Take The Stage - Stories of Hip Hop Volume Three by Ed Andrews

TAKE THE STAGE STORIES OF HIP HOP VOLUME THREE

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TAKE THE STAGE STORIES OF HIP HOP VOLUME THREE EDITOR Ed Andrews ART DIRECTION Rob Longworth WORDS Ed Andrews, Doobie Houser PHOTOGRAPHY Liz Seabrook, Ed Andrews THANKS The Church of London, Corin Douieb, Paul Willoughby, Alex Capes, Danny Miller, Ed Skrein, Chemo, Fatlip, Rewd Adams, Spin Doctor, Coda Agency

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FATLIP “HIP HOP IS THE VOICE OF PEOPLE THAT HAVE MADE SOMETHING OUT OF NOTHING. IT’S POETRY; IT’S RHYTHM AND BLUES; IT’S LYRICS THAT INSPIRE PEOPLE AND GIVE PEOPLE THIS FEELING OF HOPE. IT’S FUNKY.”

“It was magic. There were so many elements that just happened to be going on at that time,” explains a jetlagged Fatlip as he reminisces about the golden era over a cup of tea. “The sampling machines, the discovery of old jazz music, the unemployed young black men that were looking for an honest income; all of these factors that will probably never happen again. I mean that’s why they call it gold.” It’s a rainy February afternoon in Shoreditch, East London and in a few hours, Fatlip will step behind the decks for a show at The Doctor’s Orders club night. Nowadays, he may be touring as a deejay “because it’s easier than writing, performing and recording”, but most will know him for his rhymes. As a member of groundbreaking South Central Los Angeles rap crew The Pharcyde and helping to craft two of the early 1990s seminal albums (Bizarre Ride II The Pharcyde and Labcabincalifornia), Fatlip has cemented himself as living piece of hip hop history and secured that ‘legend’ status. After getting into music because his choir-directing mother “made [him] go to church and play the drums”, some of the first sounds Fatlip listened to were the electro bleeps of Kraftwerk on the radio. But then something changed. “New York hip hop hit L.A. in the late Eighties – around ’87 – and that was it: I was hooked,” he smiles, as the effects of the long flight from LAX seem to fade. The Pharcyde first joined forces in the late 1980s as dancers but started rapping enough to complete a demo featuring an early version of the classic ‘Passin Me By’. Having met manager Paul Stewart, who facilitated the group’s signing to indie label Delicious Vinyl, the path had been set for the crew’s success. “Back then, it was easier, because when all you had to have is your music and your ambition to get into the game.” he explains.

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One of The Pharcyde’s biggest anthems is the 1995 single ‘Runnin’. It’s impossible to explain why certain songs resonate with people more than others, but the honesty of the track was extremely fresh in an age of gangsta rap. “It expressed a situation that other rappers hadn’t expressed, like facing your fears,” he explains. “We represented the guy who wasn’t on the block with the bins. We were almost the everyday guy. I guess at the time it was refreshing in comparison to the other things that were out. It was a different perspective.” Another highlight was the 1995 single ‘Drop’ produced by the late, great J Dilla. The video saw them team up with ground-breaking director Spike Jonze, who required the group to accomplish an impressive feat to fit into with his reverse-motion vision. “That was interesting. We had to mime the lyrics backwards and do all our moves backwards,” he remarks. “It was a lot of work and it took a long time.” Being part of what some might see as as the most important era of hip hop is no small feat. The classics they released shaped music culture forever, and Fatlip still reminisces fondly. “The older I get, the more I trip about how far we’ve gone. Even our name and our stake in hip hop amazes me,” he says warmly. “It couldn’t have happened as easily as it did. When I think of all the random circumstances that were involved, meeting the guys, happening to find the records we chose to sample, all of it really was luck just mixed with the will to succeed and our love for hip hop.’” Now at 42-years-old, it would be easy for Fatlip to look at today’s popular hip hop and not be happy at the way it has evolved, but he remains diplomatic. “I’ve accepted the fact that things change and not always for the better. In doing that I’m able to appreciate the new stuff more than when I used to hold onto the old ways,” he says. “I’m learning to acknowledge the skills, but the last artist I was excited about was GZA and that was 1995. I rode my bike 20 miles to the record label across town to get his promo.” DH

LIZ SEABROOK

SKREIN “SO MANY RAPPERS, I’VE READ THEIR INTERVIEWS AND HEARD THEIR RAPS ABOUT VIOLENCE, GUN TALK AND ALL THAT MADNESS, BUT WHEN I SPEAK TO THEM OFF CAMERA, THERE ARE LOVELY, INTELLIGENT, KIND PEOPLE. WHY DO THEY FEEL THE NEED TO CHAT THIS MADNESS ON RECORD WHEN THEY’VE GOT A LOT MORE TO OFFER?”

