On the heels of the first expanded Dilla Weekend, it is difficult to ignore the growth in posthumous fame that James Yancey (a/k/a Jay Dee or J Dilla) has accrued since passing away on this date, nine years ago. Like Amadeus Mozart’s and Vincent Van Gogh’s before him, Dilla’s legacy has extended beyond those “in the know” to fans all over the world, most significantly in discussions about Hip-Hop production and technique. His name alone serves as a token of cultural cache, with fans frequently being heard boasting that “they’ve been bumpin’ Dilla since before he died,” as if his death signaled an immediate separation between bona fide fans and bandwagoners. To that end, are we celebrating Dilla as a tangible, musical luminary or Dilla, a conceptual idea created by dilettantes? That schism, between the longstanding fan and the recently cultivated, is perhaps a distraction from what can only be argued as a positive outcome; it is hard to imagine anybody rooting for the cause of less interest in his genius.

For some of his Day One supporters (those familiar with 5 Elementz, for example), the recent explosion of all things Dilla can be perplexing. A cross-section of his newer fans are not necessarily fluent in his vast repertoire, unable to name projects outside of Donuts, the commercial success of which was boosted due to its release only three days before his death. Similarly, despite his tremendous popularity, Dilla manages to remain an emphatic representative of the underground; his name is rarely mentioned when average Rap fans discuss the most influential artists who’ve passed away. In that sense, he has less in common with Pun, Biggie, and Tupac, whose repertoires were consumed by the masses while they were still alive. Nevertheless, interest in his discography has spiked, thanks in no small part to the roles played by co-signers. Artists, fans, family, media outlets, and formal institutions have all contributed to his veneration, both in the low- and high-brow realms; from his uncle’s “Dilla’s Delights” donut shop in Detroit to the fans who fought for Allée Jay Dee in Montpellier. Cultural curators continue to drive up Dilla stock, a process they began almost immediately after his February 2006 death.

One of the earliest and loudest tributes from within the Hip-Hop community came from Dave Chappelle, who at the height of his fame dedicated his Block Party documentary DVD to the late producer. The film was released nationwide one month after Dilla’s passing, adding particular poignancy to a musical doc that so much revolved around the Soulquarians, the family of creatives including Common, Erykah Badu, and Questlove, of which Dilla was a member. The same month as the Block Party release, The Roots began recording what would become Game Theory, their seventh album and one imbued from beginning to end with the spirit of Dilla. The first and last tracks served as musical nods to his contributions, the former being the Jay Dee-produced “Dilltastic Vol Won(derful)” and the latter an eight-minute compilation of spoken tributes to the tune of his “Time: The Donut of the Heart.”

In the years since, acclamations for his music have flowed freely from the Hip-Hop community. Notable tributes include those from Erykah Badu, Dwele, Miguel Atwood-Ferguson, and Robert Glasper. Indeed these homages from seasoned veterans are beloved and integral to the nourishment of his legacy. One would be remiss, however, not to appreciate equally the more recent deference shown by the current generation of Hip-Hop artists. Bishop Nehru, Chance The Rapper, and Joey Bada$$ are just a few youngsters who have undoubtedly absorbed Dilla’s influence and may prove to carry the proverbial torch for future heads.

Even more influential in affecting vast exposure are the co-signs from outside of Hip-Hop. NPR, considered by many to be one of America’s barometers for what’s worth listening to, has helped tremendously in celebrating Dilla’s legacy with a wide audience. Since his death, they have published some of the most insightful pieces of tribute, from their February 2006 obituary to the 2013 exploration of his jazzy tendencies. Similarly, Rolling Stone – perhaps the music rag – has devoted considerable attention to him, including significant coverage on artists like Nas and De La Soul, who have incorporated his music into their own. That inclusion is important, as it helps to extend the conversation beyond the music already created to the potential of work yet to be released.

The music from James Yancey continues to permeate society, so much so that Heads may not even realize. Beats from the sonic visionary are frequent bumpers for Adult Swim viewers. Dilla-inspired t-shirts for Stussy transcend the music consumer into a simple trademark of cool, not unlike what Urban Outfitters did with Run-DMC or Target, with Grateful Dead. In time, Detroit Techno star Carl Craig hopes to honor his late friend, neighbor and peer through a plaque in Motown’s Conant Gardens. Like so many influential artists in all mediums, Jay Dee’s impact continues to extend beyond our notice, and simply into our daily lives.

And, in what may be the biggest stamp of approval in terms of national cultural significance, the Smithsonian Museum announced last July it would be including Dilla’s MPC and Minimoog in its collection devoted to African-American History and Culture.

As we look towards the tenth anniversary of this loss, perhaps the best thing we can do is to apply Dilla’s method in the lab to our roles as Heads: keep the creations of previous generations of musicians alive while embracing the reinvention provided by future creators.

Amanda Mester is a writer and editor living in Brooklyn, New York. Follow her on Twitter @CanEye_KickIt

Related: AFH Took A Trip Down Fantastic, Vol. 2 Memory Lane With The Remaining Founding Member, T3 (Food For Thought Interview)

Beginning his musical career on the mixtape circuit in Compton, California, DJ Quik has gone on to become the most expansive signee to Profile Records. In the 25 years since, he has spent time as an “R&B pretty boy,” the creator of a  Top 10 album, an independent distributor, and an artist on a six-year hiatus. In between those musical and personal movements, Quik released Safe + Sound, an album whose title may reference his sense of inner peace after years of tension with Ruthless Records, a bounce-back after a scrapped album, and his reunion with early manager, Marion “Suge” Knight. Today (February 21, 2015), that album turns 20, reminding us how pivotal 1995 was for West Coast Rap and for David Blake himself.

Despite being imbued with the earmarks of most of Quik’s music–Funk-based sampling, tongue-in-cheek wordplay, and a heaping dose of misogyny–the album ushered in a new Quik, one who was leaving the streets of Compton for more mainstream projects like the Above The Rim soundtrack and soon, 2Pac’s All Eyez On Me. Already a platinum-selling artist (thanks to 1991’s Quik Is the Name), the MC/producer/DJ released Safe + Sound during Rap music’s own “gold rush,” when label executives all but tripped over their own feet trying to sign a hot California artist. With all that competition in his backyard, it seems Quik took the opportunity to improve on his already incredible production techniques, incorporating a significant amount of live instrumentation, including contributions from George Clinton, the progenitor of Funk. In addition, Cameo front man Larry Blackmon and P-Funk/Talking Heads pianist Bernie Worrell can be heard grooving on the record, elevating Quik’s funky proclivities from being not only ingeniously sampled but also orchestrated. Other inclusions like a long flute solo on “Somethin’ 4 Tha Mood” and the third installment of his jazzy “Quik’s Groove” tracks make the album a sonically dynamic piece of work, both quintessentially West Coast and decidedly progressive.

The album helped to add definition to the concept of “P” funk, which Quik aimed to differentiate from, G-Funk. The term P-Funk worked in two ways, as an homage to Parliament Funkadelic, the original P Funk, and Quik’s Tree Top Piru family (a focal point of the album). What was more significant, however, was that it created a separation between himself and G-Funk, the “gangster funk” most commonly associated with Dr. Dre, Warren G, and Above The Law’s Cold 187um. By repackaging the P-Funk concept, Quik was unabashedly reminding us that he was the originator of West Coast Gangster Funk, hollerin’ “I’m the first nigga that was ‘Bangin on Wax.’ Yeah, if you remember, 1987 underground tapes.” At a time when artists like Ice-T, King T, and Quik’s foe, MC Eiht were keeping their street ties closer to the vest, David Blake was brandishing his neighborhood.

Lyrically, the album is almost entirely devoted to sex, partying, and barbs aimed at Eiht, whom he calls out several times, perhaps most significantly in the intro (“and this is still Eiht-killa”). “Dollaz + Sense” was not only a brutal verbal attack on his nemesis (“Givin’ your set a bad name wit your misspelled name, E-I-H-T, now should I continue? Yeah you left out the ‘G’ ’cause the ‘G’ ain’t in you”) but also a single, helping to change the diss record from a platform for boasting about lyrical capabilities to one about who was bigger in the streets. Quik, who had been dissing Eiht throughout the ’90s (and vice versa) suddenly engaged listeners who were previously unaware. The Death Row formula, making targets out of Eazy-E, Luke, Da’Brat, Jermaine Dupri, B.G. Knocc Out, and others doubled as a marketing formula that applied to Safe + Sound. On the musical side, Roger Troutman’s talkbox makes a memorable appearance on “Can I Eat It?,” a virulent track demonizing female sexuality. The juxtaposition of lyrics like “have her wash up if the hoe is a hoochie, and keep your mouth away from that coochie” against the backdrop of a talkbox-inspired hook is unmistakably Quik. He also makes it clear from the get-go that all he cares about is “music and sex, a fifth of Remy and some big fat checks.” Despite those ostensibly pedestrian motifs, Quik’s storytelling abilities make us forget that we’re listening to some of the raunchiest lyrics and hardest-hitting diss tracks in Rap history.

A big external influence in the formation of Quik’s solid output on the album is his relationship with Death Row Records. Later in 1995, he would perform “Dollaz + Sense” (which debuted on Tha Row’s late 1994 Murder Was The Case soundtrack) during a label medley. Not since Run-DMC’s ties with Def Jam, had a non-label artist been treated with such inclusion. The relationship was only building. Within a year of S+S‘s release, Quik was joining Daz Dillinger as the perceived heir to Dr. Dre’s empty studio seat. The longtime friend of Knight’s would spend the rest of the ’90s at the helm for 2Pac, Danny Boy, Tha Outlawz, and even wishful sound-alike Top Dogg. With such a bountiful marriage, it seems strange that S+S doesn’t feature any guest appearances from Death Row’s extensive roster. Instead, Quik opted for hometown heroes, enlisting the help of 2nd II None (who recorded an unreleased album, 1994’s Tha Shit with Knight at the controls), Hi-C, and Penthouse Players Clique’s Playa Hamm. In hindsight, the decision was arguably brilliant; “Keep Tha ‘P’ In It” and “Sucka Free” are two of the funkiest tracks on the album.

The album’s jewel however, may likely be it’s title cut. Quik, who is one of Hip-Hop’s most outspoken interviewees, opened up in a way that was new to his listeners. The autobiographical track takes the idea of the Compton streets and strips away some of the cinematic images from N.W.A. and The Chronic, and simply tells a very specific story. Quik recalls his pursuit of paper, his close ties to those who never looked beyond Hub City, and the 1988 decision to move out that may have delivered him fully to music, saving his life. The song itself tells the story of what Quik left behind, but also what he’s carried with him, especially apparent on his third album.

Twenty years later, Safe+Sound continues to show its impact. Whether Game or Blu, Kendrick Lamar or Dom Kennedy, so many of today’s impactful Southern California voices are clearly taking pages from the Profile Records release. Quik’s musicality, and laid back grooves are giant influences on the TDE crew, as well as Terrace Martin. The samples, insight and genre-fusing courage are especially big in Hip-Hop today. Moreover, the fearless, unashamed promotion of street life is something that’s gained greater controversy in the Internet era. Most of all though, the ability to be all of these things—vulgar, belligerent, cocky, thoughtful, and gangsta seemed possible—all while giving music the ultimate focus. DJ Quik, like his peers, legitimized Gangsta Rap as a genre, not just for its antics, flare, or violence, but because these were reality raps, stretched out over courageous and complex productions, aware and considerate to the greats. Safe + Sound is a benchmark album, albeit often in the shadow of some others, for just this reason.

DJ Quik, criminally absent from most discussions about the best to ever do it, has spent over 25 years cultivating a soundtrack for the West Coast, oscillating from low to high profile. An artist whose debut went gold – and eventually platinum – without much video or airplay, Quik has often played the role of the perpetual underdog, not earning his credit where due and never recapturing the commercial success of his earliest release. Nevertheless, Heads are well aware that the West Coast sound and the P-Funk/G-funk era would sound very different were it not for the work put in by DJ Quik.

Amanda Mester is a writer and editor living in Brooklyn, New York. Follow her on Twitter @CanEye_KickIt

Related: Snoop Doggy Dogg’s Doggystyle & The Death Row Records Reign (2013 Food For Thought)

Here’s an open letter to Jay Z from Cam Osteen, a brilliant young producer who has helped to craft the sound for Chance the Rapper, Vic Mensa and others. He recently created a track for Hov but was prevented from getting the track to him. Rather than give up, he’s written an Open Letter to him that’s part commentary on the music business, part demonstration of his knowledge of Jay’s musical tastes and 100% fan appreciation for the man, himself. This is a must read for anyone who’s following a dream or believes in artistic integrity. You can check out the letter and the track below.

Dear Hov,

About a month ago, I had the opportunity to get this track to you via a trusted source close to you, but unfortunately it never made it. Instead, I was encouraged to make something more along the lines of what you’re already making with other producers. While taking this advice would have increased my chances of getting a record placed with you, it would have also defeated the purpose of me producing a record for you in the first place. Producers depreciate their artistic value when they subjugate their vision to someone else’s. In all my work I seek to set myself apart, not blend in. Without an understanding of their own artistic worth, producers will tend to create as a directive. Consequently, the culture of beatmakers in the music industry begins to resemble that of a sweatshop. Creating your own platform for the release of your first album was the result of your belief in your own worth, which prevented the major labels from being able to dictate your future. That same understanding in myself is what has birthed this letter; choosing to stay true to myself instead of doing what I was told.

My thought process behind the track itself was simple: create something that I, myself, would want to listen to as a fan of yours. Creating from this place ensures that the result is genuine and that I can stand behind it 100%. I started by referencing songs of yours that resonate with me: “Hard Knock Life”, “Empire State of Mind”, “Izzo (H.O.V.A.)”, and “Roc Boys” to name a few. It occurred to me that gospel music is a natural blend of the qualities found in all of those songs: big, soulful, and anthemic. So I decided to sample myself singing the words “Hov is back for you!” like a church choir. From there, I sped that recording up, added the other elements and this became the song. My intention was for those lyrics to function as the song’s hook. All that it’s missing now is you.

Collaboration yields classic records when it is grounded in the desire to make a great song, not meet a quota. It seems, however, that the sole motivation of many producers is to get placements in order to fulfill contracts. This presents a major problem for music when a producer has to choose between following orders in order to get the placement, and creating what they’re driven to create for the artist. The beneficiaries of the contracts producers tend to find themselves bound to often prioritize the former over the latter, therefore producers with matching priorities tend to be seen as more valuable. This in turn motivates producers to create exactly what they’re told in order to secure the placement. Some producers will instead go above and beyond what is expected of them and create based on their own vision, but unfortunately that music is often filtered out before it reaches your ears. In fact, that kind of producer — aware of his own artistic worth — is usually not valued. This goes against the foundation that was laid by the greats who have helped you craft hits. Kanye, Pharrell, Timbaland, and No I.D. are famous for having a strong creative vision of their own that they always get across regardless of what other producers are doing or what they themselves might be encouraged to do by music industry personnel.

I did not write this letter simply to convince you to use my beat, but also to shed light on the producer’s dilemma. The fact that I even have to write you this letter in the first place is a problem that I see compounding upon a bigger problem: artists, and specifically producers, deriving their artistic worth from their ability to meet contractual quotas and allowing that to dictate their art. They are not intrinsically motivated, and so they allow themselves to be validated by outside sources. This is the reason why it didn’t make it to you the first time around. I would’ve had to send something completely different if it was going to have any chance of reaching your ears. So whether you choose to use the beat or not, know that it was derived from my interpretation of your aesthetic and what you mean to me. My conviction in myself was strong enough to keep me motivated to get it to you even in the face of rejection. It’s that same personal conviction which led you to launch Roc-A-Fella Records, and, in turn, the legacy that made you into a living legend. The honor would come from knowing that you took the time to listen to this track, unfiltered, unedited, specifically as it was intended for you.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Cam Osteen
@iamCam

If you have just clicked this to hear more about the Jay Z and Solange rift that recently exploded all over the Internet, then you have come to the right place but for reasons that may differ from your expectations (but keep reading). Before we begin, ask yourself, “Why did I click this and what drew me to it?” This is exactly the point RapRehab’s Sebastien Elkouby makes with his recent excellent piece analyzing “gossip and celebrity worship,” what draws us to these subjects, and how the behavior has grafted our society as a whole.

Our days are filled with obligation–work, school, family, friends–and our rapid shift to a world filled with instant gratification is a product of our increasingly limited pockets of time for ourselves. When we come across stolen moments of pleasure, how do we fill them? Streaming videos, memes, apps, the latest in celebrity discourse and, of course, the hot new song of the minute.

As Elkouby states in his article, “[w]e crave distractions. Stories about people like Donald Sterling, Mimi Faust, Chris Brown, Cliven Bundy, and the Carters/Knowles give us a temporary escape from our own boring lives. Many of us spend 8 or more hours a day at a job we hate, working with people we can’t stand, making less than what we need, to start all over again the following day. And out of nowhere comes a story that instantaneously takes us away from endless spreadsheets, bossy supervisors, and grueling staff meetings. Our cell phones and computers are patiently waiting, a magical portal to an exciting world of superstars, fame, drama, and anything else to make us forget our tedious daily routine.”

We invest into this perpetually refreshing “feed.” We share, comment, re-tweet and open dialogue with others looking to escape. And then with a click, we are back in the Matrix of real life. Our phones and iPads shimmer with a blank stare. The fantasy world we visited sits still like a well-behaved hound on the other side of the darkness, ready to deliver the next story with the next slide of our fingers. But is there something bigger that we are missing? How long have we been living in this virtual world and how is it affecting us in reality?

Elkouby suggests that we channel our energies toward loftier objectives. “Rather than posting countless Facebook comments about Donald Sterling’s racist rants, can that same fire be used to advocate for racial justice…even if only within our own circles?  Instead of tweeting how outraged we are about Mimi Faust’s sex tape, can we do a better job of monitoring the sexually degrading entertainment our kids are exposed to?  Can we spend more time developing healthier relationships with our loved ones than we do trying to figure out why Jay Z and Solange don’t get along?”

If we are regularly using the limited amount of time we have everyday to engage with the latest celebrity gossip, it’s a safe bet that critical societal problems will go unresolved amidst all this seemingly useless discourse. Elkouby’s ultimate concern is that our “quality of life is rapidly decreasing” amidst the endless distractions. This premise is worthy of more than just a few clicks of consideration…but it does not allow for the totality of our needs as people.

It’s okay to click on celebrity news. It’s okay to eat junk food. It’s okay to escape the rigamarole of every day life. Sometimes. Like any good nutrition plan, the keys to good health (physical and mental) are balance and moderation. We all need moments where we indulge ourselves. By contrast, there also are times where we need to strive for greatness, in ourselves and others. Sometimes, the best way to move past life’s ennuis is to face them full on and change the life circumstance that is causing them in the first place. Build that business you’ve been considering. Lose that weight you’ve wanted to shed. Make that song that makes people’s lives better. Follow that dream…

Maybe next time you see another Jay Z and Solange-related post, you won’t click it. Or maybe you will. If you do, just remember to balance the scale when the opportunity arises.

Related: After Days of Speculation About Their Altercation, Jay Z , Solange & Beyonce Issue a Statement

In the wake of Maya Angelou’s death last week, Common published a heartfelt reaction. Comm’s words explain everything they need to, but Ambrosia For Heads felt this was something too heartfelt, important, and eloquent not to share:

“Since I was 5 years old I have loved reading good writing. I would read anything that my mother or the teachers I loved gave me. In the 2nd grade I came across an author named Maya Angelou and her poem Still I Rise, this incredible piece of art that I somehow knew came from her soul and touched my soul. A piece of art that I somehow knew would change and improve my life. It was through this writer that I gained the inspiration to be somebody in life and to be heard.

I didn’t know that it would be through hip hop and the gift of rap that I would open myself up and become a writer and MC. Through writing I would get the opportunity to travel and see the world—London, Sydney, Johannesburg, Osaka—and it was writing that brought me one October evening to a charity event in New York where we were blessed to have as our luminary for the night, Dr. Maya Angelou. Having her as our guest was a fluke of Divine Order and a true example of Ask and You shall receive.

What had happened was the poet we booked to perform dropped out last minute so my mother said, “I’m gonna try to get in touch with Dr. Maya Angelou.” I said, “Ma, are you crazy? Maya Angelou? How do you think we’re gonna get one of the greatest beings that ever graced this earth last minute? She doesn’t know who Common is.”

Well, to this day I don’t know if she had ever heard of Common before the call was made but somehow through God’s thread she said she would like to meet with me before she decided if she would do the event. So here I am headed to Harlem to meet her at her apartment, just got my hair cut, heart beating, I walk into her beautiful space that smelled like integrity, art, generosity, love, hope, inspiration, honesty, and home. We would sit for two and a half hours talking about writing, my daughter, San Francisco, and Tupac. And oh yeah, Paul Robeson.

