Smile Politely. Speak Directly. A Champaign-Urbana Culture Blog

Through pure chance, I recently acquired a box of free records. This happens from time to time, as I am known as a bit of a music fanatic and I dabble in the art of djing. This particular box was not filled with standard fare thrift store throwaways. No Ronnie Milsap or The Lettermen to be found. No Anne Murray or Jim Nabors in sight. Instead, it was filled with treasures from hip-hop’s golden era and beyond. As I dug through the box, gasping at nearly ever other sleeve, I started mentally categorizing each record into its respective wave of the movement. In the first wave, for example, I would put Kool Moe Dee’s “How Ya Like Me Now" or "Run D.M.C.’s “You Be Illin'.” Artists like 3rd Bass and Digital Underground occupied the second wave (filed nicely alongside the likes of A Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul), while Outkast’s Stankonia album stood atop the third wave, representing modern hip-hop. What a find. Three waves of music spanning 25 years plus—a veritable crash course in the history of the genre, handed over in a single cardboard box.

I spent a considerable amount of time looking over artwork and checking each record for scratches. As I put the platters to rest in their new home, I thought about how I’ve watched the genre, the culture grow over the years. I’ve seen it stretch and evolve. I’ve seen it shoot itself in the foot, only to hobble to higher ground. I’ve seen revolutionaries come and go. On his record Labor Days, Aesop Rock talks about how “nothing’s broken” in hip-hop and that if you know where to look, the art is healthy and very much alive. He’s right, you know. If you can look past the hoards of mindless corporate slaves and flavor-of-the-week ringtone maestros, there’s a thriving, living, breathing culture. What was once written off as a fad, hated by the mainstream and most of white America, is now at the forefront of entertainment. From music television to sports highlights to marketing campaigns of all shapes and sizes, the impact is both obvious and unavoidable. When the Beatles landed at JFK in 1964, our cultural landscape changed. Much to the dismay of this straight-laced country, rock and roll was here to stay. Less than twenty years later, we saw Grandmaster DST cutting up records alongside jazz great Herbie Hancock to the same effect. The flag was planted and it still sits firmly today.

My hope is to overturn every rock in Champaign-Urbana and see what shape hip-hop is in our community. What role does it play for us here at home? Is it thriving or is it struggling? From the emcees and djs to the b-girls/b-boys and graff writers, I’ll pinpoint its weaknesses as well as its brushes with greatness. The freestyle cyphers on the quad, the breakdancers practicing in Allen Hall, local showcases, the touring superstars, the paint cans in the train yard, the record selectors and concert promoters. Let’s look at it all. Who’s coming with me?