“We’re grown men now: not kids no more. It’s nice now to have a platform to chat some sense instead of just stupid shit in interviews,” says Ed Skrein over a mid-morning coffee in his home neighbourhood of Dalston, East London. “So many rappers, I’ve read their interviews and heard their raps about violence, gun talk and all that madness, but when I speak to them off camera, there are lovely, intelligent, kind people. Why do they feel the need to chat this madness on record when they’ve got a lot more to offer?” At this moment in time, Skrein is on a very mature, positive vibe. He may have made his name in the hip hop world with his dynamic, rasping raps on tracks with Foreign Beggars, Stig of the Dump and Dr Syntax – many of which can be found his 2007 mix-tape album The Eat Up. But now at the age of 29, he’s gone from a “rowdy, hungry youth” to a father and now actor set to appear in his first feature film, Ill Manors, directed by long-time friend Plan B AKA Ben Drew. Having shared an interest in films with Drew for many years, he was asked to play “an ‘orrible cunt” in Drew’s in short film Michelle in 2007. Despite being unhappy with his own performance, this role lead to Ed landing similar parts in Ill Manors, Piggy with Neil Maskell and Nick Love’s The Sweeney - all without doing any auditions. “It’s really organic but mad,” he says, reflecting on this unexpected career turn. “I’ve been completely winging it so far but I feel focused and clear about what I need to do in the process of acting at the moment. I’m not going to get picked to be in Downtown Abbey or any period dramas. I don’t want to get pigeonholed but I know my role and my position in the

art form and my life experience is preparation for that.” The unsavoury roles he plays stand in contrast to Skrein’s warm and friendly nature. And since he had no formal acting training, he drew upon the performance aspect of rapping to help him get into the character. “It’s mental preparation more than anything else,” he explains. “If you train well, you will be fine on race day. It’s a process; the preparation, the performance, the buzz afterwards and the evaluation. You can apply that to sports, music and acting. I’ve always been pretty self-critical. Everyday I was coming home from set, physically exhausted but I would be buzzing and couldn’t sleep. I’d be there lying in bed until five in the morning just working out what I’d done that day.” However, Ed has far from abandoned hip hop for this new career, but with this new stage in his life is being reflected in his music. Nowadays, he’s playing world music and folk festivals in a “hip hop freak show” with Nathan ‘Flutebox’ Lee and his band. “We did one show where everyone was sitting down. There were people in wheelchairs with cerebral palsy, grey-haired hippies and grannies. I thought it was incredible. We’d lost all the pretentiousness and self-importance that hip hop has and branched out,” he says fondly. “Now, it’s more about trying to surround myself with musicians. I don’t want to take anything away from the early days cyphering outside clubs at five in the morning with bottle of Jack Daniels in my hand. It was a great time but it’s an evolution. I hope in ten years, I’m not doing what I’m doing today.” EA

ED ANDREWS

SPIN DOCTOR “THE PEOPLE WHO COME TO THE PARTIES AND THE OTHER ARTISTS CAN SEE THAT I’M A MUSIC HEAD PRIMARILY. I’M NOT JUST A PROMOTER WHO HAS SEEN AN OPPORTUNITY AND IS TRYING TO MAKE AS MUCH MONEY OUT OF IT AS POSSIBLE.”

