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BYLINE: Ashley Raymond

Consumers of Hip Hop often conflate relevancy and popularity with talent and diligence. Label heads, executives and media magnates enforce this misconception by focusing more on generating revenue through illusion. Exorbitant amounts of time, money, and energy spent on a façade instead of intentional development and management leaving us with clones, physically and musically. Everyone selects the same fighter and the only difference is the color of their attire. We are unmoved by politics at Bars on I-95 because it distorts the connection between artistry and the ways in which we engage with it. It sends a false message, it leaves a false impression, but the “damage” reverberates through every layer of the industry leveling careers and livelihoods like tectonic plates colliding within the Earth’s crust.

Papoose is the artist we honored for this cardinal episode of “20 Years of Bars”. His impact on the culture is undeniable as is his ability to construct a spirited verse with masterful precision and depth. It was an overcast yet slightly humid Saturday afternoon when the Bars on I-95 team arrived in Manhattan at Volume Studios. We wanted to create a more immersive experience for our viewers and brought in 10 fans to be a part of the first live audience episode. Pre-production began around 12 with all of us moving at warp speed to set up lighting, sound, and seating. There was an air of novelty in the room; we were curating an experience in a way we had yet to explore. Our operations for the day were slightly unorthodox but we chose this moment to create the first of many vignettes into the life and career of veteran artists that are still with us today. 

The seismic pitfalls of the industry continue to push prodigious artists into undeserving obscurity. Papoose was graciously candid about his experiences throughout his 23 year career. The space between being a mainstream artist and remaining underground fluctuated for him as Hip Hop became prone to more destruction of its integrity. This genre was birthed from a place to connect and create through musicality and lyricism yet, the margins accrue talent that could only be found if you cared enough to dig and look into these artists yourself. Papoose explained how these shifts alter our understanding of the art of rapping and the way we measure quality and talent. He went on to say that “when it comes to the ‘top [five] list’, they be trying to sound cool...so they name drop certain artists that they don’t know nothing about” aka politics. These are the moments where it’s more than imperative to recognize what we uphold as a representation of this art we admire. Papoose frankly states that the lists are superficial and the creators of these “top” lists show no true interest in these artists as well as lacking knowledge in regards to their catalog—“anybody on my top list, I most likely can recite their whole album to you, word for word.”

His most renowned record, “Alphabetical Slaughter”, flows through each letter of the alphabet with agility like a cheetah pursuing its prey through the Serengeti. Inspired in his youth by Malcolm X, who while incarcerated, read the entire dictionary during his sentence. Papoose followed suit and knew in his youth that he was made to be an emcee. 23 years later and now a veteran of his own right, he reflects on the disconnect between younger and older artists. Echoing similar sentiments from our last piece, he recognized that “some of the younger artists...when they get challenged the first thing they do is pull the age card” and that’s not completely anecdotal. We remember those interviews where new artists insinuate how there’s no space for seasoned artists or certain traditions like freestyling fresh off the dome, see: Lil Yatchy or Lil Uzi early on in their careers. What younger artists fail to realize is those who came before them are the entire reason they can show up as they do now. There is space for teaching and understanding, but their audacity precedes them and now they have lost a resource and a potential ally. The maintenance of this mutual respect preserves the quality and caliber of Hip Hop at an elite level. 

The room grew increasingly still as we all became flies on the wall, attentively listening to the ways Papoose remained unrelenting in the pursuit of his dreams. The adversity he faced within himself and within the industry provided the fuel to his fire, however, there were times this left him singed with anger and frustration. He recalls the moment when he received his first major deal offer and how swiftly he accepted it. Record label executives recognize the hunger permeating from the underground and use that to leverage unsuspecting and naïve artists into shoddy deals and heavily restrict ownership and creative control. 
In hindsight, Papoose realized the mistake he made accepting that offer so quickly. He was working independently with DJ Kay Slay when he started receiving multiple offers. He explains how “Def Jam offered a deal...Atlantic came in with an offer, Interscope. Jive came in 1.5 [million]...as soon as [he] signed with the label, that shit slowed [him] down.” Slightly remorseful, he took accountability for making that decision based on that offer and followed up explaining how Jive refused to let him create in the ways he envisioned and wouldn’t tolerate anything other than that.

Papoose kindly opened up his world to us at Volume Studios divulging insight into the new music he’s made.  A father, businessman, husband and emcee, his new music is reflective of these aspects of his person as they simultaneously exist. He continues to rise to the occasion and challenge himself with lyrical exercises similar to “Alphabetical Slaughter”, hitting freestyles using the names of cereal or NBA teams. Papoose is quite serious about his title as an emcee but there is always room for play as well. These freestyles are wildly imaginative and unheard of by anyone else. For every month this year, he’s released a corresponding project and it’s this innovation that put him in position to become the person we saw that day sitting in front of us. It is also this innovation that generates the energy necessary to keep Hip Hop alive and well. Some of his final words before we wrapped up were to let us know that “platforms like this are very important because you’re not sitting up here doing the political shit.” We honor our mission in all that we do from our team down to our guests. Papoose is a student and a master of the art of Hip Hop. His contributions are present and felt by those who appreciate the skill and intention behind the work. Thank you Papoose for 20 Years of Bars.

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Byline: Ashley Raymond

We can point to a number of different aspects of Hip Hop and identify them as such, but there is an integral element maintaining the vitality of the music. Lyricism. It is the heart beating steadily in the body of hip hop to provide an opportunity for life to flourish across the various bounds of the genre. Soul, funk, and disco provided the structure with which to construct this amelioration of sound we call Hip Hop. Much like singing and scatting, rapping became the conduit for our emotional expression and sharing our oral history. Hip Hop not only reshaped the creation of music but it also reshaped the dynamics between instrumentation and vocal performance. Despite the ways in which Hip Hop evolves today, it is the wordplay, flow and delivery of our stories that sustain life within Hip Hop.