The next night she did her thing at the event and embraced me as a young writer-artist, an important voice in hip hop and even flirted with me. Now that really made me feel special. She and I would go on to build a bond that not only would have us spreading love at events in Harlem, Chicago, and D.C., but I would be blessed to go visit her at her home in Winston-Salem, N.C., and celebrate several birthdays with her where we had great times and I got to know her lovely family. It was always an honor to be in her presence and though she did feel like my mother, my grandma, and my friend. I would always Thank God for being there with her.

Every experience was unique, but every time I saw her I learned something about myself and about life, about humanity, about progress. And I was always reminded how we are true reflections of God, how much Light we do have, how great and dynamic Black Women are and how far Integrity, Self Love and Self Respect can take you. I don’t know if my words—or any words—can truly describe the experience of being in the atmosphere of Dr. Maya Angelou, someone you know is sent from the Creator to Give the World A Voice it has never heard, a brightness it has never witnessed, an energy that is Greatness, Divinity and Awakening all wrapped into one.

I awoke on May 28, 2014, ready for a powerful day of filming and to do some great work. I was stepping out of a van when I received the news that Dr. Angelou had made her transition and as I moved I felt like my soul was standing still. I hadn’t digested or processed it as I continued to go about the day. Of course I stopped and said a prayer but it wasn’t until the director of our film, Ava DuVernay, said, “We all know what has happened this morning and This Queen is one of the reasons why we can do this film and we will honor her and carry her with us as we proceed forward.” Right then I was able to let loose and cry and release some of the natural pain of losing someone you love and someone so great. And though I’m still in the process I also recognize that she will never be lost and how much we all have gained by having her touch this earth.

God gave us an Angel and we got to witness that Angel for a beautiful time of life. And though that Angel has returned to her maker, Her Work, Her Spirit, Her Words—aw man, Her Words—Her passion, Her heart, Her Love, Her Greatness, Her Royalty, Her Strength, Her Wisdom, Her Divinity, Her Angel will always be here with us. For my daughter’s daughters, your daughter’s daughters, and forever more. Love you, Dr Maya Angelou.

Love, Common”

As read on The Daily Beast.

Related: Rest In Peace To Dr. Maya Angelou

Fourteen years ago today, the sentinels of Hip-Hop history were forced to chisel out a fraction of its foundation and infinitely reserve the section for a budding, yet unconventional trio’s 68-minute audible depiction of the essence of life in Detroit, Michigan. Whether the culture of Hip-Hop comprehended the significance of this collection of expressionism on that exact date, didn’t matter much. They soon would.

Comprised of a brilliant but introverted conductor in J Dilla (then as just “Jay Dee”), and two spirited and eccentric emcees in T3 and Baatin, Detroit’s own Slum Village had formally unveiled what would be the culmination of both their colorful identities and musical visions on their most definitive release to date, Fantastic, Volume 2.

While the hands of time were able to diminish the flesh of Slum Village, those same hands will perpetually fail at subsiding the heart and soul of Slum Village. The core characteristics that were essential in the construction of one of Hip-Hop’s most beloved groups, were at their finest throughout Fantastic, Volume 2. A timeless album that is widely considered to be one of the most complex and subtle collections of Rap music ever created, we talked at length with the sole remaining original member, T3, about Slum Village’s Fantastic journey.

Ambrosia For Heads: T3, can you start off by talking a little bit about how you, Dilla, and Baatin met, and how Slum Village came to be?

T3: We actually all met while we were in high school. I had a group I was already in with Baatin, and we kept hearing about this kid named James Yancey. We heard that he made beats, so we were interested in meeting him and hearing his stuff. We ended up connecting with him and going over to his house one day. We went there and he took us straight to where he had this old school drum machine. He started playing some of his beats, and they were dope, and really right from there we just kept doing stuff together. We were always hanging around each other here and there in high school. Well, when he was in high school. [Laughs] Because he wasn’t there a lot.

Ambrosia For Heads: Was he skipping school to work on music?

T3: Yeah, mostly working on music. If it wasn’t music, it was something else, but he definitely wasn’t at school much. He was always at home. He did his own thing, but was usually at home making music. So yeah, eventually we had this big party at my crib. I asked my grandma if I could have a bunch of people over, and we had a bunch of rappers and DJ’s and dancers to my place. We were all there. Me, Dilla, Baatin, Frank-N-Dank, and a bunch of others. There was this big session with all these rappers doing their thing, and at the end of the session the three of us got together and decided that we needed to start working as a group. So yeah, that was really the moment that Slum Village took form.

Ambrosia For Heads: Slum Village had quite the journey leading up to the creation of Fantastic, Volume 2, as you guys were in and out of a few different record labels before it actually got released. What were the issues going on behind that?

T3: We got our first deal with A&M Records, but what happened was we got our deal and it was right around the same time that Kurupt dropped that double album [Kuruption, with East and West discs]. That album did so bad that they basically shut down the whole Rap Department at A&M. And no disrespect to Kurupt, because he’s one of my favorite MCs, but that is really what happened. You know, initially we had a lot of options on who to sign with. We could have signed with Def Jam [Records], we could have signed with Universal [Records]. I’m not too sure why we signed with A&M, but I think it was because there weren’t a lot of artists to compete with over there. At that time, we didn’t want a whole lot of competition within our own label. Around then, Def Jam had Redman, LL Cool J, Method Man and a whole lot of other big artists. Looking back on it now though, we probably should have chose Def Jam or Universal.

Ambrosia For Heads: So during your time with A&M you guys actually completed Fantastic, Volume 2, but not only could you not release it, people also started bootlegging it too, correct?

T3: Yeah, we finished all this music and did all this promotion, and even though we had a deal, we didn’t get to come out with the album. Somehow our record had leaked through the industry though. So, I guess after the deal fell through, people who had their hands on it were just giving it away. We had never dealt with bootlegging like that before either, so it was pretty crazy. I remember once we went to Europe in 1999, and there were some people that came up to us wanting us to sign our record that hadn’t even been released yet, and the craziest thing was that the cover on it was like a picture of New York’s skyline [laughing], and we’re like, “We’re not from New York, like why would that be the cover?” So I guess whoever bootlegged it assumed that we were from New York just based on our style, and put the New York skyline on there with the words “Slum Village.” A lot of people had that same copy of it, too. So whoever bootlegged that probably made some good money on those. The one good thing about the album being bootlegged though, was that we still toured off of it. People were familiar with our new music even though it wasn’t released yet, so we got to travel and do shows because of that.

Ambrosia For Heads: The album ended up being released by Good Vibe in 2000. Baatin had publicly talked about how initially after the album was released, Detroit wasn’t very receptive to it. Why do you think it was so difficult to recognition and acceptance within your own hometown?

T3: Detroit is just such an urban place. It’s a place full of gangsters and hustlers. As far as the young urban market is concerned, that’s how they liked their music too. There were far more people listening to N.W.A. than to A Tribe Called Quest back then, you know? So, us coming from Detroit they expected us to have that same type of gangster mentality in our music and sound. But we were so left with it, that it really took them a while. Once we got the publicity and accolades though, they really had no option but to accept it. Naturally, Detroit likes hood music. I mean right now, the youth of Detroit’s favorite artist is [Young] Jeezy. I think that’s just Detroit’s mentality on how Hip-Hop should be. Maybe not all of Detroit, but 90 percent of them like their Hip-Hop that way.

Ambrosia For Heads: Do you think that paradigm will ever shift within the urban culture of Detroit?

T3: I don’t think so. At least not in the black community. I mean, we were like the first group out of Detroit to get a major deal. To have both the national and international recognition, we were really the first of our kind. Of course we knew there were going to be some major hurdles for us to jump, and it really wasn’t until we dropped that record with Kanye [West] (“Selfish”), that people really started to understand what we were doing. But no, I don’t think that style of Hip-Hop will ever be what the majority of Detroit wants to hear.

Ambrosia For Heads: There were some significant features on Fantastic, Volume 2, with Q-Tip, Common, Pete Rock, Busta, D’Angelo, and Kurupt. What was the vibe like in the studio during the creation of the album? That’s a whole lot of Hip-Hop heavyweights at the top of their game contributing ideas to one album.

T3: Yeah for sure, it’s not like today where people are just sending vocals to each other through the Internet. We were either traveling to work specifically with those artists, or they were coming directly to us. A lot of that was because of the relationships that [J] Dilla had built with these artists. Also, Q-Tip was a big fan of Fantastic Vol. 1 and was openly shopping it around, so a lot of the artists that heard Vol. 1 through him, loved it so much that they wanted to work with us on whatever our next project was.

Ambrosia For Heads: Anything memorable about those recording sessions that stick with you?

T3: I remember when we were doing the Busta [Rhymes] record (“What It’s All About”) and we went to New York, I think it was Baseline Studios, and Busta put his verse down over the original beat. But on so many tracks on that album, Dilla would do like eight different remixes of them before we would choose the right one. [Laughs] So a lot of the tracks that made it on the album, weren’t even the original tracks.

Ambrosia For Heads: Was Dilla doing so many remixes simply because he was such a perfectionist?

T3: Yeah, he was just such a perfectionist and was always trying to push himself musically to where no one else could go. I would say at least half of the tracks on the album were remixed multiple times before the final track was put on the album. So on a track like that one, Busta would do his verse first in New York, and we wouldn’t even record our own verses until we got back to Detroit, because we already knew Dilla wasn’t done with his remixes on it. On the Pete Rock record (“Once Upon A Time”), Pete came down to Detroit, brought his [Emu] SP1200, played some beats, and him and Dilla were just vibing back and forth. What ended up happening was we picked a beat that Pete made from that session, and changed the vocals on it, and then Dilla went back and remade that same beat that Pete originally made. It was a beat that had a kalimba sample in it, so Dilla went and found a kalimba and played it over the track in his own way, and then chopped it up in the SP1200, and then re-did the beat just so it could be cleaner.

Ambrosia For Heads: That’s a great segue into Dilla’s production on the album. It was so very intricate throughout the entirety of it. The effort he put into the complexity of each track was certainly evident. Can you reflect on the particular sound and vibe he illustrated on that album?

T3: I think Dilla took a lot of the same elements from Vol. 1 and just did them more thoroughly on this album. The thing that Dilla really wanted to do on Vol. 2 was create an album that you could just put on and let it ride all the way through. That’s why he put a lot of extra stuff at the end of tracks. You know like vocal samples, and scratches, and things like that you know just to keep it interesting. He wanted a continuous vibe to it. At that time, we were big into having skits throughout the album, too. Baatin was a large part of that, with creating the skits and doing different characters and voices.

Ambrosia For Heads: Dilla also really showcased his under-appreciated skills on the microphone on this album, which he didn’t do much throughout his career. As the group evolved, was him shying away from the mic just a case of him wanting to focus more on production because that’s what he was more passionate about?

T3: Yeah, I think he focused on production because that was his main love, but he was always rapping from the beginning. We always knew him as a rapper and a producer. Initially he was dropping just as many raps as he did beats, and he was equally as talented at both.

Ambrosia For Heads: Any random stories that Slum Village fans might not know about Dilla, that you could share?

T3: I remember one of the first songs I ever heard from him where he was rapping, was this joint where he was doing this stutter style. He really did have an actual stuttering problem when he was young, but on this track his flow was like he was skillfully stuttering through the whole verse on purpose. I had never heard anything like that before. He had so many of these short songs he used to do that he would just randomly play for you. We would ride around in his old Ford Escort and he would just play little mini songs that he would make, and that track was one of them. He was always an innovator on some next level type stuff.

Ambrosia For Heads: If you had to choose one track off of Fantastic, Volume 2 as the most special to you, which one would you select and why?

T3: I think “Raise It Up” is the most special to me. That was the one song I was the most hesitant about, too. You know, when Dilla came up with the idea for that song [Dilla raps his verse in double entendres and says the opposite of what he means], and then he played the beat, and I was like “Yeah, Okay that seems cool, but let me see what you do to it first.” So, he went ahead and did his verse and I was instantly sold. [Laughs] I was like “Okay, that’s dope. I get it now.” [Laughs] Then I came up with the concept of how all three of us would do our verses in different ways, and we also had everyone in the studio doing the backgrounds on it. It’s still one of the top records that people request when we do a show. It’s always been in our shows since day one, so it’s just a really special record for me.

Ambrosia For Heads: What is it about Fantastic, Volume 2 that has made it so indelible and led to it withstanding the test of time? I witnessed its impact first hand this year in February at Dilla Day. When you guys started performing tracks from it, the energy at the Fillmore hit its climax. The relationship between those songs and the Hip-Hop faithful in attendance was astounding.

T3: I think it was just a new and a different approach to what anyone was doing at that time. We were like the ghetto version of A Tribe Called Quest, you know what I’m saying? We had a similar vibe and soul, but we were saying things that they wouldn’t say. It was just a whole different approach to that sound of Hip-Hop. I remember Maseo telling me, “Man, I’m so happy you guys came out, because you guys made it easier for me to give a little bit more of my perspective.” The music was just all new in itself. It was a new form of musical expression, and when people heard it, it really affected them. I remember artists on the Up in Smoke Tour telling us that they named their three different buses after us. Like one was the Dilla bus, one was the T3 bus, and one was the Baatin bus, just because Fantastic, Volume 2 was all they would play on the road. So yeah, it was just a very innovative album, and it has influenced a whole lot of people.

Ambrosia For Heads: Does the current Slum Village consciously try and maintain some of the same characteristics and elements that the original Slum Village embodied? If so, what are those characteristics?

T3: The thing about that, is that everyone who’s in Slum Village now has been there since the beginning. Young RJ was around when he was a kid and started producing for us on Trinity when he was 15 years old. So he’s been there for a while and was mentored by Dilla back then, too. With Illa J being Dilla’s younger brother, he has been there from day one, as well. I mean, we used to record our first demos in his house. So we definitely are aware of the sound and the formula because we have all been there from the start. It’s never going to be what it was, but it’s constantly evolving and the essence will always maintain. I try and keep it going because Detroit doesn’t have a lot going right now, you know? We’ve got to keep it moving and we’ve got to keep working. We’ve got to keep the legacy going.

Ambrosia For Heads: What is in store for Slum Village in the immediate future? Any current projects in the works?

T3: Yeah, we got a few projects coming out. We have an EP coming out on vinyl only. It’s called Vintage. It’s got a couple joints produced by Dilla, one joint produced by Black Milk, and one produced by RJ. It will be out within the next month or so. We’re also getting ready for a couple tours. We have a tour through Canada, an East Coast tour, and a European tour coming up. We may also drop a mixtape. So that’s basically what we’re doing for this year and what we’re working on currently.

Ambrosia For Heads: T3, thanks for taking the time to talk with us about this timeless album and some of the Slum Village memories that are dear to you. Continued success to you and the Slum Village team.

T3: Thank you. Same to you and I appreciate you taking the time to do this interview.

Author Michael Blair can be followed on Twitter @senseiscommon, T3 is @T3SV, and Slum Village is @SlumVillage.

Purchase music by Slum Village, including Fantastic, Volume 2.

Related: Memory Lane: Noah Uman & Making Nas’ Illmatic XX & The Hip-Hop Reissue (Food For Thought Interview)

While Tupac’s music is perennially celebrated, it is his activism that has once again come to the foreground, recently. A month ago, 2Pac’s previously-unreleased conversation with Sanyika Shakur (Monster Kody) provided 20 minutes of deep insights, reflections, and admissions from the final year of the iconic “Thug Angel’s” life. Over the weekend, Public Enemy’s Chuck D shared a letter ‘Pac drafted him from prison, in 1995, suggesting the Thug Life rapper’s plans for a unified front in Hip-Hop activism.

Aside from the controversies, convictions, beef, and vengefully fiery records, Tupac Shakur’s life and times (especially in the year leading up to September 7, 1996) are commonly interpreted differently. To some, the native New Yorker was a war-mongering rapper who danced with the hype-machine until it conquered him. To others, a seemingly much wider majority, Tupac Shakur is the perfect merger of poetry and Rap, who lived like so many geniuses, amidst controversy and contradiction—a self-proclaimed feminist convicted of sexual assault, a soldier for peace, and a money-counting capitalist who often said he wanted to conquer poverty. All of those complex themes and gray areas are at play in “Holler If Ya Hear Me,” a Kenny Leon-directed Broadway production at the Palace Theatre—even if Tupac’s name is never mentioned. Starring poet/author/musician Saul Williams (Slam, “Not In My Name”). In an early review, The L.A. Times wrote, “With its Shakur-inspired tale of urban decay and street morality, it is a very un-Broadway musical, presented by some of Broadway’s biggest names.” With Tony Award-winners in the cast (Tonya Pinkins) and an August Wilson fellow behind the script (Todd Kreidler), the production may not closely follow ‘Pac’s life or mention his name, but it is deemed as an illustration for the kind of life the man lead, and the proponent of change he aimed to be. The review expounds on the plot as, “Centering on the newly released ex-con John (Williams), it tells of a man whose act of street violence landed him several years in jail, but whose Shakur-like reading and writing of poetry has yielded a quiet intelligence, if still-simmering anger.” However, “The narrative is structured around some of [2Pac’s] most popular and provocative songs. ‘Changes,’ with the aforementioned welfare lyric, casts a harsh eye on social ills. Personal anthems such as ‘Me Against the World’ and ‘Only God Can Judge Me’ offer intimate and defiant looks at men who feel trapped by circumstance.”

With ‘Pac’s mom, Afeni Shakur, signing off on the production, and the late August Wilson himself having a strange hand in the script’s development, the belief is strong. However, per the review, the $100 ticketed production is attracting stars like Chris Rock and Ms. Shakur herself, but needs help. Having opened June 19, “Holler If Ya Hear Me” is strongly depending on more support to maintain its Palace residence. Sources close to the production have told Ambrosia For Heads that upcoming audiences are paramount to keep the musical on Broadway.

Support/learn more about “Holler If Ya Hear Me.”

Read: In Tupac Shakur’s ‘Holler If Ya Hear Me,’ an unlikely Broadway trip by The L.A. Times.

Related: Here is an Incredibly Candid Previously Unreleased Conversation Between 2Pac & Sanyika Shakur (Audio)

It has been 30 years ago this week (June 25 to be exact) that Prince released his magnum opus sixth album, Purple Rain. Twenty million copies sold later, the greatest selling soundtrack of all-time is both a time capsule, and—if we look at it in terms of substance, theme, and approach—timeless. Even for Heads who never saw the film of the same name, this Warner Bros. Records release plays like audio cinema, with plot-points, crescendos, and plenty of conflict. Just nine songs deep, this effort solidified Prince as an icon—and yet was seemingly the sole time that the mainstream completely harmonized with the Twin Cities visionary.

So much can be said about an album like Purple Rain. The musical backbone to a film, the first of four Prince starred in between 1984 and 1990, it remains the most enduring feature of the display. Following Prince’s Top 10 flirtation in 1982’s 1999, which produced 3 Top 20 singles, Purple Rain was the next vehicle to bring the Minneapolis late ’70s alum into the households of middle Americans. Glamorous, sexual, and often over the top, the perfect envelope for the soundtrack (and The Artist) was “When Doves Cry.” The complex song weaved family, intimacy, and multiple picturesque settings—almost all relevant to the film, and used it to fit snugly at the intersection of New Wave, Pop, R&B, Rock & Roll, and Dance. At a time when record store sections were expanding into new categories, Prince challenged conventions. Just as The Artist spoke softly and challenged gender roles while flaunting his heterosexuality, he also refused to be reduced to an R&B artist simply based on race or previous hits, and he refused to sing about the same things as Rock stars simply because he dragged around a guitar. The first single went to #1, and reached multiple continents, generations, races, and types of fans, simply based on its originality. While Purple Rain lived in its own world, in the first week of Summer 1984, Prince seemingly grasped the zeitgeist of the planet.

Part of Prince’s mastery at connecting with audiences, especially in a Second Cold War-era America was angst. “Let’s Go Crazy,” is a Tim Burton-style microcosm of release. The same way Bruce Springsteen sardonically made “Born In The U.S.A.” earlier in June, ’84, Prince knew people were dissatisfied with the changing of the guards, and disenfranchised, period. Economies were crashing, cocaine was booming, and Baby-Boomers were turning into Young Urban Professionals on the Wall Streets of screen and reality. The second single from Purple Rain played with the depth of apocalypse, synthetic living, the joys of sex, and made a song worthy of yanking every wallflower to floor at prom season. Just as he’d successfully done with “1999,” Prince threw purple Power Pop sugar on a deep idea. This time, he flipped the universe on its head, and with The Revolution, refused to ever go the easy route. “Let’s Go Crazy” endures because it’s other-wordly. Thirty years later, there are still shrinks in Beverly Hills like there are still angst, unhappiness, and ticking clocks to all of our lives. The album opener was the perfect foreplay for Prince’s mainstream masterpiece.