It may be a chilly December night outside but inside East Village, a minimal basement club in Shoreditch, East London, deejay Chris P Cuts is warming the place up with some sunny, party beats. It’s typical of start to On The Real, a staple night of the London hop hop scene and one of the many put on by promoter/deejay Spin Doctor AKA Rod Gilmore. “I’m blessed that I get to make a living from doing this and that’s a great thing to me, but it’s not my main motivation,” says Gilmore as he gets the night underway with an icy rum and coke. “I do this for the love of hip hop.” This North Londoner’s passion for putting on a party began back when he started collecting records at the age of twelve, despite not even owning decks at the time. “I was the guy people would ask to sit in the corner at parties and play records, even if there were no proper decks,” he says. “I’d play these parties but there was a bit of me that always thought I could put on a better one.” This ambition saw him put on shows in university student unions across London, he put his first ‘professional’ night a club called Annex in Soho back in 2000. Since this time, he’s been the mastermind behind many a party including Indelible (changed to Indelible Marker after a copyright dispute) in King’s Cross; an annual tribute to J Dilla called J Dilla Changed My Life that tours the country; and his eponymous The Doctor’s Orders that has rocked clubs in London, Brighton and even a riverboat on the Thames – and is set to do so once again in May 2012 with The Nextmen

at the helm. His nights also boast appearances from such legends as Jazzy Jeff, Erykah Badu, Phife Dawg and Maseo. Gilmore, it seems, is the go to man for live hip hop. But not one to take a back seat, if you take a look at the bill on most of his nights you’ll see his name up there alongside such regulars as Mr Thing and the aforementioned Chris P Cuts. It’s testament to his love of the music that he’s unable to resist the temptation of stepping behind the decks himself. “In terms of running a night, it would be easier if I wasn’t on the decks. It can be a hindrance,” he says of this due role. “But both the people who come to the parties and the other artists can see that I’m a music head primarily. I’m not just a promoter who has seen an opportunity and is trying to make as much money out of it as possible.” This attitude has seen him resist diversifying the sounds into dubstep and grime to appeal to the club going crowds who have just cleared the drinking age. For someone in their thirties, it’s makes much more sense stick to “where [his] heart is” instead of chasing what the kids are in to. “Separating the music in my heart and the business in my heads is quite tricky though. There’s been plenty of nights where I’ve had a great night and then next morning seen the figures I’m like ‘shit’!” explains Gilmore of this tough way to make a living. “The ideal is that I put on an artist I love, everyone wants to see them, everyone has a great night and walks away with a bit of money and great memories.” EA

LIZ SEABROOK

CHEMO “I LIKE TO BE REMINDED OF WHY I’M MAKING MUSIC. IT’S JUST THAT LOVE OF RECORDS AND DIGGING THAT MAKES ME WANT TO KEEP MAKING MUSIC. IT’S THE THOUGHT OF PEOPLE IN MAYBE THIRTY YEARS TIME FINDING ONE OF MY RARE RECORDS AND GETTING ALL EXCITED IS PRETTY COOL.”

Tucked away in an old Victorian industrial block in Forest Hill, South London lies an important theatre of UK hip hop. The place is Kilamanjaro Studios, a small, dark, windowless space crammed computers, mixing desks, speakers, a vocal booth, a dusty sofa and the odd empty can of Red Stripe. It’s where producer Chemo, a man whose philharmonic fingerprints mark countless tracks and remixes, spends his days. “I did use to charge people just to come and record in my bedroom in my house in Brixton,” says the 27-year-old also known as David Webb with a smile. “Looking back it’s a bit rich to charge people to come to your house!” Nowadays, Chemo is in the privileged position of earning a living from music with his ‘jack of all trades’ approach, dabbling in recording, mixing, mastering and shooting videos under the Chemo Productions banner. And, like so many in this self-taught art, all of these skills stem from his first experimentation with beats back in his early teens, inspired by the golden age sound of the early 1990s. “Jungle was my first love,” remembers Chemo in his softly spoken, South London tone. “I used to have a tape deck with a small mixer and play my mum’s classical music records through one channel and put pirate radio on the other, trying to match up the beats to the music. I gradually saved up and got my own turntables, playing around deejaying and getting some records together. Then I finally bought an MPC – a classic hip hop machine.” After a brief flirtation with jungle, he soon turned his energy to hip hop and took to “banging out four or five beats a day”

