Hip-hop breaks out
Artists and fans keeping it real
By Kelly Lewis
For the Arizona Daily Star
Tucson, Arizona | Published: 04.24.2008
Hip-hop was born on East Coast streets where it was immediately embraced by inner-city youth and largely shunned by the public.
These days, some 20 years after moving into pop culture's mainstream, hip-hop has become so widely popular that it's inescapable.
Tonight's concert by Kanye West at McKale Center — the biggest concert here in more than a decade — is sold out.
Other hip-hop acts, including Snoop Dogg and Lil' Wayne in recent months, have also drawn large crowds for their Tucson performances. The Rialto Theatre and Club Congress have also hosted a slew of rap artists recently, ranging from Bone Thugs N Harmony to WC.
Hip-hop can be heard almost every night of the week, thanks to DJs at clubs as diverse as Vaudeville Cabaret, RA Sushi and Congress. But venues that consistently host live performances by local hip-hop artists are scarce.
Artists and promoters alike say this is largely because of a long-running stereotype that rap fans are violent, which has led to a common misperception that the music means trouble.
But that belief is not held by everyone.
Jim Peeken, a manager at the Rialto, which hosted rappers Collie Buddz & The Grouch on Monday night, says the staff prepares for rap shows the same way it prepares for heavy metal and hardcore concerts — by slightly beefing up security.
"We've encountered fights at a hip-hop show, but they're not at a level incongruent with other shows that have come through," Peeken says. "Hip-hop shows, to a certain section of the populace, create an air of violence and an unsafe environment, but in my opinion, it's no more unsafe than a hardcore or heavy metal show."
"People need to stop being scared of hip-hop," says Marcus Williams, who works at Sports on Congress and performs as a hip-hop artist under the name Big Marcus Meridox.
"If you see someone bumpin' hip-hop, it doesn't mean he'll rob you."
Hip-hop is diverse, also, composed of many genres that differ greatly in subject and tone.
While gangsta rap has been criticized for its violence and explicit sexual content, underground hip-hop tends to preach positivity.
"The gangsta stuff . . . the artists that come for the parties and the girls, we would never book here," says David Slutes, entertainment director for Club Congress, which recently added an old-school, classic hip-hop night on Tuesdays.
"There is a real prejudice against hip-hop, but there are so many cool, positive artists in the underground scene and we think that really has artistic merit."
Venues like Plaza Pub and Heart Five, both now closed, once offered a consistent home for hip-hop. But today, Club Congress is among only a handful of venues that welcome hip-hop fans on a regular basis.
"I see a lot of local artists deprived as far as not having a steady place to always perform," says Freestyle, a DJ with HOT 98.3-FM who has been with the station for the past 13 years.
Or, he says, clubs will ask performers to be a part of shows, but then will not provide them with the necessary equipment.
Even nightclubs that regularly play hip-hop don't always want that fact publicized.
Stacia Schacherer, a spokeswoman for RA Sushi, which plays Top 40 hip-hop hits in conjunction with rock, '80s and dance music on Sunday evenings, said the company didn't even want to be loosely associated with the term hip-hop.
Similarly, DJ Deeko (Jason Owens) of the Jivin Scientists says when discussing a possible performance at a new venue, he won't use the term hip-hop to describe his music, but will instead talk to business owners about the amount of money he can make for them at each performance.
"As soon as I say 'hip-hop,' people think of rap music and they think of bling bling and they don't take the time to find out what it really is: community, self-expression and fun," says Rob Matthews, a hip-hop promoter for more than 10 years. "It's a constant uphill battle. People don't recognize hip-hop, and each element of hip-hop, as art, and a lot of that has to do with where it was founded."
But while stigmas have created roadblocks that limited the venues for local hip-hop, a few places have been instrumental in boosting the Tucson scene.
Downtown, both Vaudeville Cabaret and Sports on Congress, host evenings of hip-hop, specifically geared more toward the underground.
Vaudeville Cabaret, which once catered to the punk rock scene, took a chance on hip-hop around the time that Heart Five closed and has profited from it.
"Hip-hop night is our bread and butter," says Brent Hartley, manager of Vaudeville, who was integral in bringing hip-hop to the bar.
The club draws a racially diverse crowd on Friday nights when DJs spin killer mixes that include artists from A Tribe Called Quest to The Notorious B.I.G.
After midnight, the bar is packed with up to 200 people dancing, break dancing and socializing.
Yusra Tekbali, 23, a UA student, says she is drawn to the bar because of the music.
"There aren't many places that play old-school hip-hop. It's usually the Top 40 or the newer stuff," she says. "(Vaudeville) is more of a laid-back environment where people are more chill."
But Vaudeville hasn't always been so laid-back.
In the beginning of its venture with hip-hop, the club had a few episodes involving rowdy patrons.