With over half of Purple Rain going to radio as singles, the album lives up to its sales figures in familiarity. While “Let’s Go Crazy” was an open invitation party for all, “Darling Nikki” certainly wasn’t. The Apollonia Kotera-inspired song (as in the film) prominently described a tryst with a female nymphomaniac with an assortment of toys, and the experience’s Holy ties. The song’s lyrics prompted Tipper Gore to establish the Parents Music Resource Center that same year, which—over a decade before Eazy-E released Str8 Off Tha Streetz Of Muthaphuckin’ Compton to awaiting charts—is responsible for parental advisory stickers on albums. Prince’s music did that, changing the release landscape for artists in Hip-Hop, Metal, Rock & Roll, Punk, etc. to come.

The Grammy Award-winning album paralleled its film in the over-arching love story. “I Would Die 4 You” took the sweet style used by the Phil Spector-produced groups of the ’60s like The Crystals, Ronnettes, and The Righteous Brothers, and used an expression too jarring for previous decades. Altruism got real, when Prince laid it out that his love was so strong that his life meant less—a powerful thought, but one that again, made sense to the people in an age when love was a hard-trading commodity. “Purple Rain,” the title song, remains one the most complex ballads in Pop music. Part love-song, part break-up song, the record–as designed in the film—plays the heart-strings. The drama that Prince has been associated with throughout his 35-plus-year-career is arguably its best at that nine-minute breakdown. The synesthesia of the song holds up to its title, and it’s the jarring exit from the world the artist created, begging for the record to be flipped over, and the journey to renew. Fifteen years before 808’s & Heartbreak, Prince was maximizing his artistic license, and the masses followed. The song showed just how much Prince & The Revolution could challenge format—whether genre, radio, songwriting, etc. Whether Kanye West or Rage Against The Machine, Prince’s fearlessness inspired legions of contemporary artists, who plausibly were introduced by this moment.

Thirty years later, artists of all mediums are still trying to get on Prince’s level. Purple Rain is grandiose, and abstract, and lives in its own world—no matter how applicable it might still be to Ours. However, this is the album—the stone in the sand—that everybody wants to make. Moreover, Prince refuses to bow, pander or call back to that glory—he just lets it live as he wished and wishes. Like The Beatles’ 1969 rooftop concert or 2Pac and Biggie’s alleged verbal exchange at the MTV Music Awards, this moment lives in a vacuum. It’s forever there for Heads to wonder, to rediscover, to analyze, and to come back to when we want to feel a glamorized moment in time and life.

Related: Prince Has a New Girl in Zooey Deschanel (Audio)

In Phoebe Hoban’s biography, Basquiat: A Quick Killing In Art, the New York painter is remembered, at the pinnacle of his fame, hiring stretch limousines, and riding around Manhattan self-medicating and watching cartoons—alone in the back. He yearned for the world around him, but only could experience it on his terms. With fame, comes sacrifice. And the mere image of a crown (something prevalent in much of the painter’s pieces) changes everything.

Approaching 25 years in Hip-Hop, Cormega is on the phone, sitting alone on the third floor of his home on a July morning. Aside from his family, this New Yorker is often alone—and he prefers it that way. While ‘Mega says he never illustrated the crown in his own lyrics, the poetic MC is a product of the era where a city’s brightest talents abandoned unity to claw their way to a man-made throne that seemingly broke the bough.

Long removed from that world, the artist born Cory McKay is disinterested with jockeying for position, or finding the best seat in Rap’s royal court. Instead, the veteran looks to his fourth studio album with one thing in mind: legacy. Released 13 years to the week after his independent debut, The Realness, Cormega’s Mega Philosophy (July 22) is a completely different aesthetic from the MC-turned-hustler-turned-poet. Produced by another Queens icon, Large Professor (with lots of input from ‘Mega), this album is rooted in the wisdom, artistry, and courageous vantage point of a Hip-Hop mainstay for three decades. As Cory tells it, this is the album that will decide if his autobiographical, metaphoric bars have staying-power.

Like Basquiat cracking the limousine window to breathe in Times Square, Cormega explains that he often makes incognito pilgrimages to the world he is a product of. He tells Ambrosia For Heads about properly honoring his influences, and widening perspectives he’s experienced since trading the parallel-parked rental for a passport.

Ambrosia For Heads: Between Born & Raised and Mega Philosophy, you’ve done a lot of traveling. You talk about that on the new album. I know you were active in relief to the Haitian Earthquake of 2010, and I believe you’ve traveled with your family to different Africa nations. Sonically, if you look at a song like “More,” it has a worldly feel to it. Did your journeys affect your sound?

Cormega: I actually didn’t go with my family; I went with a close friend. I think you hit the nail right on the head when you talk about “More.” It has a worldly feel. I think me doing these travels, seeing things, and just reading and things, it’s inspired me to be like that. That’s exactly what I tried to do. The production on there…I had somebody tell me that that’s the type of song they’ll play in Brazil and other places. If you look at the production, during the third verse, there’s changes in the production that I personally added—such as the conga drums. That’s a big Afro-Cuban pattern that I added to it. Also, the lady that’s on the hook (Chantelle Nandi), she’s from Zimbabwe. I specifically wanted somebody that was not from America, ‘cause it gives it a different feel, a different atmosphere, and a different aura about it.

Traveling definitely broadened my mind. One thing it made me do was be more appreciative as an artist—as opposed to expecting everything or thinking everything’s supposed to be some type of way. When you go to certain countries, you’re not gonna have certain amenities. You just have to be real with yourself and think, “I’m so fortunate to travel the globe due to my pen, due to the words I write.” It made me see differently, made me more humble, and made me more content. Seeing people with no shoes—especially Haiti—after the devastation of Haiti, to see people pull together, people still happy, and people still content, whereas over here, we lose the simple things and act like it’s the end of the world. Look at people committing suicide during [stock market crashes]. You can always rebuild. I’m glad that I’ve been fortunate enough to travel the world.

Ambrosia For Heads: You mention production input. I know that although Large Professor produced Mega Philosophy, you had tremendous input and some hands-on responsibility, similar to Guru’s role on Gang Starr albums. This LP sounds unlike anything that Extra P has ever done, and since you guys go back, was that a deliberate intention?

Cormega: I can definitely relate to what Guru [did]; there’s been a lot of input [from me], a lot of mixing. A lot of the mixes and changes, I handled myself. I just sent it to Large Professor for his approval. Large Professor gave me a pat on the back. He said, “On this album, you learned to be a producer.” I never looked at it like that. I just looked at it as me finishing my project that I’ve taken the longest with. Now I realize what he meant though. Now, my mind’s so open, and I want to do some new stuff. Like, we have remixes now that’s not out, and I wanna add live elements and instrumentation to it, and do certain changes to it.

Ambrosia For Heads: You brought up your eye-opening experiences overseas. Within your whole catalog, there’s two things you rarely do, especially now. You never get super name-brand or materialistic, at least compared to peers. You also, outside of metaphor, rarely speak about love or intimate relationships…

Cormega: When you start getting older, your mind has to grow. Like, the first time I heard about Gucci underwear was from Slick Rick on [“La Di Da Di”]. You hear certain stuff from certain rappers. We have to take into consideration: some rappers over-glamorize certain material things. I think it’s a slap in the face to the common folk; a lot of people that buy a record or are fans don’t have the money like that. It comes a point in time where you have to say, “Wait a minute. What am I doing?” The influence that artists have is so strong that we don’t even realize sometimes that we keep these brands alive. I can’t just question Rap, I have to question myself. “’Mega, why is it necessary to walk on stage with a bottle of champagne?” ‘Cause I saw other rappers do that and thought that was the cool thing to do. When I thought about it, it’s really stupid! That has nothing to do with the show. There was no champagne on the album cover; I don’t even drink. Basically, we’re doing free branding. That’s one of the reasons I stopped. Two, I’ve seen a lot of people who have nothing. Nobody wants to hear you keep braggin’ about somethin’, but at the same time, you’re expecting them to buy your music. Three, I just outgrew that. At my house right now, I have enough clothes to come outside with a new outfit everyday—a person wouldn’t know it, unless they knew me. I’m a sneaker-head; I love sneakers! But I’m not gonna brag about spending X on sneakers, ‘cause to be honest with you, I try not to—‘cause that’s even stupid. I don’t care about these companies ‘cause they don’t care about us. I’m not into that no more. There’s a lot of people who don’t have anything. If you don’t implement change, then you can’t complain about there needing to be change.

Ambrosia For Heads: There’s places on this album where there’s curses, but compared to most, it feels like a clean LP. Unless you’re making a comparison, you avoided talking about hustling or your past life in the street on Mega Philosophy. It feels very deliberate without being over-arching or corny…

Cormega: It was very deliberate, and it’s a huge risk. At the end of the day, there are a lot of people who don’t grow—as you and me both know. At the end of the day, there may be some people who still want the old drug-reference ‘Mega or the old Queensbridge ‘Mega. But I’m not that person. I haven’t lived in Queensbridge in many a years. I haven’t lived in Queensbridge since the ‘90s—but people don’t understand that. I haven’t sold drugs in many years; I’m in a different place mentally.

As far as legacy, and being an artist, I needed to step out of the box, because history won’t be kind to me if I don’t. In your business [of media], there are some people who think they have me figured out. There are some people who are dismissive of certain artists because they think they know it all. “Oh, Cormega? I know what he’s gonna talk about. I know what it is already.” But this is the album that makes everybody—who thinks they know me—shut the fuck up. This is the album that I really wanted to show that I’m an artist. I’m not somebody who’s trying to live off of glorifying my past street life, I’m not somebody who’s trying to sensationalize or use beef or conflict or controversy [to sell albums]. I’m trying to show that I’m a creative artist. This is the album that I’m taking a risk on. It feels so worth it, and from the reception that I’m getting so far, from some of the songs, I’m glad that I went the direction that I went.

Ambrosia For Heads: Over the years I’ve watched so many people quote that first verse of “The Saga.” That’s one people might have tattooed: “I grew away from people I grew with…” Your verses on loyalty supersede everything else within your catalog. You do that again on “A New Day Begins,” saying, “I weigh my mans like grams, understanding there are losses when you measure weight”…

Cormega: Loyalty is very important—in everything that you do, in every aspect of life, loyalty is essential. When you’re a generous person, you definitely need loyalty, ‘cause people will use you like a sponge. Like, right now, I have a show in New York on July 21^st, my album release party. I know what’s gonna happen. The day of the show, a bunch of people that I’m cool with—but that don’t contact me much—they’re gonna call me or they’re gonna be outside, getting somebody in the club, “Yo, tell ‘Mega I’m out here.” So there’s gonna be all these people trying to get in free—who probably didn’t buy my album, but just [wants]. They want, but they don’t want to give. On this album, I’m not doing that. I have friends that live in California that bought tickets to fly to New York City to come from my show, Connecticut friends who are driving…but there are local people who will burn my phone down so they can get in for free.

My first contract that I got with Koch Records was the fuckery of all fuckeries. It was initiated by the guy (Bob Perry) that I helped get the job at Koch. The [same] guy who used to work at Landspeed [Records]—I’m the one who made Landspeed pop. Landspeed made noise prior to me, but it wasn’t loud noise. A fart is noise, but it’s not a gunshot. I fuckin’ carried Landspeed and took it to a whole ‘notha level, got certain people in position—that’s loyalty right there. And I stayed on Landspeed. The Realness? I did not have to be on Landspeed. I had Interscope callin’ me, I had TVT with a contract—TVT had a lot of money! They had Lil Jon. I had numerous labels wanting to sign me, but I stayed with Landspeed. That was loyalty. But how was my loyalty rewarded? I got a fuck-you-deal when I signed with Koch by the same person I was working with at Landspeed. That’s loyalty right there. Loyalty is something that you might not get back. That’s why I always put it in my music, ‘cause my music reflects my life. And it reflects what’s important to me.

Ambrosia For Heads: Last week, “Rap Basquiat” was released as a single. As somebody who’s known you for over a decade, and somebody who’s read a lot about Basquiat, I can draw certain parallels. Both of you are highly reclusive—talented artists who seem to be loners. You both run in street and in art and fashion circles; he was friends with Andy Warhol and friends with Rammellzee. Also, one could argue that your art—like Jean-Michel’s—is to possibly be more appreciated after you’re gone. How did you reach that comparison?

Cormega: See…the thing about me and you, you and me have a weird kind of relationship. Me and you remind me of Muhammad Ali and Howard Cosell, just not as sarcastic with each other. [Laughs] They had a mutual understanding and respect of each other, and Cosell knew things about Ali that Ali didn’t even know at times, and he reminded him. There’s times where you say stuff… like, I remember specifically, you’re the first person who I ever did an interview with that I really sat down with. You were able to tell the public, “’Mega’s shy.” People have an idea of who I am, but they don’t know me. So you’re one of the people who really knows me. Throughout the years I’ve heard things about me from people that made me laugh, like, “He’s mad ‘cause he wanna shine.” I just bust out laughing. Anybody that knows me knows that I hate fame. The only fame I like is [Lil] Fame from M.O.P. [Laughs] I like the fans, and I love the art, and I love being on stage. But I don’t like it; I’m not a limelight person. I am shy—girls will tell you that, you know that, but people don’t. [Jean-Michel] Basquiat and me have a lot of similarities. I’m in my house, by myself right now. Me, by myself, three-floor house, and I’m on the top floor. And I’m cool. Lately, I’ve been infatuated with riding the bus and the train. I hate the NY Transit, but I like Amtrak, New Jersey Transit, and Long Island Railroad. I love them, ‘cause they’re comfortable, you’re by yourself, and you’re just seeing the world. There’s time when I’ll be in Queensbridge, sitting in a car, and nobody even knows I’m there—by myself, enjoying the atmosphere, admiring the city. I like being by myself a lot—myself is the only person who I know won’t fuck me. Myself is the only person who’s always gonna give me the honest answers. When I’m alone, that’s when I’m at my best, as far as creativity. I like to draw creativity to myself. Its parallels to Basquiat fascinate me—not just on the art and the loner shit, but we also just try to sneak conscious shit in our art. Even at my thuggest, with my music, I always try to sneak jewels, and upliftment—rather than just tell you to sell drugs or do [negative things]. Both of our art has received such [strong] criticism before people really started to fully embrace it. Now people are starting to see the genius. The parallels with me and him are uncanny.

Ambrosia For Heads: Your comment about public transportation brings to mind that Common line, “Sometimes I take the bus home, just to touch home.” Being away from Queens for so long, do those experiences reinforce the authenticity in your writing since you left in the ‘90s?

Cormega: Sometimes, I think when we start gettin’ a lil’ money, some of us lose a sense of who we are, what we was, or what made us or our culture. Especially in Black neighborhoods—my white friends aren’t like this—[there is a stigma against] public transportation. I have rich friends from out of state, executives at MTV, etc., who all take the train. So why don’t I take the train? Black artists don’t ride the train—‘cause they’re embarrassed. They think somebody’s gonna look at them as less. Recently, somebody put a picture of Jaz-O riding the train. So what if he’s on the train?

Ambrosia For Heads: Plus, Jay Z took the train to his own concert at Barclays Center.

Cormega: Exactly! Beyonce took the train recently [too]. I asked myself, “Yo, why the fuck don’t I ride the train?” What do I got to prove? The average person that’s gonna say something about me probably lives with somebody [else]; I got a fuckin’ house, and I got cars—not a car—cars, with an S. Yo, everybody brags—I’ve given away two cars. Here, why don’t I—why don’t we take the train? You see the people, you get the atmosphere, you see what they’re wearin’, what they’re talkin’ about it, you see their aura. You see how everybody differentiates in New York. The [MTA] is the main pulse of the city: you see the youth, you see the old people, you see the working people—you see the city, and you feel that New York energy. When you’re on the buses, it’s the same thing. When you’re walking around too, you’re absorbing it all. That’s the one thing I never wanted to lose: my New York aura. Ralph McDaniels said to me somethin’ like, “Yo, you’re the heart of New York.” He said that to me; I didn’t make that up. That’s how you keep your balance. Sometimes when you drive a fly car all the time, or you live amongst certain people, you forget. You get softer—not even as an artist, but as a person. You lose that edginess that makes you who you are. I always wanna be ‘Mega.

Ambrosia For Heads: On your last album, you made “Mega Fresh X,” with KRS-One, Big Daddy Kane, Grand Puba, PMD, DJ Red Alert—who, to some degree, are from the same era when you made your first song on wax, alongside DJ Hot Day. You saw the way those New York giants operated and competed in the ‘80s and early ‘90s. Yet on “Reflection,” you say that the mere mention or an idea of a crown in New York—in the late ‘90s—ruined the unity…

Cormega: King in the highest of names. In the ‘80s and ‘90s, you could have the lowest of names, but if your bars—lyrics—were the greatest, then you were respected. I never heard Rakim say he’s the king; I never heard any of those greats say they were the kings. It was the people who put them on their pedestals.

Nowadays…when [The Notorious B.I.G.] called himself the king, people got to understand, Biggie wasn’t trying to say he was the best rapper—even though he pretty much was the king, for bringing New York back. What people fail to realize though, is that was a marketing strategy; Biggie also called himself Frank White [the title character from The King Of New York film]. But these rappers are so dumb, and they don’t see that! As soon as Biggie died, it’s “I’m the king now!,” which I found to be disrespectful—me, myself, that’s no slander on anybody else. If my man died, I don’t want his crown. Like my man Blue, from North Carolina, he was a big-time drug-dealer. Everybody knew him; he was a legend—like how Rich Porter is Uptown, no exaggeration. When he died, his girlfriend offered me his Mercedes-Benz. I said, “No. I don’t want it.” So when Biggie died—if Rap wasn’t such a mother-fucking, blood-sucking leech industry, people should just let him remain king, just like Michael Jackson’s still the King of Pop, Bob Marley is still the king of Reggae, Elvis [Presley] is still the king. You didn’t hear Paul McCartney like, “Aw, fuck it! I’m the king now!” [Laughs]

Everybody began to fight [over who was king], and shit was wack! In essence, fans don’t give a fuck about the title, it’s only the music [they want]. It’s only the blind that are intrigued by the bullshit. So once that happened, you had a lot of division in Rap. A lot of sets, a lot of crews, a lot of division.

[In the ‘80s], you had to be a super-fan to catch what Kane and Rakim were saying to each other. The respect was there, that’s why it was so complex in the subliminals. The streets wanted that—they didn’t even want that. At one time you had KRS-One, Kane, Rakim, and you can’t forget Kool G Rap in that equitation! Kool G Rap could stand toe-to-toe with any of the greatest rappers of all-time, any of ‘em. You had Chuck D. You can’t forget LL [Cool J]! You had all these great artists makin’ noise, and they wasn’t trying to cut each others’ heads off, trying to put career roadblocks out there. It was music. In their mind they may’ve felt they was the best, and they’re supposed to. It was enough space for everybody to flourish.

I’m not gonna sit here and say that I haven’t had my share of verbal bouts, but it was never over some king stuff. I’d never consider myself a king in Rap. I consider myself who I am, which I’m proud of. I might not be a king of Rap, but I’m damn-sure a male-version of Harriet Tubman to the Hip-Hop underground and to the independent movement. But I’m comfortable in my skin.

Ambrosia For Heads: That’s great to hear.

Cormega: This is another thing for new artists: they need to respect. You have to earn respect first. You can’t be a brand new artist, not even poppin’ yet, and you want legends or veterans to do songs with you for free. If you want them to do somethin’ with you, let them [initiate the idea]. I’ve had artists wanting me to do shit for free—and I don’t even know them. I don’t know you, I don’t know your name, I don’t know your name, I don’t know your music. They’ll say, “Do it for the love.” In order for there to be love, there needs to be like first! I don’t even like ya shit, ‘cause I haven’t heard it.

I’ll use me as the perfect example, ‘cause you said “Mega Fresh X.” When I did “Mega Fresh X,” I asked Parrish [Smith], “What do you need?” Parrish said, “I got’chu.” Parrish did it on the scram, so I owe Parrish a favor. Big Daddy Kane? I paid Big Daddy Kane; I didn’t talk him down either, and say, “Nah Kane, can you do it for this much instead?” I paid KRS-One what he wanted. I paid Grand Puba; I had one person tell me that I over-paid Grand Puba. I said, “No I didn’t. The way I see it, half of that was for being on the song, and half of that was for being an inspiration to me.” I paid dues. [The producer was] Buckwild—Buckwild gave me a free beat before; the next beat after that, I paid him! There’s a lot of ways of paying dues and comradery. Any artist that’s an icon, I did [features] for free. Any artist will tell you, I never charged. I told ‘em, “I don’t even want the money.” That’s respect. A lot of that respect wasn’t there during that king-ring. Everybody was so [pre-consumed] with shining, and that ruined the game.