on his MPC. Several years of mixing, mastering and recording vocals for other artists followed, and he realised he was good enough to try and make a living from it. But Chemo’s not just an accomplished beatmaker for hire, he also puts out more leftfield music under the moniker Telemachus – named after the character of the 1980s kids cartoon series, Ulysses 31. “Musically, he’s more of an artist,” he says of this alter-ego. “His music has more of a distinct sound. It’s less hip hop based and covers a lot more genres that kind of reflects the eclectic nature of my musical taste. […] It got wider through making hip hop and digging for samples in different music from round the world and looking for different sounds I can use in productions. Every piece of music I hear though, I’m always listening to it through the ears of a hip hop head.” This diverse nature can also be seen in the wall of vinyl sleeves proudly on display on one of the walls, featuring straight up hip hip classics alongside classical and even Hassidic folk music. And as you’d expect from such a committed head, he’s all about the crackle of the wax. “Any music I love, I buy on vinyl. I don’t think I even own a CD,” he says. “I like to be reminded of why I’m making music. It’s just that love of records and digging that makes me want to keep making music. It’s the thought of people in maybe thirty years time finding one of my rare records and getting all excited is pretty cool. Hopefully vinyl will stay alive as median because I think it’s really something else compared to having songs on your iPod.” EA

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REWD ADAMS “RELEASING MUSIC IS SOMETHING I FEEL I NEED TO DO, IT’S LIKE, ‘OK, I’VE GOT ALL MY ISSUES AND THERAPY STUFF OUT OF THE WAY, NOW LISTEN TO HOW CRAZY I AM AND FEEL WHAT I’M FEELING...YOU FUCKERS!”

Trying to forge some kind of career out of the so-called ‘business’ of music is proving more challenging by the day. From the hackneyed arguments of free-downloads and major label tomfoolery, it leaves the really talented folks with more of an uphill struggle to make ends meet. But this struggle is undeniably the main inspiration for creating more progressive and powerful music, and one South London emcee by the name of Rewd Adams knows all about it. “Releasing music is something I feel I need to do, it’s like, ‘ok, I’ve got all my issues and therapy stuff out of the way, now listen to how crazy I am and feel what I’m feeling... you fuckers!”, says Rewd triumphantly, while half-reading texts on his phone. Rewd’s vocal talent was first showcased under his former pseudonym Skandal with his 2009 Hunger Pains mixtape being critically applauded by the likes of MTV and The Independent. But he made the switch to Rewd Adams in 2011 after becoming “bored of the name” and dropped his Rewd Awakening album, and showed just how far his skills went. Not that it was that straight forward.

“The recording process was a very painless and creative experience. I haven’t had a good recording process like that in a while,” he says. “I think that was mostly due to the fact I was putting less pressure on myself. There was less expectation now and also from the belief that Skeptik had in me. It was inspiring to have someone throw all their creative energy and time at me.” As an independent, self-funded album, it was typically a slow-going project with their first track, ‘Everything’s OK’, written nearly three years ago. “If money wasn’t an issue, we could have made an album in a month,” he remarks. The result is an organically grown album that’s built purely on a love for the music, unrestrained by what hip hop heads demand or the Eurodance commercial beats that are deemed necessary to achieve success nowadays. In fact, tracks range from headnodders and hooks to experimental leftfield movie music. Rewd and Skeptik knew this album was about proving what they can do as a duo, with limited help from others.

“The reality was that changing my name and putting out a product for free had the gravest affect on my hunger, my ability to write and feeling good about writing because I felt like my art wasn’t being appreciated,” he explains.

“That was mostly Skep’s idea and I just ran with it. It was like, ‘you’ve put out so much stuff featuring other rappers that it’s time to show the people you can do this shit yourself’,” says Rewd. “I’m glad we made that decision. Other than Mai Khalil blessing us with two amazing hooks and the one posse cut, the rest is us.”

But Rewd’s reinvention as an artist was helped by the friendship he forged with producer The Last Skeptik many years ago. After much procrastinating, the pair finally put in time to create a full-length album, How Not to Make A Living, based on their friendship and collective madness.

And while the album may be riddled with advice on exactly how not to earn a living, it’s only right to ask if he has any advice on how to get by. “I’m not really the preachy type,” he says. “But one thing comes to mind, in the words of Kendrick Lamar, ‘smoke good, eat good, live good’.” DH

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VOLUME FOUR COMING SOON