Growing up in New York City in the 70s was a tough, yet simpler time where imagination and creativity fostered activity and success.
Cable television was barely in its infancy, payphones were the primary forms of mobile communication and school playgrounds and empty lots were home to the daily games we all played for staying inside wasn’t an option.
The city was nowhere near as developed as it is today, and environmental segregation divided the city into neighborhoods with varying demographics and reputations. That forced areas lacking resources to find creative ways to survive and exist every day without the amenities, concerns and opportunities that other areas possessed.
But from those hardships arose a sound and culture that became a dominant cultural typhoon that engulfed not only the city but the entire globe.
At that time, the days of disco and bellbottoms were fleeting and something new was craved by all. A new style, a new sound and a new attitude.
That arrived in the Bronx on August 11th, 1973.
I was only two at the time, so I was too young to attend DJ Kool Herc’s party in the community room at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue in the Bronx, but his party gave rise to one of the most powerful influences in my life.
In 1979, the Sugar Hill Gang released “Rapper’s Delight”, widely credited as the first hip-hop record. Sampling Chic’s “Good Times”, the song signaled the arrival of something different, where wordplay, not singing, would be leading the music. My father bought me the group’s first album “Sugar Hill Gang”, an album I still have today.
While that introduced me to the new sound, I was a little young to truly appreciate it.
But that changed a few years later when I heard “It’s like a jungle, sometimes it makes me wonder, how I keep from going under.”
“The Message” by Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five grabbed me like a magnet and I was hooked. It was a sound and style that I couldn’t get enough of.
Then came “Planet Rock” by Afrika Bambaataa and the Soul Sonic Force, another record my father, who knew nothing about the music except that I liked it, bought for me.
Next came a pair of navy blue suede Pumas with fat maroon laces, a Le Tigre windbreaker that folded up into a pouch and Adidas sweatpants. My friends brought the cardboard and kneepads and we were outside breaking with other kids in the neighborhood to the breakbeats and new sound blaring out of JVC boom boxes in the streets and parks across the city.
I was fortunate that I grew up near Rock Steady Park on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, so I was able to watch big-time breakers like Crazy Legs spin himself silly during park battles.
While the fashion grew to include brands such as Fila, Le Coq Sportif, FUBU, Echo, Karl Kani, Cross Colours and many others, it was the music that kept me hooked.
When “Wild Style” and “Beat Street” were released, my friends and I saw them at the original Lowes 84th 6 theater. I immediately begged my father to buy me the movie soundtracks on vinyl and cassette and played them incessantly while trying to perfect moves like Mr. Wave from “Beat Street”.
Then I heard KRS-ONE on Boogie Down Production’s “Criminal Minded” and found my favorite rapper (still to this day).
After much begging and pleading, my father bought me my first boombox, a Panasonic dual-cassette box that I would record Red Alert, Mr. Magic and Chuck Chillout on while they were DJing on 98.7 KISS-FM and 107.5 WBLS. Back then you had to press record and play simultaneously to record, so recording shows without commercials was an acquired skill.
With that skill came endless amounts of money spent on Maxell 60 and 90-minute tapes (thanks again Daddy), tapes featuring artists like JVC Force, the Cosmic Crew, the Fat Boys, LL Cool J, Kurtis Blow, BDP and countless others that I still have.
It also came with the need for a VHS recorder to watch and record Ralph McDaniels’ “Video Music Box” on channel 31, the only show that would actually air hip-hop videos at a time when others refused to.
As albums from artists like LL, Eric B. and Rakim, Slick Rick, Dana Dane, Salt n’ Pepa, Biz Markie, Whodini and other hip-hop legends were released, the culture expanded, the money grew and, unfortunately, so did the violence.
It started with incidents like snatching the Lee patches off of people’s jeans but evolved into robbing chains, leather jackets and sneakers and shootings, particularly at hip-hop concerts.
To this day I remain salty about missing the Fat Boys, LL and Run DMC at the Beacon Theater in 1985 because my parents heard about the violence happening at shows across the city.
Many, including the government, tried to blame the music for the violence but as KRS said in Self-Destruction– “It really ain’t the rap audience that’s buggin’. It’s one or two suckas, ignorant brothers, trying to rob and steal from one another. You get caught in the mid.”
Artists took a stand and tried to stem the violence hampering hip-hop by releasing songs like Self-Destruction and “We’re All in the Same Gang,” but as the industry tried to find a balance between gangsta rap from groups like NWA and conscious rap from artists like Intelligent Hoodlum, the money followed the former.
Yet the sound continued to evolve, attracting even more fans to the genre.
The Uptown sound and Native Tongues arose along with Miami Bass, 2 Live Crew and others from the East, West and South. Now the industry is a global, multi-billion dollar one that has fans of all colors, ethnicities, genders and languages.
I am fortunate to have been there for this exciting cultural movement, and even more fortunate to have a direct impact in it.
In the summer of 1991, I basically worked seven days a week to save up and buy my Technics 1200s, Numark mixer, speakers, turntable coffins, and crates of records, all of which I still have. For the next 20+ years, I DJed parties in college and across the city during a time when social media didn’t exist and promotions involved handing out fliers and people would actually party.
In NYC, if you weren’t at a club like The Tunnel or the Underground, you could go to smaller venues in Chelsea, the Village or LES like the Ukrainian Ballroom, Pepper’s, the China Club, SOBs and many others.
I DJed at many spots across the city during my two decades on the wheels of steel and was fortunate to break a few singles for artists such as the GZA, Shaq, Link, Montell Jordan, the Wu-Tang Clan and others.
This was during the time when record labels and pools would send you vinyl in the mail, and when you’d get your hip-hop news and fix from the radio, Davey D’s email newsletter and The Source magazine.
As Hip Hop’s 50th anniversary is celebrated today, Friday, August 11th, 2023, it’s an opportunity to honor the music and culture that blossomed and thrived despite those who claimed it was a fad.
And it’s a chance for those of us who grew up with hip-hop since its infancy to reflect on where we were and where we’ve come in life, all while the music made the journey along with us.
For me, it’s a chance to celebrate the music I love and honor my father, who’s no longer here but who supported my love of hip-hop.
Like Stetsasonic said, “It ain’t nothing like hip-hop music.”
So Happy 50th Hip Hop and I’m happy knowing that I was there when you were born and had a hand in helping you along your way.