Ambrosia For Heads: You may not want to comment, but I think it’s important to ask since I have not seen you speak on it. In my last year of high school, I had a Violator poster on the wall of my room. In addition to LL Cool J and Busta Rhymes, Missy Elliott, and others, you were illustrated. You and Chris Lighty worked together between his eras with Native Tongues and his days with 50 Cent. How do you remember Chris?

Cormega: First of all, rest in peace, Chris [Lighty]. I think Violator was the quintessential management team of Rap. Bar none. And Mona Scott [Young] is also very integral to that too. For a very long time. Chris Lighty is the one who brought that television thing to Rap, when you started seeing Busta [Rhymes] in the early Mountain Dew commercials. Chris Lighty has been a very integral and essential part of Hip-Hop. He did a lot!

I learned a lot from Chris. One thing I didn’t learn from Chris was patience, because I wanted [The Testament] to come out so bad when I was on Violator Records—I wasn’t on the management, but I learned a lot from behind-the-scenes. Me and Chris had the craziest relationship, that Billy Martin and George Steinbrenner sort of relationship. Like, he’d drive me fuckin’ crazy, but the respect is there. “You’re fired!,” but I’m gonna re-hire you a week later. In the end, I got off Violator because I was on the shelf for like five years. During that time, there are things that I must always credit Chris for. One: my first recording contract was from Chris Lighty, Violator/Def Jam, before anything. Not only did he give me my first deal, I had fair points in my deal. Not only did I have fair points, I believe I had my publishing. I don’t think you’ll ever hear an artist say Chris Lighty jerked ‘em. Let’s be clear on that. Two, at the time I got my album, that was the biggest record deal for a new artist, ever. I got like a $250,000 deal. After that, artists started gettin’ deals like that. I can’t front on Chris like that. Penalty [Records] was gonna sign me for $60,000. I didn’t do it. Chris Lighty gave me a fair deal. Chris definitely pushed me. He was like that big brother that’d give you props, but never to your face. A lot of times I did shit just to prove to Chris that I was better than he thought. He pushed me, because he didn’t really give me a lot of opportunities when I wanted them, but I guess he gave them to me when I needed them.

When The Realness came out, some executives were talking, and Chris Lighty was amongst them. Somebody said, “What you think ‘bout that ‘Mega?” Chris Lighty said, “I messed up on that.” It made me like, “Wow!” Sometimes when you think somebody’s underestimating you, they’re not. They’re just givin’ you tough love. I didn’t even know [about the conversation], another rapper told me that, I think N.O.R.E. told me this numerous years ago. Back in the days, I was in more videos than the God-damned video hoe. [Laughs] I was in Big Pun’s [“Still Not A Player”] I was in N.O.R.E.’s [“N.O.R.E.”]—that was Chris Lighty. Also, there’s never been anything like The Tunnel, and Chris was integral to The Tunnel. Rest in peace to Chris Lighty, God bless him, and I’m glad that we got to speak before he passed. It was love, when we seen each other, it was like we never had any differences. That was beautiful.

Ambrosia For Heads: My final question is a different one. Looking at “Industry” and “Rap Basquiat,” I’ve read a lot of comments, almost all favorable. Then somebody, almost always, says that you have an off-beat flow. It’s probably a criticism you’ve heard a lot in your career. Then I think, 2Pac did not have perfect timing, KRS even said, “Rockin’ off-beat with a smile.” How do you embrace that criticism, skepticism, or what some might deduce as just “hate”?

Cormega: There are some people who always look for a chink in your armor. If that’s the best thing that they can come up with, then I must be doing something right. There have been times when I have had to work on my delivery, or work on my infliction or whatever. Over the years, I think I have worked on it. I know people who are skeptics, who have told me that my flow’s improved a lot. But for those people who complain, it’s like this: even during that time, I still was making some of the best music that was coming out—especially independently. There was a time when people said I punched-in a lot, like The Realness. I wasn’t even punching-in, I was coming in on two different tracks. It was a technique that I first used on Mobb Deep’s [“What’s Ya Poison”], but the engineer didn’t freak it right. If anybody criticize my flow—especially the recent stuff—than Cormega’s just not for you. My man Sean Price was like, “Yo, your flow got better.” [Laughs] When I got my peers, rappers tellin’ me I’m one of their favorite rappers—when I got Rakim lettin’ me rap at his show and he’s singing along to my verse—when I got Chuck D sayin’, “’Mega, your music is hard”—when I got Guru, rest in peace, saying, “Cormega’s my favorite rapper, and you can quote me on this,” everybody else can kiss my ass! [Laughs] I will always try to improve, but I like my flow. I like whatever it is that I do. You hit it on the nose: KRS-One didn’t always go on-beat. He didn’t. 2Pac, exactly! You named two of the greatest rappers, ever. Fuck that! I’m not a robot, I’m not goin’ by the formula.

That flow-shit is another excuse in Rap. There’s people who flow that suck. If you’re gonna judge greatness on flow, then we’ve got to change the rules. We’re gonna have to go back in the books, ‘cause Vanilla Ice had one of the fuckin’ dopest flows, ever! So we’re good. [Puff Daddy] can flow his ass off! Ma$e has a crazy flow! There’s mad people with flows who [fans] don’t give credit to. So which one is it? If it’s about flows, then you’d better put Ma$e up there at the top of the list. What is it about?

I’m a lyricist, I’m an MC. I look at myself as a poet. I could put my words on paper. Some of my rhymes are in college classrooms, straight up! My friend recently texted me, “Guess what my nephew got in his book in high school?” Cormega. I must be doin’ somethin’ right. In ego trip’s Book Of Rap Lists—“The Greatest Rap Albums That Never Was Released,” The Testament was one of the top albums they mentioned. The critics used to bother me—the critics don’t even realize how much I love them. I love them, ‘cause they make me work so much harder. Why do you think I did an album to show diversity? To show that I’m not a one-trick pony? There’s people who think they know me so much, but they don’t. So that’s [Mega Philosophy].

Purchase Music by Cormega.

Follow Cormega at @RealCormega, and author @PaineInVain.

Photo by Uganda Empowers.

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Seven years ago today, the Hip-Hop faithful was formally introduced to an obscure assemblage of 15 tracks, constructed by an equally arcane Los Angeles rooted duo, Blu & Exile, that over the subsequent years from its unveiling, would prove to be one of the most compelling and dynamic collections of Rap music ever amassed. While both the budding producer, Exile, and the unprocessed MC, Blu, had preceding musical ventures within their developing careers, the cultivation of their artistic deftness had yet to manifest into the realm of prosperity that they would attain with the release of their first ever collaboration, Below The Heavens.

Below The Heavens is an album entrenched with colossal purpose and conviction. An impeccable matrimony of soul-soaked production and profoundly sincere lyrical composition, rich in unfiltered perspective, lending guidance to the dispirited wanderer, compassion to the conflicting lover, reassurance to the reflective intellectual, and above all else, unwavering faith to the hopeful dreamer.

We caught up with the musical visionary and ingenious architect behind Below The Heavens, producer extraordinaire, Exile, whose birth name is Aleksander Manfredi, and talked in detail about the inception of his and Blu’s friendship, the creative process that went in to the construction of the timeless album, the concepts that were conveyed through their musical expressionism, the standard they set for themselves by attaining such achievement with this project, any impending projects between the two, and ultimately, why Exile concludes Below The Heavens has maintained extensive relevance since its release.

Ambrosia For Heads: Exile, you met Blu through Aloe Blacc, when you and Aloe were creating music during the initial Emanon days. Can you elaborate on that a bit. What year was that, and how did the actual meeting between you and Blu transpire?

Exile: It was in the early 2000s, and Aloe [Blacc] and I were trying to figure out what we were going to do with our music and how to properly distribute it. We were putting it out on our own at that point. Some friends of ours from a group called The Science Project were starting a label with Sony Red at the time. They were trying to get us on board, and they were working with Miguel at that time, and they were telling us about this kid named Blu and had really good things to say about him. So basically Aloe had met him first and then invited me out to check him out at a show. We went to the show, and then Blu and I ended up chopping it up after the show, having drinks and shit. He expressed that he was already a big fan of mine and Aloe’s work. So we really just hit it off that night and started to build from there.

Ambrosia For Heads: So you guys started spending time around each other and connected from a musical standpoint. Did you just mutually decide that you needed to work on an album together, and basically hit the studio and get to work?

Exile: Yeah, I started working with him and we made some songs that we were both happy with, so Aloe and I started bringing him up to perform those tracks with us at our shows. We also had him doing some hype-man and crowd hyping shit along with us. At the same time, we were just always working on music and figuring out what direction him and I wanted to go and how to properly package him.  I had already finished the Emanon album [The Waiting Room], and I was approached about making an instrumental album, and I knew at that point that I really wanted to make my beats for rappers. The label was Sound In Color, and they wanted me to do a bunch of instrumental stuff, so I was like let me do this and work with a bunch of emcees. So I was working on that but also working on songs with Blu at the same time, and we just decided to make an album together. Really,  after the first song we made together in the studio we both knew we needed to make an album together. So it was more about discussing and deciding what the album was really going to be like and the sound it was going to consist of.

Ambrosia For Heads: Blu had the concept of Below The Heavens established for years prior to you guys recording it. Was that something where you first digested his vision of the album, and then applied that to the way you approached the production? Or was your creative output at that point in time already perfectly aligned with his lyrical visions.  

Exile: You know, it was really just a matter of me previously hearing him rap over different kinds of beats, and then understanding what he would sound good on and what would work well for the album. Then it came down to just going and creating those beats, and trying to bring it all to life. As far as making beats because of what he had envisioned for this album, I wouldn’t say that it necessarily moved my production into a certain direction. You know though, maybe there was a couple beats that his vision did influence the way I approached the mood of the production. Really though, I just wanted to make the best possible music that would complement Blu’s lyricism and his vocal tone.

Ambrosia For Heads: You guys had 70+ tracks completed by the time your sessions for the album were done. How excruciating was the process of selecting the ideal tracks for the final product. Did you guys mostly see eye to eye on the album assemblage?

Exile: Was it 70? [Laughs]  Maybe it was that many. Man, that’s a lot. Yeah we definitely saw eye to eye for the most part. There was a lot of things happening musically that we were both into and we were really trying to decide if we wanted to go in those directions as well. Not to change our sound completely, but just different trends we were listening to that could have influenced it. But for the most part we had a good amount of songs that we really wanted to fuck with. Now that I think about it though, there was definitely like one or two funny ass songs we recorded that we mutually were both like, “You know what, let’s definitely not even release this fucking shit.” [Laughs] But yeah, we definitely saw eye to eye pretty much on everything.

Ambrosia For Heads: What were those different sounds you speak of, that were potentially tempting you guys to approach the album in a different way?

Exile: You know, I guess it was like a borderline Neptunes sound we were contemplating. The whole “making hits” type approach. I think we had a song that was about like “Cars that go boom” or some shit. [Laughs] We stayed away from that, but it doesn’t hurt to experiment with different sounds.

Ambrosia For Heads: Getting into a few of AFH’s choice tracks from the album, I’ll have you give a little insight into the construction behind each of them. The first track on the album, “My World Is..,” which was actually one of the last songs recorded, is quite spellbinding in terms of the soothing sample of Joni Mitchell’s voice introducing Blu, and then quickly shifting to a heavy lyrical hand. Was that an essential intro track in regards to just showcasing Blu’s raw lyrical ability right off the jump, but also highlighting your affinity and skill set in juggling multiple genres within one individual track?

Exile: Yeah, as we were recording we really knew that we had something special, and we were basically finished, but we didn’t feel like we had a proper intro track yet. Blu had brought that Joni Mitchell sample to my attention, and I finally sat down to start making a beat including that, and it just worked out perfect. It sounded like the ideal intro track. Joni’s voice is like a real welcoming intro into Blu just coming out and hitting you in the face on some raw Hip-Hop shit. Blu started kicking his lyrics over it and when it was completed it just really felt right and made sense to start the album off with it.

Ambrosia For Heads: “So(ul) Amazing,”  which is probably the track that was the main liaison in introducing unfamiliar heads to your guys sound, was also the first video made for the album. You’ve been on record saying from a scratching standpoint, this was probably your best work to date. Can you talk a little bit about the significance of that track and how important it was in building an audience and fan base?

Exile: It’s funny because Blu had originally rocked that over what we thought was a [J] Dilla beat. We had a beat CD and we were under the impression that Dilla had recorded it. And I was like, “Man, I really want to make something to this right here.” We didn’t really have a whole lot of access to Dilla at the time, but we ended up finding out that it definitely wasn’t a Dilla beat, and that someone had just thrown it in a batch of Dilla beats and tossed it online just hoping to get some credit for it. Blu ended up re-writing the first verse a little bit and writing another verse to the actual beat. And yeah, that’s definitely still my favorite scratch work of my own until this day. Going from the scratch chorus, to then transitioning into the M.O.P. “soul amazing, still blazing” sample, and then going smoothly into the Afrika Bambaataa portion.  I mean, I thought that was pretty genius, if I do say so myself. [Laughs] But yeah man, that track did really feel like a classic when we were recording it, and I guess seven years later it turned out to be so.

Ambrosia For Heads: Below The Heavens is such a personal album. Essentially it’s a musical diary from both a production and lyrical standpoint. Whether it’s highlighting spiritual enlightenment, love, inspiration, hopefulness, or specifically on the track “Dancing In the Rain,” it’s laced with a lot of frustration and depression. Can you talk about that mood on that track a bit?

Exile: That actually happened to be an older beat of mine that I had in the cut. We were probably about a quarter of the way through recording the album at that time, and I remember  way earlier before that Blu had mentioned he had an idea that was kind of “on some Emanon shit.” That’s how he would explain it, “I got a cool little Emanon type song for that beat.” And you know we kept on making the album and truthfully, I forgot about him saying that. Then somehow it just came up in conversation again. So Blu ended up recording  it and my reaction was instantly just like “Motherfucker! Why didn’t we record this a long time ago? This shit is fucking insane!” It was like one of those tears of joy moments. [Laughs] I mean, it was something he had in the cut that he never recorded, and it ended up being actually one of my favorites on the album, and probably the fans’, too.

Ambrosia For Heads: With it being such a sentimentally driven album, does the production become significantly more difficult in trying to accurately highlight the roller-coaster of emotions throughout it? If so, what are those the hurdles you face when having to accompany such a wide array of lyrical emotion? 

Exile: It’s really tough to say, man. You know,  I think it’s definitely possible that I would make the music first and then it would quite possibly draw those certain emotions out of Blu. I mean, I wouldn’t say that I was making something knowing that it was going to be a certain type of album. I think I was making beats with him in mind, and then the beats would cause Blu to feel a certain way, which allowed him to revisit these life stories and experiences he was familiar with. To be honest, I hadn’t previously heard any of those stories musically from Blu until I eventually heard them over my beats.

Ambrosia For Heads: So really, the certain sounds you were creating were extracting a deeply emotional reaction from Blu. It was essentially just a perfect marriage at that specific point in time?

Exile: Yeah, and I’m definitely the type of cat to encourage that type of emotion at the same time. I would mention to him to be personable and to come from his heart. Not that he wouldn’t have done that anyways, and I’m not trying to take the credit for it, but it was just the type of vibe we were on. You know it’s like he made this type of emotional album with me, and then he did his party album [Johnson & Jonson] with Mainframe, and did the hard shit [The Dime Piece] with C.R.A.C. Knuckles. I feel like it definitely has to do with the people you are surrounded with when you are being creative, and also the soundtrack that is being laid at the same time. So yeah, it was kind of just the perfect marriage of creativity and emotion we had at that point in time to come together and really create a classic album…I love that I’m calling my own stuff “classic” by the way. [Laughs] My shit is straight classic, homie! I’m just straight classic in everything I do. [Laughs]

Ambrosia For Heads: My favorite track on the album, “The World Is.. (Below The Heavens),“ I believe has a good story behind it, right? Where it wasn’t even made when you guys had the album finished and then you went back and created it?

Exile: Yeah, we had actually made that song to another beat, and I was like “I really don’t want this on the album.” It just sounded like a Kanye [West] beat or something. So I was like “I’m not fucking with that.” Then we re-did it and it just ended up sounding way doper and being a perfect last track for the album. It was one of those like two-seconds-on-the-buzzer-type things where we got it done last minute, and it ended up fitting perfectly at the end of the album.

Ambrosia For Heads: Really, that track is the most vital record on the LP in terms of explaining the whole concept of the album and what the phrase “Below The Heavens” really means, correct?

Exile: Definitely, man. It’s kind of based on a whole philosophy  Blu had. I remember him talking about the concept of being able to create your own Heaven based on your own ideas. The song is almost like telling the listener, “Why not believe that this is there for you, you know?” Like, “As long as you believe in your own ideas, it becomes reality.” You know, in a sense it’s young philosophy on his spirituality. It’s not like he was reading all of these different spiritual or philosophy books back then, you know? It wasn’t tainted at all, which I think is special and holds a lot of beauty to it. It was just very raw and transparent. Like who cares if the philosophy or concept of the album was inaccurate to anyone else. It just is what it is, and I think it’s golden stuff.

Ambrosia For Heads: Something that happens a lot in music, is that when a collaboration’s initial album is received so well, there tends to be this bar set extremely high where fans end up unfairly comparing any subsequent  project released from either party, to that inaugural release. The unreasonable bar essentially limits a consumer’s ability to appreciate an artist’s progression throughout their career. Do you see that you deal with that in any facet? Where fans are so enthusiastic about Below the Heavens, that it limits their capacity to appreciate your various projects, if it’s not “another album with Blu”?

Exile: I think Blu probably suffers form this a lot more than I do. I know people constantly compare his other records to Below The Heavens, and they definitely hold that bar over him. I’m sure that’s hard for him to deal with, but he just goes through with it. You know, each one of Blu’s projects is so fucking different, and I definitely applaud him for that. Although at the same time, I personally would have likely kept doing something that felt comparable to the approach on Below The Heavens. But I do definitely commend him for doing his own thing. Especially on our second album together, Give Me My Flowers While I Can Still Smell Them. That album is way more chill. It’s kind has like a De La Soul Buhloone Mindstate type of vibe to it. That’s fine though,  because that really what he wanted to do.

Ambrosia For Heads: So do you think he is more susceptible to that unfair comparison simply because lyricism in general is more vulnerable to being dissected than production might be? 

Exile: Yeah, but then also at the same time, when we made Below The Heavens, I definitely had more control over where the album went because he was still fresh, and he wasn’t really “Blu” yet. So you know, I had more say in the direction of the album back then, whereas on our second album, I let him rock with his vision a lot more. I didn’t really try and turn it a different way, and he was more in control over that. He was the one who essentially picked all of the beats for Give Me My Flowers While I Can Still Smell Them, so if people want to be mad that it wasn’t a similar sound as the Below The Heavens, it’s not my fault! [Laughs] I don’t hold that guilt inside of me. I’m like, “Yo, Blu picked these beats so the pressure is off me!” [Laughs] Let me be clear though, I love Give Me My Flowers While I Can Still Smell Them. It’s such a laid back album, and perfect  to ride out and smoke to and get lost in. Sometimes it’s nice when you get lost in a record when it maintains a similar chill vibe throughout it, whereas Below The Heavens was full of peaks and  valleys. Our second album is valley’d out, but I still love it.

Ambrosia For Heads: Do you personally feel the above mentioned pressure to maintain a certain type of production because of what your fans may see as your best work, or do you really not give a shit?

Exile: Yeah, I don’t really feel that pressure or give a shit. Fuck it, you know? Maybe I feel that pressure more so when I’m working with other emcees and simply just trying to get the same appreciation for the projects that I’m currently doing as I did on previous ones. But when it comes to trying to maintain a sound or certain type of production because that’s what people see as my best work though, no I don’t really give a shit. I’m always going to do what I think sounds best for the certain project I’m working on.

Ambrosia For Heads: The chemistry between Blu and yourself will undeniably always be present, and that specific sound you guys manifest together will always be desired by fans of both of yours. Is working together on future projects something that is essentially just a revolving door of possibility?

Exile: We definitely talk about what we want our next album to sound like. I do have other projects I’m working on right now, and while I’m doing that, he ends up picking up other projects, too. Blu is a hard fucking worker, man. He is constantly working on something. He just finished an album with MED, and then one with Bombay, and has already started another album already. It’s crazy. We have been working on some shit and we have some stuff in the works already, but I think it’s more for like a Dirty Science type album. He’s probably going to work on another solo album first, which will likely consist of mixed production, but yeah, I’m sure we will make another album together at some point.  We’ll always have that creative desire to work with each other.

