true. While I would never say anything negative about Funkmaster Flex — the guy damn near raised me via HOT 97 — the day I hung with him in 2010 confirmed a hunch I’d been considering for years: that the world of a radio DJ can be so isolated, so compromised by pay-to-play politics, that a lot of these guys have no clue about anything other than the shit beat du jour. At one point in my conversation with Flex, I mentioned that Masta Ace and Edo G had just finished an album together, at which point he asked if it was going to be available in stores near him. As if indie artists only sold hand-written CDs at bar shows.
In what might have been the coolest afternoon of my life, I spent about an hour playing joints for Flex off my computer, mostly new tracks by artists he helped out years earlier. As he nodded in amazement to my picks — some Marco Polo beats, a few stellar tracks by Boston MC Moe Pope — it was like watching a teenager hear good rap for the first time. How did this help me as a journalist? Easy. Unlike the majority of goofballs out there writing about hip-hop, I take absolutely zero stock in what so-called taste makers like Flex say or play. They may be legends, but their ears are incurably clogged with payola.
10 — FOR A LOT OF RAPPERS, RAP LIFE IS REAL LIFE, AND YOU HAD BETTER RESPECT THAT (TERMANOLOGY)
It was a shitty Massachusetts night about a million years ago, and I drove forty minutes north of Boston to Haverhill, where a young and hungry Termanology was living at the time, just outside his native Lawrence. The ceilings in his small attic apartment were about six feet high, and half the guys in his squad — the entirety of which seemed to be crammed in there at once — had to stand with their backs bent to avoid hitting their heads. Aesthetic limitations aside, however, the camaraderie was palpable. For Term, DC, Ea$y Money, Statik Selektah, and that whole crew, there seemed a sense of commitment that ran above and beyond what I had seen in others.
Over the course of what turned into an hours-long interview, I gained an incredible respect for not just their hustle, but for that of every rapper who’s as dedicated as they’re talented. Hip-hop has the occasional perks and paychecks, but it’s hell on the bones and tough on family life. Like Term says on “Motion Picture,” which had just come out when I visited him in Haverhill, “The game ain’t like how you see it on TV. Up in videos and women and jewelry. Little kids want to be rappers I’m telling them nah. Go to college little youngin go and get you a job.” Funny. Sounds like something I would tell a naïve schmuck who wants to cover hip-hop for a living.
Chris Faraone is the news editor of DigBoston and the author of four books. He still covers hip-hop on occasion, and recently finished a project with Non Phixion on their landmark debut album, The Future Is Now. He also lectures about hip-hop at colleges, and charges a lot less than those sucker ass academics who don’t know the first damn thing about authentic boom bap.
