The write stuff
Rapper J-Live issues a few words, beats, and notes from the underground.

By Mosi Reeves

IGNORE, FOR a moment, the thick, scholarly glasses perched on J-Live's face, and his former job as a full-time teacher of language arts at Halsey Junior High School in Brooklyn.

Instead, check the credentials: as a freshman majoring in English at the State University of New York at Albany, the Brooklyn rapper earned a mention in The Source magazine's "Unsigned Hype" column in 1995. Later that year, he released his first 12-inch single, "Longevity," backed with "Braggin' Writes," on the independent label Raw Shack. J-Live's single along with its follow-up, "Can I Get It," backed with "Hush the Crowd," became a cornerstone of the then-developing underground hip-hop scene, a refuge of sorts for rap artists who were unable or simply refused to conform to the big-budget pop standards of platinum acts such as the Notorious B.I.G. and 2Pac.

J-Live's groundbreaking singles balanced jazzy, lighthearted tracks with strong, witty wordplay ("Fake emcees that soak props like rag mops must get dropped," he warned on "Longevity"). The music managed to win over both hardcore guns 'n' blunts fanatics and Afrocentrism advocates, leading the way for Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Lone Catalysts, Unspoken Heard, and countless others, and the MC proved to be far from a bookworm.

Still, J-Live aspires to make music that is "true school," a reference both to his academic training and to his desire to combine the "schools" of thought ("old school," represented by '80s and early-'90s heroes such as KRS-One and Gangstarr, and "new school," embodied by the MCs of today) that divide hip-hop's generations.

"A lot of people come up and tell me that they see things and learn things, or just get through tough times, because of what I said or how my songs are put together. I know I'm having an impact on people the same way I had an impact on my students," J-Live says during a phone interview from his home in Brooklyn. Throughout the discussion the rapper otherwise known as Jean-Jacques Cadet resembles a kind yet serious professor, offering long, discursive explanations of his work and philosophy.

He compares his songs to classes (one of them is titled "School's In") that teach life lessons. For example, "Hush the Crowd" is about how he wins over a skeptical audience. "If you're onstage and the crowd is dead silent, focus on the cats who really don't know any better and are just trying to listen. Don't focus on the cats who are just not trying to respond to you. Look at it as an opportunity to give people a reason to listen," he explains, adding, "Things might be rough right now, but the only way they'll get better is if you make the most out of it."

Reflective in his words and nostalgic in his use of beats that sound like holdovers from a De La Soul or early-'90s Gangstarr album, J-Live shuns hardcore posturing. When he raps, he doesn't sound like a 19-year-old knucklehead with a toothpick dangling from his mouth and spittle flying from his lips. Instead, he seems like a thoughtful young man in his mid 20s who is polite enough to refrain from rehashing stories of what he has done and been through to gain the listener's respect.

For sure, J-Live's most recent album, All of the Above, has plenty of braggin' raps, such as "How Real It Is" and "MCee." But they're equaled by songs like "The 4th 3rd," on which he talks about a failed romance: "My young heart could have sworn love transcends / But two turntables alone don't make a blend / Attraction's too different for if, but, or so /But if it's so right? / Never mind, we both know." Then there's "Satisfied," on which he raps about how "the poor get worked, the rich get richer / The world gets worse, do you get the picture" over a rock steady beat built from an Augustus Pablo track.

Old-school fun

At 26 years old, J-Live is technically a new-school artist, still too young to qualify for old-school status. But he creates music that harks back to old-school ideals such as good times and fun, even embracing ideals that seem corny or old-fashioned. Appropriately, All of the Above is packed with whimsical titles such as "Like This Anna," "Do That S#!%," and "A Charmed Life." It's all a part of his attempt to counter the art form's abundance of negative imagery with positive words and uplifting music.

"Some people look at the word school and gravitate more towards the idea that, because I'm rooted in the same ethics as old-school artists, that it has more to do with that and how people used to sound back in the day," notes J-Live, who says he listens to everything from the holistic, Islam-inspired raps of All Natural to the grimy yet flossy sounds of the Clipse.

However, he adds, today "a lot of successful artists don't put as much craftsmanship or authenticity into their work," which inspires artists like himself. "You kinda long for the days when they did, and that gives you a certain tendency to try and look back to the past," he explains. "But it's really trying to correct the error of recent events."

At stake in this debate is nothing less than hip-hop's future as a mainstream, commercial art. If the recent Billboard charts are any indication, the public is finally tiring of self-absorbed rappers like Jay-Z, Ja Rule, and Snoop Dogg, artists who ruled the airwaves for years with their party rhymes and slick, overproduced beats. So far, most of the alternatives have either consisted of artists like Outkast, who strike a middle ground between libidinously thugged-out antics and evangelical rhetoric, and pop stars like Nelly, who are unafraid to make wack, disposable records for a quick buck.

Languishing on London

Ostensibly, the dearth of quality hip-hop in the mainstream should create an opportunity for artists like J-Live. But after he signed a recording contract with Payday Records, a division of London Records, in 1997, he saw his debut album, The Best Part, go unreleased when London was bought from the Universal Music Group by WEA in 2000.

As WEA began liquidating most of London's artist roster, a popular vinyl bootleg of The Best Part, originally scheduled to come out on Payday in the fall of 1999, began appearing illegally in record stores around the world. Shortly after securing a release from his contract, J-Live bought back the rights to The Best Part and issued an "official version" through his own production company, Triple Threat Productions, "closing the chapter" of his major label misadventure and wiping the slate clean for the arrival of his second album and proper debut.

Put out on independent label Coup D'Etat last spring, All of the Above has sold an impressive 30,000 copies. And J-Live's status as an underground legend whose intelligent raps once threatened to overtake the industry has earned him plenty of kind notices from mainstream media outlets, such as Rolling Stone and MTV, as well as mentions in URB's and XLR8R's year-end best-of-2002 lists. But let's face it: All of the Above will never approach platinum sales. He doesn't have the marketing muscle, matinee-idol looks, or rakish behavior of his major-label counterparts.

So what will happen to artists like J-Live? Will they be forced to survive below the radar of mainstream acceptance for the next several decades? Or will major labels and the millions of rap fans who for years have cherished machismo over intelligence finally make a place for his kind at the table?

In the end, J-Live argues, it doesn't matter. "I really can't complain right now, considering all that's happened," he says. "I have a lot more music in me, and I'm just letting it out, little by little." And good music is good music, no matter how many people hear and appreciate it.

J-Live plays Thurs/19, Justice League, 628 Divisadero, S.F. $18-$20. (415) 289-2038.