Ambrosia For Heads: You spoke about some projects you’re currently working on. I know the Dag Savage project was recently released, and you’re currently working on a separate project with an emcee named Choosey. Anything else that the heads can expect from you in the near future?

Exile: Yeah, so I’m just finishing up the Fashawn [The Ecology] album right now, and as you mentioned, I’m working with a new artist named Choosey, too. We recently released a Denmark Vessey project [Cult Classic], and then I’m also pumped as we’re about halfway done with the Crew album as well. And, I’m going to be releasing some new Emanon shit, too, which will be dope.  I’m not touring right now, just in the studio getting work done.

Ambrosia For Heads: Great, man. Really looking forward to all of that. Finally in concluding all of this and ending on your overall insights on Below The Heavens, let’s say there’s someone who wasn’t very familiar with Hip-Hop, and was about to embark on a full listen of Below The Heavens. If you had to explain to them before they indulged, why this album is so important, and why it made such an impact and resonated with so many people across the globe, how would you articulate that? What components of Below The Heavens allowed it to hold so much significance throughout the past seven years?

Exile: Man, I feel like it just tells a story of a kid who has been through enough at the time to be able to confidently tell you a detailed story, but at the same time that kid hasn’t been so jaded or tainted by the things that can hurt you in life. He is still bright and shining with youth and with knowledge. Where Blu was at in his life was really the perfect time to be able to tell that story, which gives the listener something to identify with. But it is also attractive because of all the hopefulness and all of the brightness of optimism that is resonating through the lyricism, you know? You get the best of both worlds. You get the best of relating to the pain, but also just the vibrations of a fresh mind and a fresh artist. It’s just a very personal and enlightening collection of lyricism that can apply to everyone who listens to it, no matter where they are from.

Ambrosia For Heads: That’s interesting that when explaining why the album has maintained so much relevance over time, that you don’t mention the production at all.

Exile: You know, I’m just a background. But I happen to be a really dope background. [Laughs] The beats were aligned just right for Blu to guide his own mind to create these gems that were in his head, you know? I definitely like to think of myself as one of the guiding hands throughout the whole process of Blu using this album to figure out who he was and what was one hundred percent himself. The planets were just perfectly aligned.

Ambrosia For Heads: Exile, thank you for taking the time to chat with us, man. It’s appreciated, and we wish you continued success in all of the various musical endeavors you have on your plate.

Exile: Thank you man, I appreciate it, too.

Author Michael Blair can be followed on Twitter @senseiscommon, Exile is @ExileRadio, and Blu is @HerFavColor.

Purchase Music by Blu & Exile.

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Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud’s “Girls, I Got ‘Em Locked” was hardly what would constitute a hit by today’s radio standards. However, like so many 12″ plates of the 1980s, the 1988 Elektra Records single was known amongst inner-circles. With the New York City duo signed to a major label, there was even a video—still unavailable in HQ 26 years later.

This record/video, has some interesting history. Firstly, it was produced, mixed, and arranged by the great, late Paul C. The same producer credited with giving Large Professor some of his earliest chops, made classic Hip-Hop with the likes of Ultramagnetic MCs, Eric B. & Rakim, and Main Source. Super Lover and Cee’s record re-appeared on 2000’s Vinyl Exams Epic Records compilation mixed by Bobbito (as DJ Cucumber Slice). The rhyme patterns, especially from the chorus into verses make “Girls, I Got ‘Em Locked” an innovative and important piece of Rap history. This pair (as the b-side “Do The James” cemented), were highly influenced by James Brown, and used some of the Godfather of Soul’s swag, confidence, and style to mimic it all amidst what is often considered Hip-Hop’s greatest year.

“Girls, I Got ‘Em Locked” is an eloquent “song about nothing.” It’s carefree, as the video suggests, and braggadocious without taking itself too seriously. With so many contemporary songs about chillin’ out, being cool, and having no issues finding a mate, this is timeless Hip-Hop that deserves ongoing consideration:

Purchase Music by Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud.

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Last year, Hip-Hop turned 40 years old—as far as we know. In truth, part of the culture’s beauty comes from the fact that there is no genesis moment. From the ancient cave-side hieroglyphics to the late ‘60s tags of TAKI 183, graffiti existed as a fascinating balance of expression and rebellion at once. Attention-grabbing dance moves persisted through the ages, long before cardboard or a safe distance was necessary, or Michael Jackson broke out The Robot alongside his brothers on “Soul Train” in 1973. Sound selectors testing the limitations of the phonograph needle is something that Dancehall and Dub fans experienced decades before Clive Campbell (a/k/a DJ Kool Herc) emigrated to the Bronx from Jamaica, with radio personalities across the United States fighting against format to give the people the bits and pieces of a record that excited them most. And in truth, from The Last Poets and Gil Scott-Heron’s candid poetry over production, to Muhammad Ali’s iconic banter, to Malcolm X (and a host of other social leaders) “rappin’” with the People, to James Brown’s own mastering of the ceremony, Rap was only a structured extension. All of the elements of Hip-Hop were there before there was a term for it, and long before mainstream media ever deemed it necessary and important enough for coverage.

However, in the contextual lens that we use (and we cannot downplay the benchmark moment when DJ Kool Herc shared his “merry-go-round” with BX partygoers, involving The Incredible Bongo Band, Babe Ruth, and the aforementioned “Godfather of Soul”), Hip-Hop’s biggest years are often misleading. Following the inaugural 1973, there is 1979, the year that The Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” became an organic movement, and for most people of the day, afforded an opportunity to own a Rap/Hip-Hop record, or hear one on radio. Nine years later, 1988, iconic voices like Public Enemy, Rakim, Big Daddy Kane, N.W.A., and Ultramagnetic MC’s would elevate the MC artform to a pinnacle of rhyme complexity overtop enhanced, complementing production. Six years later, Common would seamlessly embrace its past and courageously embark on its future journey in 1994, a year that spawned the full introductions from Nas, The Notorious B.I.G., and OutKast, with additional hallmarks from Common, O.C., and Scarface. Three years later, Hip-Hop, reeling from the murder of Tupac Shakur, would lose Biggie Smalls to the hand of gunfire, amidst a stint of music marred by threats of violence, Pop-seeking choruses, and far less innovative production. However, as these years appear in books, conversations, and a host of reflective cultural coverage, there is often another year, another chain of events that is lost in the milieu. Thirty years ago right now—in 1984—Hip-Hop changed as we know it. Had the artistic, industry, and cultural movements of that year not transpired as they did, Heads would be nodding to a different beat, dressing differently, dancing differently, and Hip-Hop might have merely been the fad our forefathers fought so hard to disprove.

In its meantime and in-between time, Hip-Hop has always thrived on singles. From the tail-end of the 1970s, record-buying Heads were consuming Hip-Hop in the form of 12” records. No matter how far you were from the five boroughs, records were available (if only for the stores in the know). Picture covers were sparse, meaning that record junkies trusted labels, like Sugar Hill, Enjoy, Tuff City, and others. While Sugarhill Gang, Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five, and Kurtis Blow had all dabbled in album-making, these packagings played out like K-Tel compilations—vehicles to sell singles for more money. The notion of a Hip-Hop album being studied as a sum of its parts was not a reality. With Hip-Hop mobilizing on two simple sides to 12” singles, one at a time, the movement felt volatile. Like Punk in its infancy, Hip-Hop was dependent on living, tangible moments—in the parks and clubs, with the creators transmitting the culture first-hand. Rap music desperately needed to prove its staying power, its range, and its art—not to a society, but to the media, who often confused the genre as an addendum to Disco, if not an ephemeral art-form dependent on stealing music, and throwaway rhyming couplets.

The savior, as it were, came from a Hollis, Queens trio. In order to knock Hip-Hop off its axis, Run-DMC needed to start with a clean-slate. While Run (now Rev Run) emerged from his place as one of Kurtis Blow’s two DJs, Run-DMC ignored convention. Rather than embrace the Disco-inspired style of dress, the plush, dance-friendly basslines, and saccharine choruses of many of the present-day stars, Run-DMC looked with one eye to the streets, and another to Rock & Roll. Leather jackets, Kangol hats, “dookie rope” chains, and unlaced Adidas made Run-DMC stand apart from the pack in the best way possible.

With their foot in the water a year to the month earlier in the form of breakthrough single “It’s Like That,” Run-DMC released their self-titled debut album on March 27, 1984. To match the trio of Run, DMC, and Jam Master Jay’s style of dress and confident visages, producer Larry Smith supplied the group with a tight-packed arrangement of hard 808 drums and guitars. Rather than a smooth delivery intended for the dancefloors or bodies in motion, Run-DMC syncopated their rhymes to the metre of nursery rhymes or limericks. However, the pair’s edgy cadences were gritty, making the music the perfect accompaniment to the sidewalk or just hanging out. The glitz and glam of Rap music was stripped away to a seemingly regular conversation between guys talking about hard times, sucker MCs, and a 30 day trial-offer. “Hard Times” took a page from some of the best Hip-Hop on wax to date–Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five’s “The Message” as well as Rap’s first gold single, Kurtis Blow’s “The Breaks.” Conversely, the two Krush Groove segments of the debut album honored the Wild Style presentation from Cold Crush Brothers and Busy Bee. Run-DMC bridged the gap in the Hip-Hop of the previous five years, and the Hip-Hop of the next 10 years. In 1984, a Damascus of fashion, pop culture, politics, and culture, the Hollis Crew was exactly what it took to make Hip-Hop and Rap music survive the times.

Run-DMC, the album, took itself seriously. Run and D never flinched in delivering their rhymes with a grimace. While Grand Mixer D.ST’s scratches alongside Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit” a year prior revolutionized the turntables as a percussion instrument, J.M.J expanded those notions hugely. “Jam Master Jay” devoted all attentions to the DJ, like a drum solo routine in Jazz or a live Rock concert. “Jay’s Game” took the excitement of scratching, and overdosed. The way that Hair Metal of the era was leading with flashy guitar solos (and custom axes to accomplish them), Jay freaked the funk on his Technics in a way that complemented his band-mate’s rhymes. The two MCs also made it a point to involve the DJ on the Rap record as an equal.

The world responded. Run-DMC nearly cracked the Top 50 of the charts for Profile Records. The album peaked higher than Kurtis Blow, Rap’s resident album-maker of the time, had in five attempts. From a small, newer label, Run-DMC’s style and edge were reaching White America, and more than casually. This album proved to be more than a vessel to carry two singles. In a year when Wham’s “Wake Me Up…” and “Careless Whisper,” Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called To Say I Love You,” and Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” were the five biggest hits, Run-DMC reminded the world that it wasn’t just a party. In the face of Reaganomics, there were “Hard Times,” and if you want to know why, “It’s Like That,” and that’s the way it is. Just as they had done within the fashion, production, and presentation in Hip-Hop, Run-DMC reminded the world that all was not sweet.

Although Run-DMC’s greatest hits would forever be recorded for Cory Robbins’ Profile Records, the trio’s success and formula afforded seed money for Def Jam Records. For Run’s brother Russell “Rush” Simmons, who was an early ‘80s manager for Kurtis Blow, Whodini, and others, watching his pet project skyrocket to stardom only made the fast-talking, uber-confident Rush believe even more in himself. Joining forces with Rick Rubin, a New York University student who was running around with Afrika Bambaataa’s right-hand-man and DJ, Jazzy Jay, Russ’ and Rick formed Def Jam Records. Around their 1984 inception (Def Jam is currently celebrating 30 years in business), the label took on developing acts like LL Cool J, The Beastie Boys, and T La Rock—all of whom impacted the direction of Hip-Hop massively, in different ways.

While Def Jam truly dug its imprint into the soil in 1984, there was a vehicle to set the table for years to come: Fresh Fest 1984. Due to Run-DMC’s far-reaching success, the Hollis Crew—like any burgeoning stars—needed to hit the road. With Hip-Hop still living and breathing in hard-to-reach places (something that would change by year’s end), Russell Simmons sought to orchestrate the ultimate traveling exhibition. Fresh Fest ‘84 would be headlined by Run-DMC, and feature Whodini, The Fat Boys, and Kurtis Blow. Additionally, in a feat that may sound strange even by today’s festival standards, the tour also included The New York City Breakers (Beat Street), Turbo and Ozone (Breakin’), and the New York City Double Dutch Jump Rope Squad. Nine years removed from Hip-Hop’s inceptive year, the Fresh Fest still connected the dots to at least three of the four elements of culture. For many cities outside of New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago, these tour stops were the first tangible experiences of a culture previously received only on wax.

For one of those elements, Breakdancing, 1984 was also a watershed year. Beyond just its tour and promotional component, Beat Street also helped the unique form of Hip-Hop dance reach the masses. The film, an Orion Pictures-backed $16 million box office draw, dramatized the movement as it was happening, even if Rae Dawn Chong may have seemed like an atypical B-girl. The film featured Hip-Hop’s Godfather, DJ Kool Herc in a rare mainstream appearance, as well as incorporating Afrika Bambaataa & The Soulsonic Force, Doug E. Fresh, Jazzy Jay, The Furious Five, Treacherous Three, and the Rocksteady Crew. Albeit Hollywood, the film towed the line of authenticity, at least affording the groundswell of new audiences to touch and feel Hip-Hop from its original source. By 2014 standards, would a film made today extend itself to involve the players from a decade ago? Doubtfully. On the opposite coast, Breakin’, also incorporated into Fresh Fest ‘84, showed Hip-Hop happening in Los Angeles. Featuring the first Ice-T mainstream appearance, this MGM film, showcased the competitive world of break-dancing. The film grossed nearly $40 million domestically, and in addition to Ice, featured involvement from prominent character actor Christopher McDonald as well as an early, uncredited appearance by Jean-Claude Van Damme. Both of these films presented Hip-Hop as a real thing, with lives—albeit dramatic—connected to the lifestyle.

While Run-DMC’s music legacy out of 1984 may have endured the most , there were two other significant albums that further make a case for ‘84’s indelibility. As Joseph, Darryl, and Jay axed Hip-Hop from Disco in sound and style, The Fat Boys challenged the conventions of what rappers should look and sound like. Existing stars like Kurtis Blow, Spoonie Gee, and Grandmaster Melle Mel were to some extent sex symbols of their time. Kurtis Blow had the trimmings of a Disco star, with a strong female appeal, while Spoonie Gee made one of the first “Love Raps,” as Mel showcased his muscles right beside his mic skills. The Brooklyn, New York trio of The Fat Boys were none of these things. Prince Markie Dee, Kool Rock-Ski, and the late Buff-Love were—well, fat. An easy target for the gimmick or novelty tag, the Fat Boys were none of these things. With early Sutra Records releases under the “Disco 3” moniker, this crew was among Hip-Hop’s first mainstream groups to employ beatboxing. While early raps made light of the trio’s love of junk-food and plus-sized tees, the members’ deft rapping abilities, aforementioned beat-boxing, and ability to not take themselves so seriously made them a fast favorite. While Krush Groove, released in 1985 would amplify the trio’s charm, May, 1984’s self-titled debut LP charted in the Top 50, despite a fledgling label. Moreover, songs like “Can You Feel It” were early East Coast Electro records, and “Fat Boys” served as perhaps the ultimate Rap introduction. Although the group would pander for mainstream appeal later, The Fat Boys, is a stone in the sand of great Hip-Hop from a group with the total package. In no small way did this entity pave the way for Beastie Boys, Bushwick Bill, and The Notorious B.I.G.

Producer/bassist Larry Smith, the musical genius behind early Run-DMC records and Fat Boys records, also was integral to Whodini. Prior to 1984, Whodini had already released a self-titled debut, through Jive Records. Whereas the ‘83 introduction would not prove to be a lasting introduction, October of 1984’s Escape remains one of the most important Rap albums, ever. Jalil, Ecstasy, and Grandmaster Dee hailed from Brooklyn, but made the kind of records that felt ahead of their time, and from no particular place. Within that Jive/Zomba LP, released just days before Halloween, were eight songs, many of which were hits. “Freaks Come Out At Night,” like their borough brothers the Fat Boys, fused Rap with Electro. “Friends” took a page from Kurtis Blow’s relatable raps, and became an anthem for an increasingly distrusting generation. Whodini would eventually work extensively with their former backup dancer, Jermaine Dupri, who would go on to become a music mogul.

In 1984, Hip-Hop was approaching its adolescence, as far as most of the elements were concerned. Those formative years, like with humans, can be defining. In this critical developmental stage, Hip-Hop made so many great decisions that year. The foundation was laid and cemented for the culture and industry that would grow into a multi-generational worldwide juggernaut. Not all of the art endured as it deserved–breakdancing would be subsumed as part of other forms of dance and graffiti would once again be relegated to a subculture. However, Hip-Hop, particularly MC’ing and DJ’ing, was out to build its next act and muffle the skeptics that dismissed the movement as merely a fad. In fact, with a profound respect for its young forefathers, Hip-Hop grew up to birth Pop Culture icons like Jay Z, Eminem and Kanye West. From a musical or commercial standpoint, other years may have been more bountiful, however, without the inflection point so well navigated in 1984, Hip-Hop might very well have become a footnote in the annals of cultural trivia.

Follow the author on Twitter, @PaineInVain.

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Eighteen years ago today, on September 3, 1996, three fearless 20-year-olds from the Westside of Chicago, released a debut album that would forever assist in the establishing of the Midwest’s presence among the already ingrained rap heavyweights of cities in the East, West, and South regions of the Country.

In terms of monumental personalities, significant releases, as well as toxic turmoil amid the same imperative personalities that brought extensive acclaim to the flourishing landscape, Rap music and its culture as a whole in 1996 was arguably in the midst of its most heightened sense of adoration it had ever seen itself exist in. The superiority of all of the hysteria though, was prominently located in the previously vested Hip-Hop hotbeds of New York and Los Angeles.

With the bulk of the onlookers’ focus being allocated between the two familiar regions, it was the Midwest, and specifically Chicago, who’s musical momentum was making immense headway and on the verge of demanding significant attention themselves. Whether they were aware of it at the time or not, it was Belo, AK-47, and Nard, who collectively made up the group Do Or Die, and their inaugural Rap-A-Lot Records-released album, Picture This, that would become one of the most imperative components to the inception of the Midwest’s and Chicago’s ever progressing Rap culture.

Eighteen years later, we sat down with Belo, the group’s most candid MC, and talked with the now 41-year old about everything from the roots behind the creation of Do Or Die and Picture This, the emergence of Chicago’s Rap scene in the mid-’90s, to his four-year prison sentence for second-degree murder in 2007, the contrast of senseless crime and murder in Chicago back then in comparison to the disarray the City sees itself in now, to rap’s involvement in the deterioration, the role it can play in repairing the City’s wounds, and ultimately the legacy that Do Or Die has achieved with the timeless Picture This.

Ambrosia For Heads: Belo, 18 years ago today, Do Or Die released the Chicago Gangsta Rap classic, Picture This. Do Or Die consists of yourself, AK and Nard. Can you talk a little bit about how you guys all knew each other, and really the first time you guys started getting your feet wet and performing as a collective unit?

Belo: Wow man, 18 years ago… that’s just crazy. Yeah, so [AK-47] and Nard are actually blood brothers. We all grew up in the same neighborhood on the Westside of Chicago, and we first met through a mutual friend. We actually started off as a dance group called Do Or Die. We were big into dancing, and then we ended up just getting involved in Hip-Hop just through being big fans of it. To be honest, we really got into the Rap game heavy, specifically because of how much we were fans of N.W.A. and what they were doing. We were always Hip-Hop heads from the start though. From Grandmaster Flash, to The Sugarhill Gang, Kool Moe Dee, to LL Cool J, and the Geto Boys. So we always had that passion for Hip-Hop, but when N.W.A. came about, that’s when we became really influenced and got very serious about doing this shit for a living.

Ambrosia For Heads: Can you shed some light on the origins of the group name, Do Or Die, and what it really meant to you guys?

Belo: You know what, what Do Or Die meant for us was more of a competitive thing. Some people may have interpreted it differently and whatnot, but you know, in whatever endeavors that you may have in life, you know you’re going to either accomplish what you set out to achieve, or you’re going to fail. So, from our perspective, that’s really the insight on what our name meant to us. We saw everything as a competition or a battle, you know? Even when we were dancing, it was like we are either going to win this battle, or we’re going to lose it. There was no in between or second place. To sum it up, it really just has to do with everything you’re going to do in life, you’re either going to win or lose. You’re either going to do or die.

Ambrosia For Heads: The album title, Picture This, was that symbolic of what you guys wanted to accomplish on the album in terms of introducing people to what was going on in Chicago through your lyrical accounts?  