"It was violent in the beginning," Hartley says. "But we really made it known that this wasn't the place to come do that, and now it's one of the safest places to come Downtown."
In the past year, Sports on Congress has also worked to bring hip-hop into its spotlight, recently building a stage for performers and hosting a wide variety of shows.
It also has a regular hip-hop night every Saturday, an event known as The Dove Shack, that has helped to bring the close-knit underground community together.
"The first thing I like about Sports, and Vaudeville, is the people that I see there," says Ernesto Moreno, 26, a member of music-making group The Drum Division. "The people that I know, who I hang out with and make music with, are all there."
The other draw to both venues is the music, he adds.
Saturday nights at Sports on Congress are different from Ill-Styles on Friday at Vaudeville because it has been around for only about a year but still attracts some of the more well-known members of the underground community.
"It's a more concentrated group of people," says Moreno. "It's cool. Big (Meridox) is at the door, Deeko is outside. Usually I chill outside for five or 10 minutes before I even go in."
Matthew Kraiss, or Saerone, of Magnum Opus, says Sports is also unique in another way.
"The jukebox in Sports is 40 percent hip-hop, at least, and that's rare," he says. "They have everything from Ill Bill to Kanye."
Eli Berlin, owner of Sports on Congress, says one of his main goals is to give people a place to come together in a relaxed setting.
"Hip-hop now is growing in Tucson, and you can see that Downtown," Berlin says. "We're a bar full of musicians, and we're trying to help unify and become one big community."
But even Berlin says he's encountered roadblocks just because of the bar's association with hip-hop.
Other business owners on Congress Street once showed an adverse reaction to their decision to host hip-hop, but have now become more supportive.
Says Berlin: "We want to show that if you bring a higher quality of music, people can have a really enjoyable time in a peaceful atmosphere. We've been doing this for one year and we've only had one fight."
Competition is integral
Because Tucson artists compete within the same small pond, it's no surprise that there are divisions.
"No one wants to share the spotlight even though they're doing the same thing," says Freestyle. "It's more of, my group is better than yours or people staring at each other the wrong way, and that's really the downfall."
Others say that the competition is an integral part of what hip-hop's all about.
"There is a sense of competitiveness," says Runt, 24, the emcee of the Jivin Scientists whose birth name is James Owens. "It's pretty healthy, but it can be misconstrued. Our group is part of the last generation of people who feel it's necessary to pay your dues to get where you're going."
Because the underground scene is so interconnected, many artists prefer to see other musicians make a name for themselves rather than follow in the footsteps of those who came before them.
For this reason, artists help each other out only so much.
Still, this type of friendly competition can often lead to ego-based feuds within members of the same scene.
"Unless people really know one another personally, no one ever says 'good job' or ' I like what you do,' after a concert," Freestyle says. "I never see that. In fact, if someone is at a concert passing out demos to other artists, people will ignore it and say they either don't want it, or take it and throw it in the garbage when they turn their backs."
Louis Mercury, a hip-hop producer who has been involved in the Tucson scene for more than 10 years, says he thinks some of the division would disappear if Tucson had a central place for performers to share their art.
It's a lifestyle
"Hip-hop is not something you do. It's something you live," says DJ Tony Tone, an original member of the legendary Cold Crush Brothers, who were instrumental in the birth of hip-hop in the Bronx during the '70s. "When I'm at home with my kids, I'm hip-hop."
Tony Tone, 48, will be in Tucson June 21 as part of the I Stand Alone expo, a large hip-hop event that will bring together B-boys, DJs and music lovers from around the world.
In a phone interview from his home in Bridgeport, Conn., he preaches the gospel of hip-hop.
"I want to teach people the true elements of hip-hop, the drive behind it," he says. "I want to teach the kids to live a peaceful life behind hip-hop, to show the younger generations that it's a positive thing. It's supposed to be a peaceful way of life."
And while hip-hop has often received a bad reputation, it has been instrumental in helping kids to stay on the right path.
"Hip-hop saves a lot of kids every day," Matthews says. "It saved me. I was too busy breaking and DJing when I could've been doing wrong."
Les Avenge, a B-boy crew in Tucson, travels frequently to schools around Arizona to educate kids about dancing and staying positive.
"I used to go to Skrappy's to practice after school every day just to get off the streets," says Jesus Robles, 22. "People think B-boys are in gangs, but it's just the opposite. It's how to get out of gangs."
The music also brings people together.
"Blacks, Latinos, it doesn't matter," says DJ Deeko. "We all vibe together."
And while spats happen from time to time, the hip-hop scene is filled with artists who support one another.
"Cats here never forget hip-hop," says Shaun Harris of Magnum Opus. "We never forget that it's an art form. There's drama, because everyone knows everyone, but, really, we're a family."
Kelly Lewis is a University of Arizona journalism senior who is apprenticing at the Star. You can contact her at starapprentice@azstarnet.com
