The album “Fear of a Black Planet,” including “Fight The Power,” is the first compact disc I own. I mean, they’re Black but not really Black. Magic, Eddie, Prince are not n-ers, I mean, are not Black. As much as you say n-er this and n-er that, all your favorite people are “n-ers.” Pino doesn’t answer, because he sees the trap he’s already fallen into. MOOKIE: Last question: Who’s your favorite rock star?
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MOOKIE: And not Larry Bird? Who’s your favorite movie star? MOOKIE: Who’s your favorite basketball player? In one scene, the young black pizza delivery guy, Mookie, and the pizzeria owner’s two Italian sons, Pino and Vito, stand leaning on the cigarette machine in Sal’s Famous Pizzeria in Bedford-Stuyvesant and talk: I record the movie on a VHS tape and watch it dozens of times. For a year now, I have been listening to what some people call “n-er music,” like “Fight The Power,” the Public Enemy track that blasts out of Radio Raheem’s boombox every few minutes in Do The Right Thing. Same as other kids my age, 90 percent of my sports heroes are black men. I am in junior high, convinced that I will someday be good at basketball or football. Spike Lee’s 1989 movie Do The Right Thing is on network television, with all the “motherfuckers” edited out. Hip hop was not on the radio, not on the Omaha stations we could pick up. My new cassette was the only place I could hear those songs. “It Takes Two” is the first song on side A of this cassette, so it was the first hip hop song I ever owned, rewinding over and over in the cassette player, learning every verse of the party rhymes, learning who Rob Base was, according to Rob Base: Not internationally known, but known to rock a microphone because he gets stupid, meaning outrageous, stay away from him if you’re contagious. I’m an altar boy at the Catholic church a half-block away from our house, and when I’m not in school, I like to shoot baskets on the hoop my dad put in our driveway, most of the time with a boom box plugged in and playing music through the open garage door. The nearest black people live in Omaha, an hour away, and not that many of them. None of the 8,000 other people living in my hometown are black.
I’m not sure why we do things like this, but I’m sure everyone does at some point, and experiences that particular nostalgia for a simpler time when we really heard music.
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And Midnight Marauders might be playing in a few minivans right now.Įveryone has a several-year period of music in their life that actually sounds better to them than anything else ( it’s science), and more than any other type of music, I go back to the Golden Age of Hip Hop: I go through my collection of dozens of albums from 1986 to 1994, watch documentaries about artists from that time, listen to podcast interviews of hip hop legends, read every hip hop history book I can get my hands on, and wish someone would put the archive of Yo! MTV Raps episodes on Netflix or Amazon Prime or something. Despite our feeling that the music from that era will always be cool, way too cool to ever be heard in an elevator, a chain coffee shop, or a shopping mall, everyone gets older, and the edge our music had in its heyday eventually dulls. I’m 36, and lots of men my age are dads, and probably listened to ’90s hip hop.
I didn’t click on it at the time I figured, well, whoever wrote that is probably right. A few months ago, a headline claiming “The New Dad-Rock Is ’90s Rap” filtered through my newsfeed.
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