The Best Rap of 2002
Plus key records from Grandmaster Flash's memoir, and some thoughts on the Jann Wenner controversy.
The hype on #HipHop50 has cooled considerably since August 11. But the old-school train rolls along. Whether here or elsewhere, it seems as if I’ve spent most of 2023 writing and blurb-ing about music released two or more decades ago rather than new music. That means I haven’t had much time to absorb new albums, and the list of releases I should listen to has grown quite long. But I’m certainly aware of the Hot Girl bandwagon, the way venture capital firms have forced old-school samples back into the Zeitgeist, a burgeoning interest in “hip-hop collectibles,” the lingering influence of Jersey club and dance music, underground producer-rapper combos, the ALC factory, R&B’s slow yet steady resurgence, and other trends. I hope to offer my thoughts on them soon.
In the meantime, here’s a reminder that Cutting Room Jams is a labor of love. Any support you can give is appreciated, whether it’s reading this newsletter, sharing it with others, signing up for a free or paid subscription, or simply leaving a tip in my Ko-fi jar. Thanks.
The 125 Best Rap Singles of 2002
On September 9, I published the 125 Best Rap Singles of 2002 on Humthrush.com. It’s the fifth Best Of list I’ve assembled this year. There will be three more in 2023, including one later this month. Then I anticipate cutting back next year, at least in respect to my website, so I can focus on other types of writing.
In past newsletters, I discussed Best Of candidates that I didn’t include for various reasons. This go-round, I’ll focus on a few selections that you probably won’t find in similar lists.
First is the Florida group Cyne, who are associated with the socialist-minded imprint Botanica Del Jibaro. Other well-known acts who recorded for Botanica del Jibaro included producer/vocalist Guillermo Scott Herren (Prefuse 73, Savath & Savalas) and Roberto Carlos Lange (Helado Negro). Cyne issued some excellent 12-inch singles and albums in the 2000s.
Cyne was part of a wave of artists that didn’t conform to industry stereotypes about the South. North Carolina group Little Brother are usually credited for this trend, thanks to their 2003 classic The Listening. (They’re on the 2002 list, too.) But there were others in the Southern underground like Cunninlynguists, a group with members from Kentucky and Georgia that drew attention with their 2001 album Will Rap for Food. They’d grow into indie darlings, with 2005’s Biblical allegory A Piece of Strange a highlight.
Another worth mentioning is Strange Fruit Project. The Texas trio never quite reached the level of Little Brother and Cunninlynguists. After they broke up, producer S1 became a go-to producer, landing credits with Beyoncé, Eminem, Kanye West, and others.
Stahhr Tha F.E.M.C.E.E. is an Atlanta rapper best known for her appearance on MF DOOM’s King Geedorah project, Take Me to Your Leader. In 2002, she issued RhymeFluid, an EP on ex-Company Flow rapper Big Juss’s label Sub Verse that should have gotten more attention.
One more: Like most critics, I tend to ignore Christian rap. It’s a subculture — similar to horrorcore, ironically, or Chicano rap — with themes that are difficult to access without deep immersion into it. But occasionally, a Christian group like Grits breaks out to a wider audience. The Nashville duo’s single, “Here We Go,” became familiar through licensing syncs on various MTV reality shows.
Armand Hammer, We Buy Diabetic Test Strips
This month, the Wire published my feature review on Armand Hammer’s forthcoming album, We Buy Diabetic Test Strips in its October 2023 issue. You can read the review via the magazine’s Exact Editions service or a print copy.
The Adventures of Grandmaster Flash
This week, I reread Grandmaster Flash’s biography, The Adventures of Grandmaster Flash: My Life, My Beats, for an in-progress freelance project. The DJ offers incredible detail about how his beginnings in the South Bronx. He focuses on the time between 1974, when he gave his first public performances; and 1976, when he headlined a legendary gig at the Audubon Ballroom in Harlem. He mentions a lot of records in the process. Then he skips forward four years to 1980, when he and the Furious Five signed with Sugar Hill Records.
Here’s a list of the records he discussed in the 1974-1976 chapters. Note how some of the records were released after that time range, including Trouble Funk’s 1980 classic “Pump Me Up.” Also, Flash only cut and scratched the instrumental breaks — a few seconds each — within most of these tracks.
Many of these songs aren’t available on Spotify, and I’m not going to embed all the YouTube videos. I have enough trouble keeping this newsletter short enough to avoid a Substack “email near limit” error. Clicking on the links should take you to the appropriate pages. There are two titles I couldn’t identify, hence the question marks.
Bobby Knight, “Sex” (???)
Charles Wright & The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band, “Express Yourself”
“The Bells” (???)
“The Book”
Finally, as many you know, a major controversy ensued last Friday over an interview Rolling Stone founder Jann Wenner gave to David Marchese at the New York Times. In the conversation, Wenner claimed that Black and women performers were not “articulate enough” to warrant entry in his forthcoming anthology, The Masters. (He has since apologized.)
I have written for Rolling Stone for over eight years. Save for a few appearances in the print magazine — known in industry parlance as “the book” — most of my work has been for rollingstone.com. As a low-profile freelancer, I’m hardly whom people think of when they criticize Wenner and Rolling Stone. (It’s worth noting that the magazine distanced itself from his comments. In recent years, it has put a surplus of artists of color on its covers.)
Still, it stung when Nelson George wrote on Substack, “So when [you] see one of those [insipid] Rolling Stone best [lists], take into consideration the [myopic] vision of those who compile it.” Perhaps George, whose work I have long admired, isn’t aware that there are plenty of Black folks who help “compile” those “insipid” lists.
This conversation is ultimately about generations of musicians — people of color, women and non-binary artists — whose livelihoods are curtailed by outdated media biases. The pain that interview generated is palpably real, albeit magnified by social media outrage. Too many who participate in popular culture wonder if some kind of unseen system restricts their potential, keeping them safely pinned under a glass ceiling. Is it racism? Is it sexism? Is it homophobia? Is it me? I could write a book about that feeling.
As my friends will tell you, I’m a deeply political person with plenty of opinions. But when it comes to my career, I’m more concerned with bringing my ideas to fruition with the time I have left on earth than tweeting out my anxieties. I’ve been lucky to develop a good relationship with the RS editors, and they’ve given me some incredible opportunities. In fact, I’m working on some things now that I’m excited about.
I try to focus on the work. But every now and then, something happens that unsettles my vision of a creative life, a disquiet that’s deeper than just writer’s block.