SAGE FRANCIS

SAGE FR A NCIS

I’M A WRITER FIRST AND FOREMOST, AND BECAUSE I’D BEEN STUDY ING HIP-HOP FOR SO LONG BY THE TIME I GOT TO THOSE BATTLES, I HAD A FOUNDATION THAT A LOT OF PEOPLE HADN’T DEVELOPED. ORN IN MIAMI AND RAISED IN PROVI DENCE, the artist formerly known as Paul Francis began rhyming at the age of eight, and went on to win numerous prestigious M C battles in his teen years. After getting his B.A. in Journalism, Francis began working on solo material, and in 2004 became the first rap artist signed to the punk-friendly Epitaph Records. Which all goes a long way towards saying that Sage Francis is not your typical hip-hop M C. Coming two years after his critically acclaimed Epitaph debut, A Healthy Distrust, the excellent new Human the Death Dance is being billed as Francis’ most per sonal record to date, offering diehard fans a glimpse inside the mind of one of progressive rap’s finest wordsmiths. We recently spoke to the 30-year-old Francis, touching on everything from his formative influences and battle-rap background to the death of lyricism. Talk to me about your earliest hip-hop memories. Were there any specific artists or albums that made you fall in love with the music?

I guess Run-DMC was the biggest influence on me. They got huge pretty early on, and the first concert I went to was Run-DMC, Public Enemy, EPMD and DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince, with a special guest appearance by LL Cool J. That was an era of hip-hop where everyone was awesome. It was concentrated, there was solidarity and it was an incredible time period for hip-hop. I loved everything I got, from Rakim and KRS-One on the Boogie Down Productions albums to these mix tapes that had all these different artists on them. Even if they sucked at rapping, I loved the beats and the fact that they were rhyming. But it was after being introduced to Public Enemy through that tour that shit started getting heavier for me. It was rebel music– there’s fucked-up shit going on and they’re addressing it– and that was the appeal for me. You grew up in Rhode Island, which isn’t exactly known as a hotbed of hip-hop culture. Was there much of a scene there at the time?

At first it was difficult, but we’re lucky to be wedged between Boston and New York City. People were coming here to do shows, but I was too young to check out a lot of that shit. Mainly what I had access to was college radio stations that played hip-hop. It was minimal– hip-hop was hard to find at the time, as opposed to now, when you can walk down the street and hear an old lady listening to hip-hop in her car– but there was one hour every week on WVRS 88.9 called Rap Explosion, and it was a great fuckin’ show with good mixes and music I couldn’t get anywhere else. I’d go on a search and try to find these artists I’d heard on the radio, but that wasn’t enough to feed my appetite. If there was a black dude on the cover and the song titles sounded like hip-hop, I’d buy it. That’s how I discovered Too Short and all this other dark stuff, and all of that informed what I do now. You won Boston’s Superbowl Battle in 1999 and Cincinnati’s Scribble Jam in 2000 and 2001. A lot of successful battle rappers seem to have trouble deliver ing the goods once they get into the studio. What was your secret to making that transition? That’s tough to say, but I address that in two different songs on the new album. In “Underground For Dummies” I talk about smashing the trophy a week after I won it, which I did because I needed to get away from that stigma. I didn’t want to be boxed in as a battle rapper. It was obvious all these cats had dedicated all their mental energy to creating punchlines, and that doesn’t translate to writing records and making songs. I’m a writer first and foremost, and because I’d been studying hip-hop for so long by the time I got to those battles, I had a foundation that a lot of people hadn’t developed. Even though they were winning the big battles, they didn’t have the background or experience to use that as a platform to develop a real career. They’re like prize fighters, and that’s all they’re good for. That’s unfortunate, because these cats are talented. It takes a lot of talent to get up there in front of that many people, be quick-wit ted and battle head-to-head, but like I say in Midgets & Giants, 8 Mile wasn’t true. People watch that movie and think that’s how Eminem’s huge career happened. But you’ve gotta be able to write albums and understand songwriting. You have to study the craft. You’re arguably the most political MC on the scene this side of dead prez. Why do you think there aren’t more MCs addressing the serious political concerns confront ing the world circa 2007? There are a lot, it’s just real tough for poltical rappers to gain any headway because a) people aren’t trying to put out that kind of music anymore, and b) it’s been done so well. I mean, Public Enemy was the top of that game, and they did it so well. Everybody who does it knows that PE, Paris and KRS-One were great and respected, and not too many people wanna touch it to the degree that they end up looking like jackasses because they can’t do it as well as those guys did. [Voices of dissent] are out there– I get demos all the time– but most people aren’t doing it in a great way. They’re kinda like battle rappers: If all you can do is address politics, but you can’t really write a great song, you’re not walking that line very well. A lot of people were surprised when you signed with Epitaph Records rather than, say, Def Jux or Rhyme sayers, either of which would appear at first glance to have more of an affinity for your style. Why did you decide to become the first hip-hop artist on what has historically been a punk rock-oriented label? Well, I’m in real good with Rhymesayers and just recorded a video that has Slug and Brother Ali in it, and we’ve toured together and have always been cool. In fact, when I released “Makeshift Patriot” as a 12” record, I asked Rhymesayers to put it out. But Slug was like, “You don’t need us to put that out, man; we’re not gonna be able to do more for you than you can do for yourself.” I think he was wrong at the time, so it went through Anticon instead. But Epitaph was the company that had the greater amount of resources and access, and as their first hip-hop artist it wasn’t like I had to fit into any preconceived stylistic aesthetic. It was complete freedom, and I think it helped me break the glass ceiling I kept butting my head on. They understood my music and why I make it and gave me all the support in the world, so it was kind of a no-brainer. Ever since Nas released Hip-Hop Is Dead, there’s been an awful lot of talk about the state of hip-hop culture and the problems currently plaguing it. What’s your opinion? (Sighs heavily) That’s dangerous territory, especially because Nas is the one who said it. I think hip-hop is too many things right now. It’s tough to talk about hip-hop because it lacks definition, and people don’t really agree on what it is. Mainstream commercial radio hip-hop is so far off the mark of what I consider hip-hop to be, but the majority of people in the world consider that to be hip-hop, and the majority rules. I stay true to my understanding of what I grew up learning and enjoying about the genre. Lyricism is a huge deal: You have all these words and so much room to say a lot, but it seems like commercial hip-hop has systematically eliminated the need for lyrics by making songs completely chorus-based and sticking to predictable subject matter. I get no reward out of listening to that kind of music. Even in the underground, I feel like lyricism has gone the way of the dodo bird. That’s what’s kinda dead, I guess, but that’s where the most incredible things can happen if you do it right. Being a wordsmith– a craftsman of words– I’d rather listen to the evocative simplicity of a Neil Young song than these people yapping yapping yapping, but not saying a goddamn thing. But there are a few artists in hip-hop, like El-P for instance, who have matured and aren’t pandering to the lowest common denominator.

