By Eric K. Arnold

IT'S NO COINCIDENCE that at the recent Gavin Seminar – the first in San Francisco in five years – the biggest splash in terms of hip-hop was made by West Coast artists and independent labels. The Left Coast has worked hard to establish itself as a region not easily stereotyped or reduced to one sound. While the music industry panels, hotel lobby networking, and major label-sponsored suite parties were a predictable, if intense, part of Gavin, the loudest buzz came from the showcases sponsored by the Bay Area Hip Hop Coalition, Stones Throw, and Nu Gruv Alliance, which featured insane lineups of emerging and established talent.

One memorable evening, E-40 was at Roccapulco's; Kool Keith, Cali Agents, the Beat Junkies, DJ Revolution, Zion-I, and Aceyalone were at DNA; and Dilated Peoples, Hieroglyphics, and Living Legends were at the Justice League. Kurupt showed there's still life in the G-rap world with his performance at the Velvet Lounge. Those who caught the sold-out Future Primitive Sound Session at the Fillmore saw Q-Bert, Nu-Mark, J-Rocc, Disk, and Quest, who are responsible for much of the innovation in the turntablist genre over the last decade.

In many ways this diversity represents California itself, with its blend of urban and suburban lifestyles, multicultural flavor, and broad stylistic influences. At the moment, West Coast hip-hop can be broken down into at least four camps, each with its own history. For classification purposes, they can be listed as post-gangsta, post-backpack, post-indie, and post-turntablist, although it should be noted that there is overlap between categories.

Post-gangsta

Rap may have started in the East, but during the mid and late '80s the West Coast took hardcore attitude and explicit lyrical content to then-unprecedented commercial heights. The Cali gangsta era began with Ice-T's "6 'N tha Mornin' " and Eazy-E's "Boyz-N-tha Hood" and hit puberty in 1988 with NWA's Straight outta Compton. By the time the genre reached stylistic maturity with Dr. Dre's The Chronic in 1993, both L.A. and the Bay Area were saturated with artists, from Too $hort to DJ Quik to E-40 to Above the Law to 415. By 1995, Snoop Doggy Dogg was a household name and Tupac Shakur was a bankable Hollywood star. Indie artists like Mac Mall and RBL Posse were outselling major-label acts.

The gangsta designation didn't fit every West Coast rap artist, but with such historical and socioeconomic factors as the crack epidemic, the Reagan-Bush social service cuts, the expansion of the prison-industrial complex, and the "Three Strikes" law fueling its lyrical content, it's easy to see why gangsta was widespread. The gangsta sound's emphasis on heavy bass (and tendency to sample old-school funk) meshed easily with urban lowrider and gang culture. But gangsta's popularity also extended to the suburbs.

The post-gangsta era was initiated by the death of Shakur in 1996. Since then, the national emphasis has shifted to Southern playas like Master P, Juvenile, and Mystikal and commercially viable East Coast thugs like Nas, Jay-Z, and Mobb Deep. Years of declining sales and/or decreasing relevance (Ice Cube was recently seen on The Tonight Show exchanging pleasantries with the Duchess of York) among Cali's gangsta crowd may have reversed, however, with the multiplatinum success of Dr. Dre's Chronic 2001 and Snoop Dogg's No Limit Top Dogg. On his recent Charlie Hustle, E-40 doesn't veer far stylewise from his Federal or Mailman periods, but the fact that he has thrived while many of his peers have fallen off speaks for itself. A case could be made that 40 is the genre's most original MC, given the dictionary's worth of slang he's introduced.

Bay Guardian: What's up 40, how ya doin'?

E-40: I'm modulatin'.

BG: Musically, how do you feel about West Coast rap right now?

E-40: We back and we fresh in the flesh. Matter of fact, we never left. With the help of Dr. Dre and Snoopy, and me and Kurupt and all the other people that's droppin' hot lava on these masses.

BG: Not only that, you got artists on the East Coast saying "fa sheezy." What's up with that?

E-40: Well, you know, they've been taking our slang. This Yay Area game, we've been chopping it for many moons. I was the first person to ever put that on tape, in 1992. It's from a song called "Nothing but Cheese." That was eight years ago, ya smell me?

BG: What's the reason for your longevity?

E-40: Never slackin' in my mackin'. The reason for my longevity is just staying in they tall can face, 'cause out of sight, out of mind. Putting out an album every year, stepping up the game every time, and keeping my business moves up to par. Business has a lot to do with it – people think you just run the streets, whoopty-wop. I've done all that. I'm a triple OG – old enough to know better, but young enough not to care. At the same token, people might not see me in traffic all the time. You know why? Because I'm in the pharmacy putting together prescriptions and antidotes.

Post-indie

Virtually every West Coast rap recording artist has started out on an independent label. While the terms independent and underground aren't necessarily synonymous (see "Underground Is a State of Mind," 1/26/00), many California artists fit both categories. New York's Rawkus has become a force in the industry by putting major marketing dollars behind the same kind of underground-identified style pioneered by Cali indies like Solesides (now Quannum Projects), Stones Throw, Bomb, Hiero Imperium, Nu Gruv Alliance, and Project Blowed.