Belo: Yeah man, definitely. It was basically just like us saying, “Here are our lyrics, here is our lifestyle, here is how we live, and here’s what we had been through.” You know, even what our family members had been through, too. Growing up in the heart of the Westside of Chicago, we had seen and been through some shit. We really wanted to expose all of that to people through our lyrics and really just let people know who we were. The title of the album was really just our way of saying, here is everything we are about, now picture all of it.

Ambrosia For Heads: In regards to the Gangsta Rap scene in Chicago at that time in the mid-’90s, Do Or Die was really part of a very small collection of artists that put the city on the map in the genre. Along with you guys, it was Crucial Conflict, Twista, and Da’Brat, who were all releasing new music right around the same time. Can you talk about the local scene back then and the atmosphere around it?

Belo: Like you said man, it was a very small group of people who was really deeply involved in that scene. Us on the Westside though, we were really all close together for a lot of that time. A lot of the cats out there was part of Do Or Die at one point and then they all started branching off and forming other groups such as Psychodrama, and groups like that. But yeah, Crucial Conflict and I are from the same neighborhood. I went to school with some of the members of Crucial Conflict. So they were coming out at the same time as us, and we were really the two biggest groups who were doing it at the time. I mean there were guys like Common, who was starting out, and there were guys like R. Kelly, too. But Kells had already stamped his Chicago seal of approval by that time. Twista was doing his thing too, but all those guys were doing a different kind of sound, you know what I’m saying? Twista wasn’t rapping like he is now, until he got with us. Rap wasn’t really being respected in Chicago until Do Or Die or Crucial Conflict came about.

Ambrosia For Heads: Even though he had a couple albums under the name Tung Twista prior to being featured on Picture This, it was that album, and more specifically the track “Po Pimp”, that really thrust both Do Or Die and Twista into a more universally known realm. Can you talk about the success of that single specifically, and how it became so popular so quick?

Belo: You know what, it was really just something new, man. Me and AK got together, and we were like we are going to break off this sound and break off this style that had never been done before. It was a true blend of Rap and R&B music, that really hadn’t been explored before. And you know, to be honest with you, I think people received it so well and so quickly because back then, 2Pac and [The Notorious B.I.G.] were the biggest artists out, and they were doing some major beefing at that time. I think fans of Rap music were really tired of that beef era, and all that nonsense that was going on surrounding those types of Rap music, and “Po Pimp” just happened to be this new ass sound at the perfect time. It was fresh, it was original, and people took to it very quickly and then it just spread like wildfire. Especially in our hometown of Chicago.

Ambrosia For Heads: Were you guys more focused on building your reputation within Chicago, and creating a specific sound that people could associate with the city, as opposed to really trying to compete with the hip-hop heavyweight cities of New York and Los Angeles?

Belo: Yeah man, you know, we didn’t really concentrate at all on what New York or Los Angeles, or any other city was doing. Our whole thing was, this is our sound. This is what Chicago sounds like. You know, we respected the cats that came out of New York, and we really respected that whole movement on the West Coast, because like I said, we was hard on N.W.A., man. That was our group. Even those in the south, like the  Geto Boys, you know? We had love for all them, but we really wanted to focus on our own sound. This was a Chicago sound, a Chicago style, and we blocked everybody else out.

Ambrosia For Heads: In regards to that specific sound you guys established within Picture This, there are definitely  certain tracks on the album — “Playa Like Me And You,” “Paperchase,” and “Money Flow,” much like “Po Pimp,”  that were essentially laid back, ride out, smoking records. Would you say that was consciously a big part of Do Or Die’s identity, and something that was important to you guys? Making music that a consumer could just put on, let it play and effortlessly ride out to?

Belo: Honestly, on that initial album we just wanted to make feel-good music that was real, that the people could relate to. We weren’t necessarily making songs specifically for people to ride out to, or smoke to, although that’s how people ended up feeling it. I think we were just trying to make real-ass music, and people seemed to react to it a certain way. You have to keep in mind, that at that time, a lot of shit was going on. Not just in Chicago, but all around the world. So I think people just related to our music because it allowed them to escape from all the bullshit, and just feel good about the moment. Although we did talk about some harsh realities, and the streets, and the violence in Chicago, and how crooked some of the police were, you know, but at the end of the day, all of that stuff we rapped about on Picture This, a lot of people could relate to, and it made them feel a certain way they had never felt. So they just continued to gravitate towards it.

Ambrosia For Heads: As you just mentioned, on the other end of the lyrical spectrum, a lot of your tracks, like “6 Million Ways To Die,” “Kill Or Be Killed,” and “Shut Em Down,” were very graphic in terms of the atmosphere that surrounded you guys in your neighborhoods, and the familiarity you guys had with the excess of murder and crime. Was the honesty in lyrically illustrating those harsh realities equally as important to you guys as making feel good music?

Belo: I think it really was, man. I mean, we were in the midst of that shit, bro. We were in the hood. We were in the ghetto. So either we were living that life, or we were exposed to it, or we had family members and friends who were victims of it. So it was important for us to express that vision through our music. But even then, we would tell people that “Hey, this may be the life that we live at the moment, but don’t you live this life.” Or, “This is the life we see and we were raised in, so here’s how it is, but please don’t you live this shit.” So even if we were talking about some street shit, and getting high, or riding and smoking in our lyrics, we were also always trying to ultimately express a positive message in our music as well.

Ambrosia For Heads: You had some legal troubles in 2007 and ended up spending a little over four years in prison after pleading guilty to second degree murder charges. Looking back on that time, do you think that the type of Rap you guys made and some of the lyrics in it, made it more difficult for you to prove your innocence in that case? Did you feel the judicial system had already assumed you were a certain type of character simply because you were a gangster rapper?

Belo: You know man, to be honest with you…it was a very tricky and testing trial. Obviously, I was going to be stereotyped anyway, but it was a very tricky trial. The judge in the case knew the family members of the guy who…[pauses]…I don’t want to use the word “murdered,” because what happened was in self-defense. But, the judge knew his family members, and the state prosecutor sent my kids’ mother to prison, and lied on her and said she tried to pay somebody off. Like the whole damn case was just rigged up for me to go to prison, man. I fought the case for six years on the outside, and I ended up just pleading out. I could have continued to fight the case, but I was just tired of fighting it because I was going through so much at the time. But yeah, I do believe that I was stereotyped because of my lyrics in my music and all that.  They brought all of that up, like, “We heard the songs and what you were talking about in them, and this and that,” and I’m sitting there like, “What the fuck do my songs have to do with this situation right now?” You know what I’m saying? But yeah, man, you’re right on that, they did use that shit against me. When they say be careful what you say, because it may come back to haunt you later on, that is true. You always have to be conscious of the words that come out of your mouth, because you never know when that will come back to bite you.

Ambrosia For Heads: You were released in 2011, and regardless of the circumstances around your case, you really  came out of prison with a matured sense of reality, correct? What did going through all of that teach you about yourself and life in general?

Belo: It humbled me more than anything, man. I was already mature at an early age just because of my life experiences. I moved out of my mom’s place at 15 years old and got my own apartment. I learned quickly through the streets, and through all of my other life experiences how to handle my own business. So by the time I got to prison, man, it was just another hurdle that I had to get over. It did truly discipline me in some ways, though. It taught me how to sit still and think more clearly. It mainly just taught me how to appreciate life more and not take anything for granted, man. No doubt about that.

Ambrosia For Heads: When you got released, you came back to a Chicago that was in the midst of one of the worst stretches of crime and murder ever, and unfortunately it’s seemingly only getting worse today. Looking at the current situation in the city, in regards to the senseless murders and crime, how much different is it now than it was back in mid ’90s?

Belo: Man, a lot of this shit was going on back then, too. It’s just that it wasn’t reported on as widely as it is now because the media and Internet wasn’t around like it is today. You know, people died everyday in my hood and on my block back then. People were dying every single day, man, and shit was being swept under the rug. But now, because of how easily everyone can see everything at any given moment, we look like the worst damn city in the world. Granted, the younger generation now a days is a little more wild than they were back then. So that’s a big difference, for sure. There are so many different drugs these kids are doing now. Syrup, and pills, and all this other crazy shit they are on. All that wild stuff wasn’t around back then, so it’s definitely more reckless today than it was back in the mid-’90s. But, this shit has been going on forever.

Ambrosia For Heads: Being able to look at it through a widened lens, with you living in the chaos at one time, and then going through everything you did, and now having a refreshed grasp on it, why do you think there hasn’t been much progress on finding some solutions or relief to the influx of crime and disorder?    

Belo: If I’m being completely honest, I think one of the worst things that Chicago ever did was lock up all of the gang chiefs. That was a fatal mistake. They left a lot of people out here with no guidance and no one to look up to, man. Half of these kids out here, and even back in my generation, a lot of kids didn’t have both a mother and a father. Either you had one or the other, or you had no parents at all. So, we learned those core values from the streets. But when they took our so-called ‘leaders’ away, all structure was lost and it was total chaos. Everyone began fending for themselves, which led to these ruthless street wars that you are still seeing today.

Another major thing that has led to even more chaos and murder, is when Chicago tore down all those projects across the city. They did demolition on a lot of standing projects, especially on the south side. But we had projects up north, and projects out west, too, and Chicago tore down all those fucking projects without a plan. So now you got all these people who have been living in the hood for 30, 40, 50 years, moving into these other areas. If they’ve been living and hustling in the projects for thirty years, and now they’re living in these new and unfamiliar areas, they are sure as hell going to try and eat in these areas, too. So you got people who were forced to move to these spots, who are on the block trying to hustle where these other cats have already been hustling for quite some time. There is always going to be some major problems in situations like that, man.  It’s not a good situation at all.

Ambrosia For Heads: There is a whole Rap movement in Chicago, the “drill scene”, that really influences that reckless lifestyle and almost encourages and convinces these young cats to embrace that culture and to participate in the crime. Being a veteran in the Gangsta Rap game, can you talk about how you feel that whole movement can really continue to negatively affect the situation in Chicago?

Belo: It definitely negatively influences the culture, but it’s just a small part of the problem. It’s a mixture of that music, the things I just talked about, and also the school systems. The school systems are totally fucked up out here, man. That’s really that’s the most important issue. Because of the lack of structure in the schools, and the fact that they have tore down the recreational centers, basketball courts, and public places like that, these kids have nothing to do, and don’t have anywhere to go.  So what are they going to do? They are out here getting high, surfing the streets, they listening to that music,  and they are running wild. So it’s definitely a mixture of all of those things combining to make one greater negative outcome.

Ambrosia For Heads: On the constructive end of the Chicago Hip-Hop scene, there are guys like Chance The Rapper who are using the colossal platform they have acquired, to tackle these issues in a positive way. He’s got the mass attention of the younger generation  and is really encouraging kids to remove themselves from the chaos and channel their misplaced energy in more useful ways. While Rap can obviously encourage and manifest the negative aspects of that lifestyle, it can also do the opposite, right? How important is it for the rappers who have these stages to reach millions, to use their voice to help the situation in Chicago?

Belo: It’s so very important, man. It’s very important that the message of hope gets out to this generation. All entertainers, including Do Or Die, Common, Twista, Kanye [West], and all of us who have roots here in Chicago. It’s so very essential that we deliver a positive message and that we are stressing to these kids to put the guns down.  I really can see a trend where cats are coming together through this music to rise above it all and stray away from all this wild shit. Especially the younger guys who have a voice. I’m reaching out to some of them, too. I’m doing this project called We Are One Chicago, just trying to reach out to all the young cats in Chicago and pull them together, man. As you said, just using their voice to spread that positive message, and doing marches, and free benefits, and just really trying to get a hold on this “Chiraq” bullshit. That stupid ass name needs to be wiped clean from all these kid’s vocabularies. If we can all bring light to both the problems and solutions, I can definitely see it becoming more positive than negative in the near future.

Ambrosia For Heads: On a more positive note, what is Do Or Die currently up to, man? Do you guys have some new music in the works, and have you guys been rocking any shows recently?

Belo: Man it’s funny you ask, because we just got off a little mini-tour. I just got back yesterday. We still got shows up the ass, and we are dropping a new album called Picture This 2, which will be coming out this year. Our first single is with Rick Ross, and we of course got our homeboys Twista and Johnny P on there, and we’re reaching out to Chris Brown and Ludacris, as well. There’s a lot of stuff we are looking forward to accomplishing this year with some new music.

Ambrosia For Heads: Seeing that the landscape of the music industry has taken on infinite amounts of changes from your initial release to today, what is the biggest obstacles for you guys now a days, in continuing your pursuit of making new music and reaching a mass audience?

Belo: I think the biggest obstacle is radio, bro. Simply because it’s so political right now. I mean you really have to have a big budget to be heard in today’s industry. The system is much different now a days. You used to have program directors and DJs where you could give them your record, and if they liked the shit, they’d spin it. But now, it’s too much politics in radio. So it takes more effort and persistence to get your music heard if people aren’t familiar with your past work.

Ambrosia For Heads: Do you think that having such successful albums right off the bat with Picture This and Headz Or Tailz, could almost be considered a detriment in any fashion? Where a lot of your fans unfairly compare your ensuing releases, to those initial albums? Or is it just pleasant to have those albums still be echoing with fans?

Belo: You know what, I just think we have loyal fans. When we came in, it was during an era that involved a lot of loyal fans in general. Whether it was ‘Pac, Biggie, Snoop [Dogg], or any of those guys, they all had the same thing with their supporters. In my opinion, we caught the last era of the loyal fan. Now, we have put out some albums with no promotion or marketing dollars, and they definitely didn’t do as well as the first two albums did. The third one didn’t do extremely well, but it still sold over 300,000 copies. Then the following releases were up and down, as well. But we’re like eight albums in, you know? So our fans are always going to be loyal. You have to think about this, too. Even with the younger generation today, their parents who are a generation below us, like yourself, are still listening to our music. So the young kids are still aware of our music, and that all comes back to having loyal fans. So with the right marketing campaign, the right digital push, and most definitely the right music, sky is still the limit for Do Or Die.

Ambrosia For Heads: In closing, when looking at how much Picture This still resonates with fans to this day, 18 years later, why do you think that is? What made Picture This so significant that it has stood the test of time and is still so special to so many people and continues to transcend generations?

Belo: You know, when we did Picture This, we really made history. Our sound was just so different. People wanted something new, and they were screaming for something fresh, and we just happened to come along at the right time with the right product. We made music on that album that everyone needed at that time. The people wanted it, and once they heard it, they embraced it. It was truly some classic shit. It was music we loved making though, and we put our hearts and souls into it. You know what man, In anything you do in life, but especially in music, whenever you make something that comes from a heartfelt place, people are going to gravitate towards it. And that’s exactly what happened with Picture This. It’s a heartfelt album, that is about some real shit, and it makes people feel good. Time can never put up a fight against something like that. Picture This is going to be a classic forever.

Author Michael Blair can be followed on Twitter @senseiscommon, Belo is @BeloDoOrDie, and follow AK at @AKOfDoOrDie.

Purchase Music by Do Or Die.

Related: Today It All Makes Sense: A Retrospective on the Chicago Hip-Hop Sound (Food For Thought)

Twenty years ago today (September 13, 1994), The Notorious B.I.G and Bad Boy Records released Ready To Die, one (and many argue the best) of the two handfuls of incredible debut albums introduced in 1994. A long hot summer after Nas’ Illmatic, with Wu-Tang Clan’s Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) prominently in the rear-view mirror of the consciousness, Biggie Smalls added to the famed trifecta of the 12 months of possibly the finest Hip-Hop music ever made—especially from New York City.

Remembering Ready To Die is easy, as the album’s impact and resonance still burns strong against time. However, this consideration is always difficult. Just months before the controversial tipping point: the 1995 Source Awards, Biggie’s LP is sadly lumped into a painful part of the Hip-Hop story. Moreover, the skill, ability, and perfect artistic balance of the works changed drastically by 1997’s Life After Death. Even the 1995 Junior M.A.F.I.A release, Conspiracy, showed a very different Biggie on the microphone than his Mister Cee-executive produced debut.

At its core Ready To Die is a B-Boy’s album. With often underplayed groundwork done by Pete Rock, the album—boasting production from DJ Premier, Easy Mo Bee, Lord Finesse, and even Lord Digga, in large part was made for Heads. The artist apparently cited as the biggest influence of the 20 years to follow was hugely inspired by Gang Starr, Big Daddy Kane, and Kool G Rap, masters of conversational, clever depictions of life in the music-driven streets.

“Juicy,” released five weeks prior, combined the do or die attitudes of hustling to feed Big’s daughter with his feverish connection with Rap music through Kid Capri mixtapes, Rappin’ Duke, and his Word Up subscription. “Machine Gun Funk,” the song B.I.G allegedly wanted as his first look, is lyrical Gangsta Rap—in the vein of Just-Ice, Geto Boys, and the aforementioned Live And Let Die-era Kool G Rap & DJ Polo. In one verse, Biggie could make you sympathize for the fat kid on food stamps growing up in Bedford Stuyvesant Brooklyn, and in the next verse, he could reach in your purse right there on Fulton Street.

Dichotomy is a B.I.G part of what makes Ready To Die (and the life of Christopher Wallace) so magnificent. It’s constant duality, balanced in the equilibrium of dope music. Part of Biggie’s slant, from his “Suicidal Thoughts,” to his brutality on “Gimme The Loot” had more in common with artists like Ganksta Nip, Seagram, and Schoolly D. In other moments, such as “Unbelievable,” and the title track showed Christopher Wallace as an introspective wordsmith, not unlike Guru, Large Professor, or CL Smooth. The flow was never sacrificed for the message, but the premise of a song never yielded to the presentation. It always met in the middle, somewhat effortlessly—to the listener, anyway. The overall take-away was a bad guy who was just so loved: a Black Tony Soprano, a likable antihero who had justifiable reason to cause so much pain.

The MCs in Biggie’s ear as he honed his flow between the DJ 50 Grand demo tape and inking a deal with Bad Boy can be forever speculated. After all, Biggie ran with everybody from onetime George Westinghouse classmates Jay Z and Busta Rhymes, to R.A. The Rugged Man and Shyheim The Rugged Child, to Heavy D and Pharoahe Monch. However, musically, Ready To Die owes its Pop sensibilities to Dr. Dre and The Chronic. It’s not a popular opinion to credit Sean “Puff Daddy” Combs as a master producer. Like Horace Grant, he was surrounded by champions (his Hitmen) in the studio—and sometimes seems to have just been a credit monger, who twisted a knob or two to claim finishing touches on masterpieces. However, would “Juicy” have been a crossover hit if the original Pete Rock version was circulated to radio and video? If the G-Funk influenced “Big Poppa” is withheld from the album, is Ready To Die more akin to O.C.’s Word…Life than the one with its seat near the head of the table as “Rap’s greatest album”? Puffy watched the success of his would-be nemesis Death Row Records. More than studying Suge Knight’s moves, as the legend often brings to focus, Puff studied Dr. Dre. Looking at The Chronic and Snoop Doggy Dogg’s Doggystyle, Dre was able to win over mainstream America and Heads with a little thing called melody. Whether or not Heads grew up with Leon Haywood LPs in the house, they could fall in with the basslines of “Nuthin’ But A ‘G’ Thang.” With or without the P-Funk deep inside them, “Let Me Ride” and “What’s My Name?” spoke to bodies in motion, or kids rollin’, whether it was a ’64 Chevy, or a Chevy Silverado pickup. There was a chorus, a melody, and a Berry Gordy-like package that was a grand slam off the bat in the studio.

Puff watched that, and applied it to his star protege while leaving Uptown Records. The production on Ready To Die owes a lot to Dr. Dre, and the nod is there from the “Intro” into “Things Done Changed.” The singles, which no Head can deny, are students of this formula. Biggie’s contemporaries, such as Big L, Common, and Redman would have coveted the crossover opportunities that Ready To Die afforded the pride of St. James Place. In these huge moments, these grand audience inclusions, Big never wavered or dumbed down his own approach. Like Punk bands striking Pop hits (The Clash, The Ramones, Blondie), Biggie used the melody supplied by Puff to reach new frontiers.

An overweight sex symbol (who was more of a rough-neck with the ladies than Heavy D’s persona ever was), B.I.G was a drug-dealin’, gun-totin’, herb-smokin’ B-boy. A storyteller Gangsta Rapper, B.I.G put his life on records—from his mother’s battle with cancer to his stress and depression, with a touch of Hemmingway-esque embellishment (Ms. Violetta Wallace insists things were never quite as bad as “Juicy” leads Heads to believe). Ready To Die is in fact a line in the sand, of what was there, and what was coming.