As a white kid who grew up in the culture, I’m curious to know what you think about the Caucasian’s place in what began as an African-American culture? That’s one of the most difficult questions to answer because there’s a lot of racism and classism to deal with, and a lot about what is and what isn’t hiphop culture. I didn’t approach hip-hop as a white person, I approached it as a kid who had a huge love for what I was hearing and for some reason felt an affinity with it and identified with it. I know that I’m not black, can never be black and can never understand that struggle. All I can do is do my best to identify with it. White people’s place in hip-hop? All they can do is express themselves and talk about the life they live through the craft. When I started, and I was one of the only white people at the battles, there was an incredible amount of resistance. There was a lot of expectations, like if you’re gonna involve yourself with this and try to battle, you’d better bring some shit! I had no fear: I think I was kinda naïve. I thought, because I loved hip-hop so much, how could anybody question my involvement? Things could’ve gone wrong– I could’ve gotten beat down or killed– but I got up on those stages and I fuckin’ ripped into people and had a lot of fun. I wouldn’t say I won a lot of friends by doing that, but I won respect. What’s next for you? Do you have any aspirations to be a big major label superstar, or are you cool with the indie acclaim you have now?

I’m really cool with where I’m at. I want my music to be heard by as many people as possible– I don’t make it so I can keep it under my pillow– but I’ve had tastes of fame in my life. I love being able to do a show and pack people in and people are all love and really positive, but I’m very personal and private and don’t like too many people to be in my circle, ya know what I’m sayin’? I want to make my music and have people enjoy it, but I don’t want people to know too much about me. B BY B. LOVE MUSIC INTERVIEW The Battle for Res p ect

����� ������� By B. Love, DeMarco Williams, John Davidson, John Moore, Tom DeFreytas & Richard Marsh

GREAT NORTHERN – TRADING TWILIGHT FOR DAYLIGHT (Eenie Meenie) Soothing, epic pop songs

SAGE FRANCIS – HUMAN THE DEATH DANCE (Epitaph) The great white hope

SEAN NA NA – FAMILY TREES OR COPE WE MUST (Dim Mak) & EVERYBODY ELSE – SELF-TITLED (Militia Group) Two deeply satisfying takes on indie-pop

ARMAND VAN HELDEN – GHETTOBLASTER (Southern Fried) Ghetto-blastin’ fake DJs

YOUNG GALAXY – SELF-TITLED (Arts & Crafts) Woozy space rock

LEN PRICE 3 – RENTACROWD (Wicked Cool) Garage-rockers with a jones for The Kinks

JEFF BUCKLEY – SO REAL: THE SONGS OF JEFF BUCKLEY (Sony) You wanted the best, you get them again

THE HIDDEN CAMERAS – AWOO (Outside) Attempts to make pop music more classy

DOLOREAN – You Can’t Win (Yep Roc) Weary, wandering folk songs