For the past two years the Cali indie scene has represented the vanguard of the underground hip-hop movement. It still may come as a shock, however, to realize that the biggest-selling American rap act in Japan in 1999 was not Puffy, Busta Rhymes, or DMX but Dilated Peoples, who first emerged on Oakland's ABB. The latest development: groups with underground followings like Dilated Peoples and Jurassic 5 have now been signed to major labels, signaling what could be the beginning of a major commercial shift in hip-hop culture.

Bay Guardian: Three years ago the West Coast wasn't especially known for its lyrical MCs. What's happened since then?

Inscience (of Dilated Peoples): I think the West Coast has always been a hotbed for creativity. Some people just wanna listen for lyrical skills, and some so-called gangsta rappers are actually doing a better job of painting a picture than a lot of so-called freestyle imagery rappers. The image just comes across clear. If you know how to make it sound professional, people will give it the same respect whether they like it or not.

Chali 2na (of Jurassic 5): Besides major rap stars dying or getting locked up, the tide is now turning. More doors are opening up for underground artists, or for artists who were underground because labels weren't [interested in] anything other than gangsta rap and playerism. The foundation here's stronger, because the underground is now accepted.

BG: What's the significance of the fact that all these major labels are starting to sign underground groups?

I: If you just want to be an artist, you never have to deal with the music business. But if you want to be a recording artist and sell records, then you have to deal with the industry on some level. A lot of [independent] West Coast underground groups have seen the world and done things. We made it happen, so our exposure's wider. That sparks interest from the major labels.

C2: For Jurassic [the move to a major] was cool, because first of all we're trying to get our music to more people than we could [on an indie]. Also, three-fourths of the group are family men, have kids, you know what I'm saying? We're trying to make this a career.

BG: But why is the West Coast underground the shit right now? Is there a community vibe amongst artists?

I: It is a community vibe, but it's also a situation where a lot of us have been doing what we've been doing for so long that people didn't see it coming. Now they see the light, and they're kinda surprised.

C2: Man, people just draw lines and mark territory as it is, and for me it's not about the East Coast and the West Coast or underground or overground. It's about good music.

Post-backpack

Unquestionably, backpack hip-hop also originated in New York, where subway culture has long been a part of the urban lifestyle. The introduction of the Sony Walkman in 1981 coincided with the emergence of hip-hop's four elements – MCing, DJing, b-boying, and graffiti art – on a national level. Soon headphone-jacked youths everywhere were boppin' their heads to beats and rhymes, rucksacks filled with freshly racked Krylon and an array of fat caps or rare grooves gleaned from crate-diggin' missions to forgotten vinyl outlets.

Perhaps one of the most distinctive characteristics of this category has been its emphasis on the subcultural, rather than mainstream, aspects of hip-hop. Backpack hip-hop has always incorporated a sort of pseudo-hippie, neo-bohemian element, which could explain why many Californians identify with it. The backpack crowd is largely unconcerned with class distinctions, though aesthetics clearly do matter. Needless to say, most backpack hip-hoppers would rather be caught dead than called jiggy. The Bay Area in particular is a place where non-mainstream artists have been welcomed by a supportive community and appreciative audiences at shows. The local tendency toward social awareness has blossomed into full-fledged activism for many in the scene, especially in the East Bay, where the La Peña-Black Dot crowd has been involved with such causes as Mumia Abu-Jamal and the fight against Proposition 21.

On the West Coast the post-backpack era has manifested in the continued evolution of underground artists, who have taken increasingly bold steps toward self-reliance. Whereas in past years artists like Aceyalone and Del relied on the sometimes faulty decision-making process of major labels, by releasing product independently they can ensure that their best interests are being looked out for. And doing it yourself clearly has its own rewards. Mystik Journeymen have gone from slanging four-track tapes on Berkeley's Telegraph Avenue to selling CDs worldwide through the Internet and touring Europe, Australia, and Japan. The West Coast has also become prime breeding ground for new talent, much of which fits into the post-backpack classification. Artists such as Cali Agents, Foreign Legion, People under the Stairs, and Visionaries represent the next wave of Left Coast hip-hop, following in the alternative tradition of Freestyle Fellowship, Souls of Mischief, Latyrx, the Coup, and Dilated Peoples.

Bay Guardian: What's your evolution been like? How have things changed?

Sunspot Jonz (of Mystik Journeymen): Basically, we were on the street, selling tapes and chilling. And we would be selling like eight or ten tapes. By the end of the day we had like $100. We didn't care, we were happy to go eat and drink and all that shit. My whole life was on the street. Now, we're trying to make it to where we can be independent and still be a force in the music business.

Rasco (of Cali Agents): When I first got a little taste of the game, I was on one label. And then I was like, "I'm gonna take the money I make from this and put it into my own label." As far as my music, I just try to do better.

BG: Some people are saying that the West Coast has gotten more hip-hop, while the East has gotten more thugged out. What's your perception?

