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Willy Northpole and the Phoenix hip-hop scene explode

Continued from page 1

Published on January 08, 2008 at 5:18pm


Phoenix — a city where the African American population is a scant 5.6 percent, according to the most recent census data — is not known for its black rap scene. Most media coverage of local hip-hop has focused on the indie backpacker set that revolves around Blunt Club, the Thursday weekly that's drawn crowds of hundreds to the East Valley for the past six years. The local artists that regularly perform at Blunt Club include Chicago transplant Emerg McVay, and instrumental hip-hop ensembles Antedote and Drunken Immortals. There are a lot of group jams and freestyling, laden with lyrics that wax socio-political-philosophical and encourage a groovy, get-together vibe. White college students constitute a large part of the audience. With a few exceptions (like McVay and a guest appearance by Public Enemy in 2007), most of the performers at Blunt Club are white, too. The weekly continues to receive coverage from local and national media, and recently moved to Club Red in Tempe after outgrowing its last home at Hollywood Alley in Mesa. The Blunt Club crowd is seen as the crème of Phoenix hip-hop, but it's very much a do-it-yourself scene, with artists releasing their own records and promoting a grassroots, community vibe.

None of the Phoenix MCs who are hobnobbing with platinum-selling hip-hop CEOs and signing record deals has anything to do with Blunt Club. That's an entirely different faction of hip-hop in a city that's always had two different hip-hop scenes, but a spotlight on just one. These artists are coming from the neighborhoods of south, central, and northwest Phoenix, and they rap about life on the 602 streets — as hustlers, gangsters, pimps, dealers, and reformers. They don't have extended live jams behind them, choosing instead to rap over hard snare beats, booming bass lines, and punctuated samples. This is the scene that saturates Groove Candy. The weekly event regularly draws around 300 people, about the same as Blunt Club draws on a good night. But they're completely different draws.

"There's definitely a division amongst the scenes," Karlie Hustle says. "They do have that sort of white hippie, hemp necklace, backpacker, super-hip-hop-nerd group. And then you have a more mainstream 'commercial' community."

The music that the artists who frequent Groove Candy make — with its propensity for booming bass beats, shout-outs to other rappers, and catchy hooks — certainly sounds more commercial than the hip-hop heard at Blunt Club, so it's ironic that this scene is still so underground. "This is a big hip-hop night — a ton of local hip-hop MCs have made it through here, but many people who go to Blunt Club might not come here," Hustle says. "It doesn't mean they don't like us or whatever, but it's kind of a disconnect. It's different. This is a hip-hop night, but it's not so deep into the crates that your average person can't come in here and understand it or recognize the music. I don't know that there's a lot of respect for each others' communities and what they bring to the table."

Groove Candy started in 2006, but the urban scene that meets there every week has been around since Roca Dolla (then known as Mr. Iroc) founded 5Fith Coast Records and released his first single in 1986 — 16 years before the first Blunt Club show. At the time, Roca Dolla says, there were four or five hip-hop artists in the scene making good records, but the hip-hop industry ignored Phoenix for political reasons. Even though these were black MCs making marketable records, nobody wanted to represent Arizona at the time. "A lot of things affected early Phoenix hip-hop, but the main thing was political," Roca Dolla says. "When the record labels first started looking for more hip-hop artists, Evan Mecham was the governor here, and he opposed a Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and that made a lot of people angry. We should have been on the map years ago, but because of politics, we were kind of blackballed from the industry."

While urban acts like Roca Dolla, Survivalist, and Cut Throat Logic played underground shows to packed houses in Phoenix throughout the '90s, a new twist was emerging in hip-hop: the white MC.

From the earliest stages of its evolution in the parks of the Bronx, where a Jamaican DJ named Kool Herc starting reciting poetry over funk records in the early '70s, hip-hop has always been a predominantly black genre. Rap has its roots in the folk poetry of West Africa, Caribbean chants, and the blues (a genre rooted in the struggles of the black South). The first hip-hop wave from the East Coast centered on acts like Run-D.M.C., Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, and Sugarhill Gang. These were MCs who sang about the struggles of growing up in the ghettos of New York. In the '80s, the West Coast wave of hip-hop hit, with artists like N.W.A coming out of Compton to rap about life as gangstas and hustlers. This was the crux of gangsta rap — black men coming from lives of crime to make money off hip-hop. N.W.A's songs were filled with shady slices of ghetto life — dope dealers, police brutality, drive-by shootings — that are still the main topics of gangsta rap. This subgenre of hip-hop harks back to seedy stories of inner-city life in a way that only someone from the inner city can relay. Even the MCs who weren't rapping about the black experience in a direct way — like MC Hammer and LL Cool J — presented the image of the empowered black man overcoming adversity to make his millions. Throughout the '90s, hip-hop continued to present various slices of life from Black America, whether it was Snoop Dogg rapping about smoking blunts and house parties, or Tupac encouraging his black sisters to keep their heads up in abusive situations.

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