With just three months left in 1994, Ready To Die greatly influenced projects ranging from Jay-Z’s Reasonable Doubt lead-in to Raekwon’s “Purple Tape.” With the grit of the latter, and the polish of the former, Biggie’s four-time platinum album (which only sold approximately 50,000 copies its first week) created a kaleidoscope of opportunities for MCs, and gave major labels the faith to get behind them. From Keith Murray to AZ, Big Pun to Cam’ron, Biggie blazed a number of trails, with guideposts included.

Moments in time make for great art. In his pre-Ready To Die days, a decoy Uptown Records hopeful, Biggie Smalls was never as star-ready. A vicious MC, Notorious B.I.G could have had a career not unlike so many, given his ability to move the crowd and provide street-tested wisdom with wit. After Ready To Die, the street-corner poet, the hustler-MC gave way to a mafiaso Biggie Smalls. Still skilled, as his 1995-1997 catalog suggests, Biggie changed, like New York changed, like Hip-Hop changed. It was impossible for a platinum star, later involved in very real beef, to be smokin’ weed and shooting dice in Bed-Stuy with Premo, Group Home, Panchi, Mister Cee, and D-Roc anymore. There were tours to do, Hype Williams videos to shoot, and star-studded sessions at Daddy’s House in Times Square, more than D&D in the Garment District.

Ready To Die is the crossroads of Hip-Hop, of The Notorious B.I.G.’s life, and certainly of his career. Hip-Hop’s Horatio Algers bridged the gap between the music of the streets, and the cinematic representation of Rap in the media. He gave hope to the ugly, the poor, the skilled artists (in any medium) who did not fit the build of what the suits thought it took to be a star. Biggie Smalls’ debut album birthed a hero, a savior, and no matter what side of the culture, the music, or the politics you fall on, the ultimate dichotomy.

Twenty years later, Heads still have a lot to love, learn, and listen to.

Related: The Notorious B.I.G.’s Earliest Mentor, DJ Mister Cee Laid Down A Biggie Birthday Mix (Audio)

For nearly 20 years, Tupac and The Notorious B.I.G. have been nearly inextricably linked. The 2 Hip-Hop heavyweights had an indelible effect on Hip-Hop and their deaths cast a shadow on the culture that lasted for years. September 13th provides another link between the two icons. The date marks the anniversary of Big’s Ready to Die album (20 years today) and the anniversary of Pac’s death. Today, we celebrate the music of both with a look back at an amazing mixtape produced by DJ Rob Dinero. Watching Over the Throne fuses the vocals of Biggie and Tupac over all of the tracks from Kanye West and Jay Z’s Watch the Throne. If you have not heard this, it’s an incredibly creative project that is well worth the time. If you’ve encountered it before, use it to savor the life and legacy of two of Hip-Hop’s all-time greats on this significant date. Below is a sampler playlist of a few of the songs as well as a link to download the entire project.

Click here to download Watching Over the Throne.

Thirty years ago this past weekend (September 20, 1984 to be exact), “The Cosby Show” premiered in NBC’s Thursday night lineup. Followed by “Family Ties,” “Cheers,” “Night Court” and “Hill Street Blues,” the show would join what would prove to be one of the most championed, and most enduring programs in television history, a feat that lasted well into the late ’90s and early 2000s, beyond “The Cosby Show” run—but largely because of it.

There is not a lot that can be said about Bill Cosby, Ed. Weinberger, and Michael Leeson’s family sitcom that hasn’t been already. But I’m going to try…

In its day, “The Cosby Show” slapped back at television. While “All In The Family” promised to show the truth in America through the bigoted-but-lovable Archie Bunker, Cliff and Claire Huckstable were also the truth: an illustration of successful, urban, educated people of color that were happily married, and raising their kids right. Like “Modern Family” has arguably done with its portrayal of gay marriage/parenting, “The Cosby Show” made a statement for the times—wrapped in brilliant writing and humor for every seat on the sofa, for every living-room imaginable. While our generation’s (thirty-somethings, thereabouts) parents, who knew Bill Cosby from film, comedy album, and television took in the show with preconceived notions or expectations, Bill Cosby was our version of Sheriff Andy Taylor (“The Andy Griffith Show”), a pillar of love, patience, and wisdom—with heavy doses of humor along the way.

In the early 1980s America, all around there were reinforcements that “things fall apart.” From the family, to the economy, to industry, agriculture, to what some could argue are society’s moral values, everything was in shift, and almost universally perceived as decline. As farms were being sold to banks, former crumbled ghettos were being re-purposed as commercial real estate, and mills were closing, “Cosby” was insulated. Shows like “Married With Children,” “Roseanne,” and “The Simpsons” grew popular because they made television that seemingly exaggerated what was going on. The Huckstables, however, were something to hold onto—and perhaps the others followed because they could not compete.

There was never an episode of “The Cosby Show” (that I can remember) where money was an issue—besides a Gordon Gartrell shirt. Cliff never left Claire for another woman, and Grandpa never showed up in the vestibule intoxicated. Instead, there were college sweatshirts, hidden hoagies, dance numbers, trips to nice restaurants, and a constant revolving door of guests. The cliche is “Brady Brunch” in the perfect family. To thirty-somethings, it is forever The Huckstables.

“The Cosby Show” taught our generation the value of education, and the importance of the show’s longest-running joke: children need to leave (for good) when they’re 18 and leave their parents at peace. The show made us understand the romance of Jazz, and the sexiness of a successful, assertive, and devoted women, and soft-spoken, humorous, well-mannered men. And since so many houses did not have a two parents, a filled refrigerator, or books on shelves, Cliff and Claire showed many what marriage really looks like, from the good to the (sort of) bad. Even those canned exteriors, believed to be Park Slope gave hope and sense of place that we all belonged to. Before Big Daddy Kane and “The P.L.A.N.E.T,” the Huckstables made Brooklyn look the ultimate place to be.

When Heads of a certain age are still feeling lost, “The Cosby Show” is still there, 30 years later. Saturday TV Land marathons let us check in, compare the dreams of our then’s with the path of our now’s. Like our real-life parents, it’s not uncommon to hold our lives up to Claire and Cliff, and wonder what they might think. Long after the show left the air (in 1992), it remains a guiding light—from all sides. The children of the series showed that there is never a straight path, and family goes far beyond a blood line.

For so many of us who did not have a nuclear family, “The Brady Brunch” was as synthetic as the Astroturf in TV family’s backyard. “The Cosby Show” had no gimmick, and it had no suspension of disbelief. Sure, the kids were really well-behaved, but it wasn’t three sets of lookalike siblings paired up, or a regular family with a butler, or a wacky trio of men with dream jobs raising each others’ kids. The Cosby’s, as we so often call them, were real. They were the what-if to all of us looking in Thursday nights, whether close or not. In any era when entertainment felt the constant need for a unique angle, this was a family that was incredibly straightforward.

What is your greatest “Cosby Show” memory?

Related: Can You Feel It: Why 1984 Is Hip-Hop’s Watershed Moment (Food For Thought)

For 111 episodes, “Miami Vice” epitomized the 1980s. Thirty years ago this weekend, September 28, 1984, Sonny Crockett (played by Don Johnson) and Rico Tubbs (played by Philip Michael Thomas) charged through our livingrooms in a Ferrari Daytona Spyder, with guns blazing, and pastels poppin’. After its five-year run on NBC (and one sole episode premiering on USA), the Michael Mann-backed series became the butt of ’80s jokes—for its intensity, its fashion, and its plot lines. But in present day, “Miami Vice” was ahead of the times in so many ways.

Although the pastels and scruffiness are the symbols of “Vice,” the intensity is the true contribution to the Cop TV canon. Living on a sailboat, going to extremes to honor his word, being a divorcee and widower with a quiet, troubled past, Sonny Crockett carried the baggage that has become much more associated with masculinity in 2014, versus 1984. It is little surprise that Drake nodded to “Miami Vice” in his extended narrative video for “Hold On, We’re Going Home.” Meanwhile, Rico Tubbs’ ambiguous intimate relationships, like that with Valerie Gordon (played by Pam Grier), forecast the nature of so many romantic connections in the 2000s. Along with casual romances, Tubbs had a cultured worldliness to him—years before those things were believed to make great television. A onetime New Yorker, the character was a renaissance man, and the perfect complement to Crockett. Whereas Crockett represented the rogue cop with trouble forever on his mind, Tubbs was closer to a Sherlock Holmes, with his own complications in the rear-view.

Coming off of a decade of series of police portrayed as fun-loving, joking tandems that knew how to talk to pimps (“Starsky & Hutch”), rollerskating, beach-going buddies (“CHiPs”), and lollipop-licking cool-guys (“Kojack”), “Miami Vice” felt different from the start. The beautiful sights of South Beach, from sexy bodies to sandy coasts, made for a different feeling television. Comic relief was sparse, and sometimes the bad guys were still on top at the end of the hour. This advanced what average TV goers were used to. Like the police detectives in film, the lead characters of “Miami Vice” were flawed, complex, and often times—dark.

One of the most colorful aspects of 1984 was the music. The Roland 808 drum was king. And from the charged theme of “Miami Vice” by Jan Hammer, it was clear that the series was scored like a blockbuster film. Roger Daltrey (The Who), El Debarge, Devo, Black Uhuru, Jackson Browne, Kate Bush, Meat Loaf, Phil Collins, Bryan Adams, Tina Turner, Peter Gabriel, Pink Floyd, ZZ Top, The Tubes, Dire Straits, Depeche Mode, The Hooters, Iron Maiden, The Alan Parsons Project, Corey Hart, Glenn Frey, U2, Underworld, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Foreigner, The Police, Ted Nugent, Suicidal Tendencies and Billy Idol were among the artists whose music was licensed by “Miami Vice.” From Reggae to Rock, Synth Pop to Classic Rock, Metal and Punk to New Wave, the show had its fingertips on the pulse of the musical crossroads (and before) of the mid-’80s. Villains were amplified and even more unpredictable, while the good guys were set to music videos—as MTV was simultaneously doing for an entire generation. Less than 15 years later, Jay Z and Blackstreet interpolated not only Glenn Frey’s hit “You Belong To The City,” but the music video and the show from which it hailed. Hits were made from Vice.

While musicians’ careers (including Don Johnson’s) benefited hugely from the show, so did those of actors. Edward James Olmos and Brian Deihl–two highly-touted actors–were in the cast, joining Sheena Easton and Pam Grier. Meanwhile, guest turns helped open doors for Laurence Fishburne, Bruce Willis, Viggo Mortensen, Dennis Farina, Stanley Tucci, Jimmy Smits, Ving Rhames, Liam Neeson, Lou Diamond Phillips, Ed O’Neill, Julia Roberts, Michael Madsen, Bill Paxton, Luis Guzmán, Kyra Sedgwick, Wesley Snipes, John Turturro, Melanie Griffith and others who appeared in various capacities throughout the show’s run. Few platforms carry the would-be star-power as “Miami Vice.”

Around the same time Hip-Hop albums started garnering plaques, “Miami Vice” showed the lifestyle. Five years after Sugar Hill Gang bragged about a Cadillac and a Lincoln, the NBC hit regularly showcased the ultimate adult toys: boats, cars, jewelery, and sprawling beachside mansions. Beautiful woman and endless supplies of drugs colored the figures met in the show—as young Nas, Ghostface Killah, and T.I. were watching, studying. The “D-Boy” lifestyle of BMW 6-series coupes, SEL Mercedes Benzes, and linen suits finally got portrayed beyond the 170 minutes in Brian De Palma’s Scarface. In the era of “Cocaine Cowboys,” Crockett & Tubbs were the sheriffs—who happened to have some of the same bounty as the bad guys.

The fashion is the fashion. Just as Madonna’s black lace and updoo came back, along with Kangols and Cazals, it is little surprise that the warm weather preppy styles of Crockett & Tubbs are in vogue once again. Epitomes of the Ralph Lauren-draped “yuppy” style, this duo made dressy-casual a thing. No socks, bender-savvy facial hair, and those pastel tees underneath creme jackets lasted far beyond the 1989 cancellation of the show.

Though “Miami Vice” always will be a cultural touchstone for the 80’s, it also will forever be seen as the launching pad for many of the modern day conventions taken for granted in today’s golden age of TV–morally grey heroes (and anti-heroes), soundtracks infused with popular music, stylized cinematography, complex storytelling, diverse casting, star-power previously reserved to the big screen…And, for that and so many more reasons, we salute “Miami Vice.”

Related: A 30 Year Salute To The Cosby Show From A 30-Something (Food For Thought)

Twenty years ago today (October 14), the Quentin Tarantino film Pulp Fiction opened in theaters. The film starring a Hollywood re-tread (John Travolta), a character actor (Samuel L. Jackson), and a relative unknown (Umma Thurman), as well as a host of other actors, would go on to become an icon of cool within the ’90s. The work changed the things audiences came to expect in an action film, in scenes between the action, and in plots, period. As Heads are still cleaning/reliving the backseat of the Chevy Nova, Ambrosia For Heads opted to take some time to remember a benchmark masterpiece in retro cinema on its birthday.

By the Fall of 1994, not everybody had seen Tarantino’s 1992 breakout film Reservoir Dogs. Starring would-be stars Steve Buscemi, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, as well as the Martin Scorsese affiliate Harvey Keitel, Footloose‘s Chris Penn, and veteran film tough Lawrence Tierney, the independent picture slid under many radars. It was a dialogue-driven film with very limited settings, driven by a degree of violence that might even make a slasher-film theatergoer wince. The film featured almost no female actors, and was short on hope in an era when upward lifting premises were grabbing box offices and acclaim alike.

Before DVD releases with commentary, and constant runs on the yet-unborn IFC network, and Internet culture championing its greatness, Reservoir Dogs was still making its rounds when Tarantino unveiled Pulp Fiction two years later. However, Pulp Fiction carried a more grabbing cast, including Bruce Willis, John Travolta, Christopher Walken, Rosanna Arquette, Eric Stolz—household names that were almost all rarely associated with great films. While the work garnered acclaim on the festival circuit for six months prior, it was not a groundswell beginning. “It was not platformed, that is, it did not open in a handful of theaters and roll out slowly as word of mouth built, the traditional way of releasing an indie film; it went wide immediately, into 1,100 theaters,” recalled cultural critic Peter Biskind. Instead, Pulp Fiction opened like the films it was derived from.

In his mind—as seen throughout on screen since, Quentin Tarantino was obsessed with cool, or his own personal gestalt concept of it. A former Manhattan Beach, California movie-rental store clerk, he was clearly obsessed with the medium–black&white noires, ’70s car-chase flicks, drive-in theater sex romps, Blaxploitation flicks, heist pictures, and anti-hero classics. If you watch or listen to interviews, commentary, or see him at award shows, Tarantino isn’t cool—by traditional standards. He’s a breathless obsessive, eager to cram in thoughts and ideas. It is in that personal corner of “cool” that Pulp Fiction‘s kernel is born. It’s the suits, the signature late ’60s/early ’70s Novas, the dancing, the t-shirts, the music, and the locations. There’s almost always smoke, attitude, and some light-handed posturing. Spending almost all of his life in the greater outskirts of L.A., Tarantino colored the expansive city differently than his peers. It was all-night diners, out-of-step dive bars, back-alley Army-Navy stores, and one-of-a-kind fast food joints. This is true in the flashbacks of Reservoir Dogs as it is in the entirety of Jackie Brown, but it is 1994’s Pulp Fiction that made it just so tangible.

In those settings and amidst the cool-factor, dialogue is everything. Like the studied work of playwright Harold Pinter, every single word a character in a Tarantino flick says has been evaluated, considered, compared, and examined. Word choice is just as important as rhythm. These scenes were designed to be quoted by friends, printed on t-shirts, and recited on bad first dates. The speaking Tarantino characters are not deep in the sense that the viewer wonders what they are thinking, or who they go home to at night, but they are people that are felt and known. Audiences know when they want to reach for their gun or when they want to reach for their wallet (well, most of the time). So with that sense of knowledge in mind, Tarantino makes their thoughts real, from two guys riding around between hits discussing burgers abroad to the grand entrance of a fixer, and his all-knowing instructions. The dialogue also reminds the viewer that take away the guns, the drugs, the cool houses, the cruel predicaments, and they’re the same as us. After decades of one-dimensional “good guys” and “bad guys,” Pulp Fiction’s composites dealt with the same mundane bullshit, and everyday thoughts that the folks crunching popcorn in the seats did. They just did it in a cooler way, of course.

There is a massive underdog mentality to Pulp Fiction, which is giantly true of Tarantino’s work as a whole. This is a film student who championed works that aren’t typically screened in classes or released to Criterion collection. Whether The (original) Taking Of Pelham 123, the original Gone In 60 Seconds, or Van Nuys Boulevard, Tarantino celebrates these quirky moments in the overlooked works of yesteryear. Like his friend RZA, he samples these elements into his own work. For the film Head, the pop culture Head, and the L.A. Head, there are so many jewels in the road, from re-hashed phrases and expressions, to store names, to character names…Pulp Fiction brought this sensibility to the mainstream (by award season, anyway) that every single thing was deliberate, a celebration of cool and worth recognizing.

Like his underdog sense of great film, Tarantino and Pulp Fiction took lesser known or down-on-their-luck actors, and gave them characters that redefined their careers. Before Pulp Fiction, John Travolta was in the limelight as a former ’70s film and TV actor now starring in a talking-baby franchise (Look Who’s Talking). Pulp Fiction provided him with a trip to the Academy Awards that year. Samuel L. Jackson, for whom Tarantino famously wrote the lines, “I eat the pussy, I eat the butt,” in Tony Scott’s True Romance a year prior, was just a memorable character actor. Jackson had gotten his brains blown out in Goodfellas, botched a robbery at McDowell’s in Coming To America, and been credited as “Black guy” in the Al Pacino-starring Sea Of Love before Pulp Fiction. This film highlighted his tremendous acting abilities, convicted delivery, and unmistakeable voice—right into an Oscar nomination. This was true of other veteran stock actors like Tim Roth, Ving Rhames, and Amanda Plummer, all brought into focus in Pulp Fiction. These careers took different directions because of one film, that opened to a mere 1,100 theaters, under the radar 20 years ago.

In a score that was watching “Seinfeld” soar in popularity on Thursday night television, America (and abroad) craved story. Like Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David’s “show about nothing,” Pulp Fiction isn’t acting as if it’s high-concept. The plot of the show is relatively simple. However, it’s the symphony of coincidence, the altered web of universe where everything trickles back, or the butterfly effect takes shape. Even Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction intersect, making Tarantino’s works bridge together neatly. These defined, original, stylized characters live in the same world, and it all collides. Audiences embraced this sense of plot, numb to linear storytelling, tired of contrived flashbacks, or predictable outcomes. Pulp Fiction spun that on its head, and as distant as the ball-gags, the overdoses, the dance sequences, the point-blank gunshots were from our realities, somehow Jules & Vincent’s world resembled ours, if in no other way than just confines. That’s where the title comes from, and perhaps is at the core of the idea behind the work.

Twenty years later, Pulp Fiction is still the epitome of cool, style, and grit. The violence is still jarring, even in an era when cable series like “Breaking Bad” are melting bodies in barrels, and “True Detective” uncovers mass-molestations. Years after “Family Guy” crams a Paul’s Boutique-worth of pop culture references in each episode, Pulp Fiction endures as an original, alluding to films we hope to watch, connections we want to make, nods we aspire to be in on. Sam Jackson endorses credit cards, John Travolta covers magazines, and when Quentin Tarantino releases films today, multi-plexes and indie movie houses alike clamor to screen his latest work.

Related: Thirty Years Later, Miami Vice Remains One of TV’s Most Influential Shows (Food For Thought)

As the infrastructure of Hip-Hop in Chicago, and the excess of young talented artists concocting it continues to swiftly evolve, the eccentric and unflappable twenty-three year old MC, Mick Jenkins, has recently ascended near the top of the budding movement.

Initially hinting at his lyrical aptitude with the 2012 release of The Pursuit of HappyNess: The Story Of Mickalascage, and further insinuating his cleverness and authenticity with his 2013 mixtape, Trees and Truth, Jenkins has wholly confirmed his bolstering relevance and astuteness for reality, earlier this year with the release of his most comprehensive project to date, The Water[s].

Encompassing a successful and alluring combination of imaginative subject matter, persuasive lyrical conviction, and magnetic self-assurance, Mick Jenkins has arrived at a place where the attention of the masses is demanded, and deservingly so.

In a candid sit-down with the Chicago-based MC, Ambrosia For Heads spoke in detail with Jenkins about a multitude of topics, including his childhood, his influences, the ongoing developments within Chicago’s Hip-Hop scene, the hurdles in reaching fans on a wide scale, and the urgency and significance behind the concept of his new mixtape, The Water[s].

Ambrosia For Heads: Mick, for those who aren’t familiar with your background, you were born in Alabama and then moved with your Mother to Chicago, where you spent the majority of your childhood, correct?