SJ: It's still the gangsta domination, but at the same time, hip-hop is starting to get more love, now that Dre all of a sudden is on that hip-hop shit. He's showing fools into that G shit that hip-hop is still a dominant force. People are giving more love to the hip-hop side, but you don't see it as strong. Motherfuckers are still down with that "Gangsta Gangsta" shit.

R: I think the rules have changed. [The East Coast] is going for the big hits. The West right now is keeping the hip-hop element of the game going.

BG: What's driving the independent movement?

SJ: All of a sudden, people is coming to the Bay Area to do they little underground hip-hop shit, whereas before, everybody would be in their own little areas. People weren't into hip-hop as an underground sound, but they saw the Bay Area, and they was like, "Oh shit, it's poppin' off out there!" People started coming around here to make their hip-hop dream come alive.

R: I think people are saying you can be successful doing it, you don't need to have a video or great big budget, you can make the music you wanna make. Working with fans to do your own thing seems more obtainable than to just say, "Ooh, I'm going to be on a major label, and they gonna be behind my project, blah blah blah."

Post-turntablism

Turntablism, or the art of using the turntable as a musical instrument, traces its roots back to the Bronx circa 1975, when Theodore Livingston, a 13-year-old protégé of Grandmaster Flash, inadvertently discovered scratching while practicing his DJ routine. Pioneered by such notables as Flash and DST, scratching arrived West with the coming of electro-funk and break dancing in the early '80s. Early proponents included the Egyptian Lover ("What Is a DJ?"), Dr. Dre (whose scratch solo on the World Class Wrecking Cru's "Surgery" influenced later artists such as DJ Shadow, Cut Chemist, and Q-Bert), the Unknown DJ, and Joe Cooley. The battle scene of the '80s and early '90s eventually gave birth to the West Coast Rock Steady DJs, a.k.a. Invisibl Skratch Piklz (who revolutionized the art form with their three-DJ routines), and the Bullet Proof Scratch Hamsters, a.k.a. Space Travelers (who released Hamster Breaks, the first "battle break" record, or disc specifically designed for scratching and beat juggling).

Turntablism became a genre unto itself with the 1995 release by David Paul's Bomb imprint of Return of the DJ, which led to a tremendous outpouring of albums by artists like Q-Bert, Disk, Mix Master Mike, Peanut Butter Wolf, Jeep Beat Collective, X-Ecutioners, Beat Junkies, and DJ Craze. Another seminal turntablist album is Shadow's Endtroducing ..., which created a niche in the alternative rock market. The movement quickly spread worldwide yet has remained centered in the Bay Area, home of turntablist-friendly labels like Bomb, Stones Throw, Hip Hop Slam, and Om.

The post-turntablist era finds artists experimenting outside what is generally defined as hip-hop. This movement encompasses diverse styles, from Breakestra's big band boom bap to Cut Chemist's work with Ozomatli. It also includes Disk and Eddie Def's neo-industrial cyberfunk project El Stew and Mix Master Mike's recent collaborations with Tommy Lee and Rage Against the Machine. (Another example is Om's fusion of drum 'n' bass with scratching on the upcoming Tektonics compilation.) While the genre remains a subculture, turntablists are getting industry exposure. The latest battleground appears to be commercial radio; DJ Revolution can be heard on the nationally syndicated Wake Up Show, and members of the Beat Junkies host slots on both Power 106 and the Beat in L.A. Can KMEL and WYLD be far behind?

Bay Guardian: Why do you think the West Coast has emerged as the center of the turntablist movement?

DJ Revolution: For a long time, people on the East Coast were set on a specific style of DJing, as far as battling routines and scratch patterns go. Away from the [New York] industry, you have to work harder to get noticed. The Skratch Piklz and the Beat Junkies have really been innovators.

BG: People outside the scene don't realize how diverse turntablism is. Can you break down different aspects?

DJ R: The most rudimentary form, the basic element, is scratching. In hip-hop culture that's the equivalent of guitar playing, if you analyze how deep guitar playing goes, all the different things you can do. Battle competition – which is basically to annihilate your opponent in a duel with skill – has its own elements: you have beat juggling, a scratch category, showmanship. [But] when you do a show it's a whole different ball game; your goal is to rock the party and keep heads noddin'. I think the ultimate progression of DJing is production – taking all of your skills into a studio and putting it on wax. When you DJ, you develop a certain ear. You know what a hip-hop record is supposed to sound like.

BG: Mixing on commercial radio, do you get to be as creative as you wanna be?

DJ R: I do. The Wake Up Show is fortunate in that it's been able to stand its ground for ten years. That's really the reason I was attracted to hooking up with [partners] Sway and Tech in the first place. These brothers, they didn't follow no rules, they did what they wanted to do. [On the show] I can cut it up as much as I want, or I can be as subtle as I want. Unfortunately, for the vast majority of DJs that happen to be mixing on commercial radio, it's a different story. That's one of the topics I address on my album – the public needs to be made aware that the DJs who mix on commercial radio are, nine times out ten, following a playlist.

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