“And this is how the story goes…”
It was 1991 when I first stepped in the arena. Guru and his partner-in-crime, DJ Premier, had been there since ’89, but I didn’t discover them until their second effort. Gang Starr never flew under my radar again. With one of the top three all-time producers in rap at his back, Guru stood still and stoic as a statue, never feeling the need to employ any verbal gimmicks or raise his voice to make his point. Instead, he let Preemo’s beats swirl around him like a perfect storm and just let the themes and lessons at the heart of his street parables speak loudly for themselves.
Even though he was in his early twenties at the start of all of this, to me, he still always came off like someone’s tough-ass dad. He sternly told you what was up in that gravelly rasp in as few words as possible. No tongue-twisting multi-syllabic compound rhymes. Just cutting to the chase with a sharp-ass blade. Well, usually. Sometimes you’re illustrating your Die-Hard-ness (?) and in a rush to rhyme something with Bruce Willis. Hence: “Lemonade was a popular drink and it still is.” Earth-shattering observation, Guru. Thanks.
“Stick-up kids is out to tax…”
My childhood partner-in-crime, Jeffrey “Games” Swanson, dragged me (drooling) away from the wall in his basement that housed his complete set of M.A.S.K. figures and vehicles, to check out a televised block of rap videos. I remember as Ice Cube’s somber, black and white Dead Homiez faded out, another black and white video faded in. Actually, at first I thought I was seeing some post-credits sequence, but I began to notice things that, while feeling familiar enough, couldn’t have possibly fit into the world established by Cube’s videos. The lack of jheri curls and plethora of flattops was my first clue. I knew for sure, though, from the first gurgling strains of that chopped sample coming in that this was something else. And though Ice Cube had scratching in his songs (before he began making motivational exercise music for fat chicks anyways), it never sounded like this. I don’t blame him. Cube’s livelihood was his wrath-of-god-level fury, and it would probably be pretty hard to stay mad at the world when you hear the sample, beautifully built-up, finally drop, clearing the path for Dr. Deadpan’s first verse.
The song was Just To Get A Rep. The song worked. From then on, Gang Starr’s was solidified. The video was as monotone as Guru’s delivery. For some reason, in both cases, it makes it matter-of-fact instead of boring.
“Victory is mine. Yeah, surprisingly…”
Nobody ever took the saying “Keep It Real” to heart the way these two did. Without ever turning their backs on their hip hop roots, they also stayed true to their moniker and got just as much street cred as all the gangster rappers with none of the hyperbole. Their sound, to me, epitomizes blue collar, East Coast rap. Not necessarily the greatest of all-times, critically or commercially, but always putting in Work and always solid. Fitting then, that when they added branches to their family tree, they called it a Foundation.
Guru had a heart attack over the weekend. So did all of hip hop. He is, as I type this, in a coma and due to undergo cardiac surgery. If anyone needs me, I’ll be listening to ‘Step In The Arena‘ again, front-to-back, hoping that I don’t have to put on that Ice Cube song right after.
– Nuv
• Just To Get A Rep •
• Suckas Need Body Guards • DWYCK • Who’s Gonna Take The Weight • Code Of The Streets •
• Mass Appeal • You Know My Steez • Nice Girl, Wrong Place • Skills • Work • Full Clip •
• Step In The Arena •