Mick Jenkins: Yeah, my parents got divorced when I was seven. My mother got diagnosed with Lupus shortly after in 2001, so we really moved to Chicago because we had family up here, and they would be able to help out in caring for her. I ended up relocating back down to Alabama for college, and then after I was done with school, I decided to move back to Chicago.

Ambrosia For Heads: So you were constantly around family growing up, then. Was music prevalent in your households? When do you remember it first becoming a part of your memories?

Mick Jenkins: Yeah man, my father listened to a lot of Gospel music. Artists like Donnie McClurkin, Fred Hammond, and Kirk Franklin – shit like that. And my mom was big into Neo-Soul music. Stuff like Jill Scott, and Erykah Badu, and Prince. Like, I heard that shit over and over, man. It was a part of me and my childhood. I didn’t really listen to much radio at all, unless it was with friends. So whatever my parents were listening to really became the first memories I have of music.

Ambrosia For Heads: As you began to mature, were there any specific artists or albums that were major influences for you, in regards to beginning to really appreciate Hip-Hop and helping shape you and your ear for the art of it?

Mick Jenkins: Man, Little Brother’s The Minstrel Show was big for me. Common’s Be was, too. When it comes to shaping my own taste for Hip-Hop, those were like the first two albums that I took a real personal interest in. And then of course Kanye’s [The] College Dropout, was big for me as well. Especially living in Chicago and experiencing a lot of the things they were saying in their lyrics, both Be and College Dropout helped foster my love for that specific vocal sound. From there it was definitely Talib Kweli, and more Common, and also The Roots. You know, so I guess looking back on it, even when I got into my own musical preferences, I was always fucking with that Neo-Soul vibe that I was first introduced to as a child.

Ambrosia For Heads: If someone were to search the Internet for reviews of your music and albums, it’s a pretty common theme that compared to other artists who reside in Chicago, a lot of critics and writers label your style of Hip-Hop as “conscious” or “insightful” Rap. While that is definitely intended to be a compliment, do you think that labeling Hip-Hop like that kind of boxes in an artists’ creative efforts?

Mick Jenkins: You know, I don’t think it will box in the artist themselves, but what I think it may box in, is other people’s perception of an artist. Especially if they are unfamiliar with the artist’s music. If someone doesn’t know who I am, and reads a publication that labels me as “conscious rapper,” or describes me in that sort of way, which a lot of them do, then the person reading about me is going to think a certain way about me without ever hearing my music. I don’t think it would ever personally box me in, because I’m always going to have the freedom to do whatever I want to do. But I think when you start to label artists, it can influence someone’s opinion on them and make them think a certain way, and a lot of the times that label can be inaccurate. The hope is that people take the time to listen to the music and form their own opinion of it.

Ambrosia For Heads: Creating such exact labels does draw a line in the sand that is sometimes unfair to artists. Here in Chicago is a good example of that. When you’re looking at the drill scene, and the different movements that are going on, there’s obviously always going to be different skill levels within an artist’s lyrical capacity, but essentially what may be perceived by some as “unintelligent” Rap, should really just be viewed as an alternate form of creative intelligence, right?

Mick Jenkins: Straight up, man. When you’re trying to label something as unintelligent, it’s not only unfair, but a lot of the time it comes back to that inaccuracy. I mean, of course there’s always going to be a point where some music can just be straight plain, but when you get into separating music as intelligent or unintelligent, or referring to artists that way, there will typically be more inaccuracies than there will be accuracies.

Ambrosia For Heads: Speaking on the Chicago Hip-Hop scene, there are a whole lot of young cats with an excess of talent right now. Can you talk a little bit about how diverse and potent this city is from a musical standpoint right now?

Mick Jenkins: I mean it’s crazy, man. It’s really crazy. I was talking about this with someone the other day. I don’t sound like Chance [The Rapper], and Chance doesn’t sound like Saba, and Saba don’t sound like Lucki Eck$. Someone like Alex Wiley is doing something really different with his style. There’s a whole lot of artists doing their thing, but no one is really doing the same thing. It really is crazy. I don’t know what it is. Chicago is a very segregated city, so I don’t really know if that has anything to do with it. But there’s just a lot of different people from different backgrounds in the city, so I feel like that’s inevitably going to result in a whole lot of different sounds. It’s also interesting that a lot of us are from similar areas, and we’re essentially talking about a lot of the same things and occurrences, but that it can all sound so different.

Ambrosia For Heads: Not that Chance is credited with any of the flourishing Chicago emcees success by any means, but what he did with 10 Day and then Acid Rap, really helped opened the blinds on the window that is Chicago Hip-Hop, right?

Mick Jenkins: Yeah man, straight up. We can definitely credit him with bringing a whole lot of attention to this city and opening people’s eyes to the positive things that are going on within the scene here. Especially because it may not be perceived that way in general. He really helped shine some light on the Chicago, which allows other artists from the City a better opportunity to be recognized and heard. There’s no doubt about that. What Chance did with his opportunity is going to impact a lot of other artist’s opportunities.

Ambrosia For Heads: On to the new project, The Water[s]. It’s definitely an album that takes some digesting to really comprehend and really grasp the value in the lyrics. On the surface, just the title in general is stressing the importance of the literal abundance of consuming water. But it obviously holds a more profound meaning as well, right?

Mick Jenkins: For sure. Throughout the tape it’s a direct synonym with truth. That’s definitely home base for the metaphor of The Waters. But I chose that specifically just because it allowed me to manipulate it a lot of different ways, with different meanings throughout each song and things of that nature. I think everyone knows that the literal physical presence of water is important, but I don’t think they really understand how important it is. To the point where most don’t know that there’s people who are trying to privatize water. I mean, I feel like the same thing is really done with truth. People think that the truth about things is readily accessible, and it really isn’t. When it comes to basic ideals of things like what is love, and what is success, what is beauty, all of these fundamental things, a lot of the time people are going to have the wrong assumption of what the truth of those ideals are. So I just equate that with being thirsty for greater purpose, you know what I’m saying? There’s a natural thirst for knowledge, and that becomes a thorough synonym throughout the tape. It represents that in the “Jazz” video, and it will do so in more videos. So that’s the general meaning and metaphor with it. Throughout the tape I just kind of play around with it. I’ve seen some comments of it being overkill, but whatever, [laughs] I think it’s necessary to stress the importance of the concept.

Ambrosia For Heads: Elaborating on greater meaning, I want to highlight a couple different lyrics from The Water[s] that obviously carry purposeful significance, and then have you touch on where you were coming from when writing them.

On your personal favorite track on the mixtape, “Vibe,” you mention– “For the art form and never the hand clap. When that’s clear you can call it Saran Wrap.” It’s compelling, because Talib Kweli has a similar reference from the first Reflection Eternal project with Hi-Tek on the song “Move Something,” that takes the opposite approach to this metaphor. His lyric was, “I call these cats Reynolds cause they plastic wrap.”  Where in contrary, you are taking the approach that when it’s clear a consumer can see the message and heart in your art, it’s refreshingly transparent, correct?

Mick Jenkins: Absolutely, man. You hit that shit right on the head. I don’t even need to say anything else on that. [Laughs] That was it. [Laughs] It’s interesting you bring up [Train Of Thought] though, because Reflection Eternal was really my introduction to Talib Kweli, who as I mentioned earlier is a big influence. I had heard songs before that, but I hadn’t heard a complete project of his. So that was my true introduction to him. At that point  I was too young to be doing research and looking into history and shit, so that was like the freshest shit when I was around the age of 16, so I fucked with that real heavy.

Ambrosia For Heads: Earlier this year Talib had an engaging series of tweets where he was talking about how all of the initial projects he was doing (Reflection Eternal, Black Star) were so dope, and made people feel a certain way at that time, that it limited his fans ability to appreciate the progression of his career, because they are constantly comparing his current work to his early endeavors. It’s insane to think that because of the success of your initial projects, it can almost be damaging to the perception of your future work.

Mick Jenkins: Yeah it’s crazy. That happens a lot, too. You know even with Kendrick [Lamar]. good kid, m.A.A.d city was so good, so now everyone’s waiting to see what his next album is going to sound like and they’ll forever compare his work to that album. I mean I’m even guilty of that. When Kanye dropped [808’s & Heartbreak], I was pissed! [Laughs] You know what I’m saying? Like fans don’t fully understand an artist. Just the way consumerism is, they just look at the product and judge it. They don’t really look at where an artist is at creatively. So when it’s different from an artist’s previous music that made you feel a certain way, people can write that shit off without really thinking about it. I mean now, I love 808’s. But it was so different back then. I was waiting on a certain sound, and then I’m like “What the fuck is this?” It’s crazy, because I fuck with it now, and I’m pretty much the same person I was back then, as far as my core and what kind of music I really enjoy and am inspired by. I didn’t like it then, but I like it now. I just didn’t understand how something can sound so drastically different, but I get it now.  And I’m now in a position where my next tape is not going to sound like The Water[s].

Ambrosia For Heads: It’s alluring that you already know you’re heading in a different creative direction, so quickly after the release of a project you put so much creative effort into.

Mick Jenkins: Yeah, people come to expect a certain thing, and it’s like they want you to stay in your lane. I’m just always thinking, like “What are you even talking about? I don’t have a lane.” You know what I’m saying?

Ambrosia For Heads: On “Canada Dry,” you wrote, “I was playing checkers, this is chess. Never put your faith into a check.” That seems to be a very self-reflective lyric, where maybe you had to learn from a mistake before learning an ultimate lesson?

Mick Jenkins: Earlier in that song I say – “Cancer caught my granny, before I got a chance to check it. What the fuck was I on?” So I was really speaking specifically about that. My grandmother got Stage 3 cancer and we knew she didn’t have a long time to live, but we assumed she had at least a couple months. So I took my time going to see her, man.. and I never got to. I was literally on the way to see her, like ten minutes from the hospital,  and she passed while I was on my way. Yeah, so I was just talking about that. Just talking about being wise about my decisions. “Never put your faith into a check,” was me reflecting on that. Why didn’t I go see her? What was keeping me from doing something that was more important than anything else I was doing? I was really just trying to be in the studio all the time, and do more shows, just because I felt like I had to keep grinding.

Ambrosia For Heads: So that was really a moment that made you realize that sometimes the shit isn’t important as you think it is?

Mick Jenkins:  it’s not as important! You know? Like family should always come first, man. This shit is not that important in the grand scheme of things. I mean, it’s essential to continue to be smart about your movements, and continue to pursue what you need to pursue, but just never lose sight of what is most important. That’s real.

Ambrosia For Heads: One of the most transparent lyrics on the project is the first lines of the “Healer.” You sincerely wrote “My piss ain’t ever been so clear. My pockets never been so empty. My heart ain’t ever been this full. But my stomach is not, so my nigga don’t tempt me.” Very simplistic in nature, but they hold a whole lot of value.  It seems like you’re saying that while monetarily you may not be where you would prefer to be, your cup is full because you’re living life right, and pursuing your goals?

Mick Jenkins: Yeah, man. Sometimes I have a hard time explaining some of the things I write. Especially with that specific lyric. Sometimes the words I write, personify what I best meant, and really do it more justice than any explanation I could ever give. It’s kind of like what you just said, though. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t have a lot of money. [Laughs] I mean, I’m not complaining, because in comparison to where I’ve been before, I’m doing alright. I just know that the way things are perceived are usually different than what they are. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. I’m focusing on my goals and working  on me being a better person regardless of what else is going on.

Ambrosia For Heads: You’re essentially touching on the idea that there’s a greater sense of clarity when you’re going after your dreams, even if strife is present on the way there, as opposed to if you made a good living doing something that wasn’t truly fulfilling your heart at the end of the day. It’s almost like a pleasant struggle?

Mick Jenkins: Yeah, all the time. Especially if it’s something your dearly passionate about. I’m getting to do this and not have to work a job. Like, I’m in this and there’s no looking back. I’m with it no matter what [laughing], you know?

Ambrosia For Heads: In some fashion, a lot of your lyrics have a big confident chip on their shoulder. Like you’re constantly on an assertive mission to prove yourself, and your inflection is sometimes borderline enraged, almost angry. Is their truth to that? Do some of your lyrics stem from frustration, or do you feel like you have a lot of shit to prove?

Mick Jenkins: Not necessarily a lot to prove, but I just have a lot of shit to say. I used to try and rap really cool. I didn’t have a lot of varying inflection or energy. I really wanted it to seem like it just came so easy to me. But as I continued to grow as an artist, I realized that’s not as effective. When I’m personally listening to music, I like when I can like feel the energy, and when it can make me feel a certain way. So when it comes to the way I approach it, I think when I’m on more serious subject matter, my voice tends to be deeper. Or if it’s something that I want you to really understand, I’m going to be louder and stronger. I don’t know, I just try to make you feel it, you know what I’m saying? I just want you to feel what I’m feeling. To accomplish that, sometimes you have to do more than what you normally would, so that it comes across the way you envisioned.

Ambrosia For Heads:  Along with the influx of metaphors and knowledge you drop, you constantly provide a sense of clarity into your own thoughts and ideology , allowing the listener to apply that awareness to their own existence if they choose to. When it’s all said and done, what do you really want a listener to gain and take away from your music after listening to it?

Mick Jenkins: You know, in attempt to be less preachy, I’ve opened up more about myself and my own decisions and how I’ve been both right and wrong. So I’m really just trying to allow you to see how I’m really living. Because at the end of the day, I’m trying to encourage you to do something different with your life. I’m trying to help you think a different way. I’m trying to introduce new ideas to you. And the best way for me to do that, is through my own experiences.

Ambrosia For Heads: You’re dead on, and not to get too deep into the rabbit hole that is the meaning life [laughs], but that’s essentially  the largest piece of the puzzle, right? Soaking up as much knowledge as you can from those willing to offer it, digesting it through your own experiences, and then willingly make the knowledge available to anyone who seeks it.

Mick Jenkins: Straight up, man.  And I feel like there’s a lot of people who will tell you “do this” or “don’t do that”, but it’s just never received very well. So I’m just trying to express my knowledge and encouragement through how I’m doing it. Just like you said, man, which is evidence for me that people are paying attention and getting this vibe, is that if they choose to, the listener can use what I’m saying as assistance in the direction of their own route. If you choose not to, I mean that’s cool too, but at least you still like the song. [Laughs] Fortunately. [Laughs]

Ambrosia For Heads: When you’re talking about reaching people through your lyrics, the platform to reach fans has never been better. And from a fan’s perspective, the accessibility to an artist has never been so clear. But, I also feel like there are so many really talented artists who have limited fan bases. As an artist who was unsigned for the past handful of years, do you think it’s just a case of there just being so much content out there for people to choose from?

Mick Jenkins: That’s exactly what it is. Sometimes it’s really simple, right? Like there’s a lot of fucking people in the world, and there’s a lot of people who want to create. Before this generation, there were less artists who broke into the game, because there were less ways to break into it. So the people who did make it into it, could control it more. Whether that was good or bad, I’m not sure, but it’s just how the system worked. Now there are millions of ways to get your art out there to the public, and because there are billions of people, you can maintain a small sector of it and still do your thing. I may only have 50,000 fans around the country, but if I can sell out a 500 person venue in the thirteen cities I go to, I can make a living, you know? It’s like that’s what I’m doing now. I’m living off this shit, but I’m not really making great money. But I’m living, and I’m doing better in multiple ways than I was when I was at work. There’s so many artists at that level, you know? Artists who are just getting by off of their music, and don’t have to really have to worry about going to work every day. They may never be heard on a large scale, but they are making a living doing music. And that’s what’s able to happen in this day in age with the internet. It’s created so many different platforms for artists to get there music out there, but that’s definitely what makes it harder to attain notoriety from a national and worldwide standpoint. Just across the board, period. Unless you’re dope. Unless you just really have that thing, man. Unless you really have that spark. If you do, then you might end up like Mick Jenkins. [Laughs]

Ambrosia For Heads: Touching on how artists may never be seen on a large scale simply due to the overwhelming amounts of artists utilizing the same platforms and whatnot, I think a lot about how there are certain albums over the past four-five years, that maybe 15-20 years ago might be considered absolute timeless classics. But because of the current consumer landscape that is blanketed with instant gratification, these albums or artists don’t flourish as much as they could, simply due to something that is essentially out of their control.  

Mick Jenkins: Like even Beyonce! Her [self-titled album] would have gone diamond. Like in the ’80s or the ’90s? That shit would have gone diamond, man. It’s fucking crazy to think about. There is definitely a lot of shit that should’ve gotten more shine, but really now a days it comes down to how you’re pushing it. It has to do with the pushibility behind your music now. First, it’s all about is your machine equipped and smart enough to know how to do it this day in age? And then second and most importantly, is your content good enough? Kendrick Lamar is a great example of this. A lot of people heard the growing murmur about him before the music itself, and he capitalized off of that. It’s a great example that it’s still able to be done on that scale.  It just really matters about your content, and then it’s up to your machine to know how to execute it all.

Ambrosia For Heads: Do you feel like the foundation of your machine, and all of the variables in attaining that apex are all aligned for you?

Mick Jenkins: Honestly, stepping outside of myself and taking a look, I feel like I have something special. It definitely still needs to be honed, and taken in a better direction, but it’s all there. Some people can just rap, some people can just make a good song, but when you got that extra shit, that “it,” you know what I’m saying? I don’t know, maybe I’m being too cocky or too confident, but I feel like I have some sort of undeniable factor. Like there is no way you’re going to listen to my shit, and not fuck with it. Unless you’re just hating. That’s just how I feel.

Ambrosia For Heads: You are heading on a country wide tour this month with Method Man & Redman, for the Smokers Club. How’d that come about, and is that really going to be your main focus as 2014 closes out? Is there anything else you’ll be working on?

Mick Jenkins: I just signed to Cinematic [Entertainment] and that’s how that whole tour came about. It’s a honor to be on the road with artists of that standing, for sure. When it comes to my focus, I definitely don’t take the opportunity for granted. I’m not here to play. I think about shit like how am I going to record like I want to? There are two week stints where we are in a different city every day. I think a lot about how that’s going to affect me as a person. Am I going to be available creatively to write and record music? I don’t really know, either. it’s a world that I’ve never stepped into before. So, I’m just going to prepare for myself for what may come in that regard. I mean, creating music is second nature, for me. I’m constantly recording music, and constantly writing, and constantly listening to shit, just because that’s how I get inspired and let my emotions out. So, that’s that type of shit I’m most worried about from a personal standpoint. But we’re going to give great shows, and that’s going to be the main focus. We’re going to be very busy, so like I said, my biggest concern is that I won’t be available to maintain the creative output that I’m used to.

Ambrosia For Heads: I’ve never really looked at being on tour that way. Where it can essentially create an alternative barrier to sustaining creative momentum. Especially on the heels of releasing such an innovative and honest album. It’s like you’ve been trying for years to get the attention of this woman, and you finally get to take her on a date and end up having the best sex of your life with her, then she just moves away to a different city like two weeks later.

Mick Jenkins: Yo! For real. [Laughs] That is exactly what I’m feeling.

Ambrosia For Heads: Mick, the best of vibes and success your way on the impending tour and your future endeavors. Thanks for taking the time to chop it up, man.

Mick Jenkins: Thanks, man. Same to you.

Author Michael Blair can be followed on Twitter @senseiscommon, Mick Jenkins is at @FreeMickJenkins.

Purchase Music by Mick Jenkins.

Related: Quench Your Thirst With Mick Jenkins’ The Water[s] (Mixtape)

TDE’s rise began with Jay Rock, who ushered the independent label to major distribution through a Warner Bros. Records deal nearly a decade ago. The Watts MC who was the youngin’ around the old heads brought that acquired knowledge, respect, and that wisdom to his music, uncut Gangsta Rap at a time when it was still out of vogue.

With just one album out (2011’s Follow Me Home), Jay specializes in being quiet, but highly attentive and deliberate. This month’s “Parental Advisory” shows that the big homie within Black Hippy isn’t staying quiet for long though, with perhaps another hiii-powered monster in the cannon.

That being said, AFH saw right now as the perfect time to share Jay Rock’s “Where It All Began” interview. Filmed several years ago, Jay explains how the albums of Master P, the songs of Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dogg, and the styles of 2Pac and Busta Rhymes were a major influence. Jay recalls the impact of watching Big Beat Records’ (and later Death Row’s) O.F.T.B. (Operation From The Bottom) do it on a large scale in the notorious Nickerson Gardens. He also expounds on why his music is so raw, given what he’s witnessed and lived with “since the sandbox.” This is a rare, introspective glimpse at an artist with so many paid dues, and yet so much ahead of him.

Related: Check out other AFH TV “Where It All Began” video segments, including Kendrick Lamar, Ab-Soul, and ScHoolboy Q.