Hip-Hop Turns 50

On the evening of Aug. 11, 1973, in the rec room of an apartment complex at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue in New York City’s Bronx, 18-year-old Clive Campbell and his younger sister Cindy hosted a dance party billed as a back-to-school jam. Campbell, who spun records under the name DJ Kool Herc, noticed at previous parties that dancers responded to instrumental breaks in songs, especially those heavy with bass and drums. For this party, he set up two turntables and manipulated the records between them, isolating and extending the “breakbeats” without losing rhythm. 

That party and Campbell’s technique became the stuff of legend, and hip-hop was born. As hip-hop is about to turn 50, it’s nothing short of stunning to consider that in a span of less than two generations, it’s gone from a niche musical style confined to a handful of New York DJs and clubs to a worldwide phenomenon. 

Hip-hop has influenced music, fashion, commerce, language, entertainment and the culture at-large. It’s made millionaires and billionaires out of performers, producers, record executives and agents. What was viewed initially as a fad, and by some as radical and dangerous, is now mainstream. LL Cool J, Ice-T and Queen Latifah are TV stars. Snoop collaborates with Martha Stewart and shows up on the flatscreen every 15 minutes. Kendrick Lamar won a damn Pulitzer Prize. And yeah, we’re way past irony that the guy who wrote a protest rap that caused people to freak the f*ck out – “Cop Killer” by Ice-T and his band Body Count – now plays a policeman on NBC. 

One could make a case that hip-hop merits a chapter in the civil rights movement, a step following landmark legislation enacted in the 1960s. It provided a platform for those whose voices and experiences were often dismissed or ignored. Once it found an audience and gained traction, and certainly once it began to make money, there was no turning back. 

According to data compiled by MRC and Billboard, R&B/hip-hop is by far the most popular streaming genre in the U.S., accounting for 29.9 percent of all streams in 2021. Rock accounted for 17 percent of streams, Pop music 13.3 percent and Country 7.9 percent. Eminem has a larger number of certified album shipments than Fleetwood Mac or U2, according to the Recording Industry Association of America. Drake, Eminem and Kanye West are ranked 1-3-4 in total number of digital singles sold or streamed among all artists, according to the RIAA. 

The influence and reach of hip-hop is evident in the inspiration for this post. AARP magazine, of all places, ran a package of short stories and vignettes on Hip-Hop at 50, from which I cribbed liberally. The editors enlisted Bigfoot author, filmmaker and cultural observer Nelson George to write the lede and supplemented it with facts and stats and short asides. 

I’m grossly under-qualified to write about hip-hop and rap. I dipped a toe into a lot of the genre’s heavy hitters through the years, and I enjoy them, but I can’t say that I ever fully embraced the music. Though Public Enemy’s “Fear of a Black Planet” spent a lot of time on my stereo in the early and mid-‘90s, and I still fire up the video for “Fight the Power” now and then (FWIW, I contend that Chuck D possessed one of the primo voices in modern popular music; however, I’ll grant that the notion of PE as “popular” may be debatable). Much of what I know about hip-hop and rap comes from vague recollections and research.

 

I feel like zman and Mark ought to pen their own posts [DOOO ITTTT! POSTCOUNT!] to commemorate the occasion, as they’re much more knowledgeable and connected to the music. I defer to others on the relative merits of the Beasties and Wu-Tang Clan, of Tupac and Biggie, of Jay-Z and Kanye West and Sean Combs, of Salt-n-Pepa and Missy Elliott. 

Hip-hop’s roots extend back to Jamaican reggae and dancehall music from the mid-20th century, which featured forms of rapping and boasting, and even further back to the tradition of West African griots, who told stories of families and tribes through song and music. For all its popularity now and the innovation and imagination of DJs such as Campbell and Eddie Cheever and Grandmaster Flash in the early days, hip-hop remained mostly a New York joint until Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” became a top-40 hit nationally in 1979. 

From there, hip-hop and rap took off. Its worldwide spread occurred in closer to 40 than 50 years. DJs honed their craft. Sampling became more prevalent. Technology such as programmable drum machines permitted DJs to extend and accentuate beats behind the words. Early practitioners couldn’t have imagined the sonic electronica now available. The ascent of hip-hop and rap was bumpy in spots, owing to the undercurrent of racism, reluctance toward the new musical form, feuds between artists and studios complete with periodic violence and gunfire, and criticism if not contempt for those who used it to profanely and graphically shine a light on the black experience – Ice-T and N.W.A. come to mind. 

Now, hip-hop and rap contain all the elements of any musical genre – social, political, angry, hopeful, lyrical, romantic, just plain fun – and perhaps always did. It’s a fixture in Latin America, Europe and within South Korea’s K-Pop movement. It’s a colossus here in the States and shows no signs of waning. Helluva legacy for a handful of New Yorkers who simply wanted to keep folks on the dance floor.