Initially, wordplay from our earliest Hip Hop classics were elementary. Messages were clear, the rhyme schemes were predictable, and the content focused heavily on social justice and economic unrest. There is beauty and power in simplicity. These bars were laid over loops of funk and disco basslines with straightforward drum patterns making it easy to follow along to the lyrics and move to the beats. 

Subgenres like boom bap and conscious rap emerged in New York. Artists like Slick Rick, Rakim, and MC Lyte crafted stories over a myriad of sounds, with influences ranging from funk to electronic, using expert wordplay and inventive rhyme schemes. Across the nation, pockets of Hip Hop emerged and molded more subgenres like G-Funk out West, chopped and screwed in the South and gangsta rap in Philly by the mid to late 80s and 90s. What we all know to be the “Golden Era” of Hip Hop truly set the standard for what it means to be a rapper, a lyricist. 

In 2006, Nas released Hip Hop is Dead, an album which provided his personal commentary on the climate of the industry at the time. Many new artists were breaking through the scene by unconventional means and the glaring difference of talent was in their rapping, or lack thereof. Nas’s seemingly audacious statement ignited debates and discourse but it was ultimately portrayed and received as generational differences or even envy. Presently in Hip Hop, the focus shifted again from lyrical ability to popularity. One could argue this is a part of its evolution, but at what cost? 

Similarly in ‘06, new artists now engulf themselves in their own hubris assuming that their “talent” is of greater value than the fundamentals. Here is where generational differences can be blinding and chalking it up to the evolution of the genre is reductive. A rapper’s pen was one of the few keys that could open the door to the industry. Popularity alone cuts a career extremely short because trends are volatile and tire out quickly. It’s clear that many new artists rely heavily on gimmicks, antics, and nepotism to carry their names into rooms with tastemakers, including those artists before them that they choose to insult. Veterans in the game achieve longevity because lyrical aptitude was their foundation and this created space to establish different styles, delivery, and flow. 

Along with skill, impeccable wordplay comes more easily for rappers that lived about what they wrote. Life experiences can naturally shape and mold talents that also reveal opportunities for success. One of the most iconic examples of this is the late DMX’s “Slippin’”, a chilling reflection about his mistakes and false starts. This song is remarkably cathartic and it is because of the truth and reality woven into the lyrics. I been through mad different phases like mazes / to find my way / And now I know that happy days / are not far away: this bar isn’t complicated but it is thoughtful and intentional. It conveys the specific message of how painful and obscure transformation can be: the dead ends, misdirections, and the paradox of fear and faith. Many new artists lack intention and lack identity so they’re “writing” from a place of emptiness, a place of smoke and mirrors that reveals their feigned talent once the smoke clears. 

Hip Hop is an artform and it experiences these mercurial shifts that affect the ways it’s created and consumed. In the shift that occurred over the past five years, we witnessed an influx of rappers who don’t want to be rappers—the“rockstars”. They respect the lifestyle and access granted to them by calling themselves a rapper but do not respect the art itself or the pioneers who preceded them. These kinds of artists falter when it’s time to freestyle because it’s not centered around gimmicks and popularity but instead based on the fundamentals of the art. Popularity doesn’t possess the same stamina as talent. On its own, popularity is unsustainable and is a performance that doesn’t come from life and the love of the genre. Fortunately, we see a resurgence of indie artists, labels, and groups advocating for lyricism through the work they produce and represent. From the likes of TDE and Griselda to Freddie Gibbs and the late Nipsey Hussle, the climate is slowly shifting back to focusing on bars. 

Last week’s Verzuz featuring The Lox and Dipset beautifully depicted the value and sustenance that lyricism provides. Those of you who assumed Dipset would wash The Lox because of their cultural influence forgot that an integral part of the culture is lyrical ability. It’s undeniable the chokehold that Dipset and Harlem in general had on Hip Hop but the primary reason was less about the wordplay and more about the lifestyle. The Lox didn’t carve out their place in Hip Hop by achieving super mainstream stardom, it was talent. Staying true to their lives and continually honing their craft kept them equipped to adjust to the ebb and flow of Hip Hop’s changes. They are one of the few groups who are standing the test of time and individually have impressive catalogs. 

The value of a sharp tongue is priceless. Knowing how to rap can either be an artist’s saving grace or their Achilles’ heel. Modern mainstream Hip Hop artists, and media alike, may attempt to undermine the necessity of lyrical skill but it is the lifeblood of this art form. Some new artists do the most to distance themselves from the term “rapper” and hide under the guise of not being pigeonholed into a sound. This is disingenuous and frankly, it’s to bypass the fact they are unable to rap. How have we allowed one of the major components in the art of Hip Hop become optional? 

It is not solely up to consumers to enforce quality control but it is a collaborative effort between consumers, media companies, record labels and musical organizations. Remember industry rule number 4080. Major labels set the trajectory for new artists often centered around profit and this initiates a cycle where the quality of music is secondary to the quantity and opportunities for profit. Artists that flow against the grain of their projected career set by these major labels often face repercussions like less press, less opportunity, and are eventually mismanaged then dropped. 

Here at Bars On I-95, we recognize the power and depth of the spoken word. Lyricism isn’t exclusively for entertainment. It is also the channel through which we exchange our versions of life, our pain, our joy, our anger, our sadness and our love for ourselves and our communities. It is a complete disservice to write off lyricism as an aspect of the past as it is the mastery of language that keeps the fire of Hip Hop blazing with glory.