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June 11, 2024

Introducing: Hip-Hop is History by Questlove

Introducing: Hip-Hop is History by Questlove

This is a book only Questlove could have written: a perceptive and personal reflection on the first half-century of hip-hop.

When hip-hop first emerged in the 1970s, it wasn’t expected to become the cultural force it is today. But for a young Black kid growing up in a musical family in Philadelphia, it was everything. He stayed up late to hear the newest songs on the radio. He saved his money to buy vinyl as soon as it landed. He even started to try to make his own songs. That kid was Questlove, and decades later, he is a six-time Grammy Award–winning musician, an Academy Award–winning filmmaker, a New York Times bestselling author, a producer, an entrepreneur, a cofounder of one of hip-hop’s defining acts (the Roots), and the genre’s unofficial in-house historian.

In this landmark book, Hip-Hop Is History, Questlove skillfully traces the creative and cultural forces that made and shaped hip-hop, highlighting both the forgotten but influential gems and the undeniable chart-topping hits—and weaves it all together with the stories no one else knows. It is at once an intimate, sharply observed story of a cultural revolution and a sweeping, grand theory of the evolution of the great artistic movement of our time. And Questlove, of course, approaches it with not only the encyclopedic fluency and passion of an obsessive fan but also the expertise and originality of an innovative participant. 

Hip-hop is history, and also his history.

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Transcript
00:00:00
Speaker 1: Good people, good people, good people. What's up? This is Questlove? Yes, Questlove. I hope you heard of me. I'm excited to tell you about my brand new book. I'm still writing books. It's called hip Hop Is History. Hip Hop Is History, released on my own imprint, oh Books, That's right, au Wa Books. When hip hop first emerged in the seventies, I really wasn't expected to become the cultural force that it was. Many people dismissed it as a fad. However, as a young kid growing up in Philadelphia, it was everything to me. Like I would stay up late at night with my radio recording everything, studying it, and I saved my money to buy the vinyl the next day as soon as it landed, even made my songs. You know hey. Six decades later, here I am now as an award winning musician and filmmaker, a New York Times bestselling author, a producer, culinary entrepreneur, co founder of a little band called The Roots, and other things in between. But in everything I do, I try to promote the history of this culture and music. And I'm really proud to present to you hip Hop's history. And this book explores the last fifty years of the creative and cultural forces that made in shape hip hop, highlighting both the forgotten and the influential gems that build this culture altogether. Basically, here's a quickie preview of my new book, hip Hop Is History. McMillan the audio presents hip Hop Is History by Questlove with Ben Greener. This, of course is Questlove Introduction. I'm writing from the summer of twenty twenty three, the year that has been officially designated as the fiftieth anniversary of hip hop. The designation stends from the date mythic but also real, of a August eleventh, nineteen seventy three back to school party in the Bronx, held in the wreck room of an apartment building at fifteen twenty Sedgwick Avenue, planned by a Jamaican born team named Cindy Campbell. She made the decorations and made up a pricing structure a quarter for girls for admission, fifty cent for boys, and concessions that included seventy five cent hot dogs and featuring Cindy's older brother, Clive, nicknamed Cool Herk as a result of his imposing physical stature. Herk was short for Hercules Furnishing entertainment that consisted of a DJ set in which he spum funk records using a novel technique that foregrounded the beats or break beats, isolating them and repeating them in ways that not only provided a new space for dancers or breakdancing, but also constructed a frame over which hurt construtch, extended wraps or commentaries. I have my quibbles for picking this state as a birth date, for reasons I will explain. But no one can question the fact of hip hop's birth because no one can question what followed decades of innovation, achievement, energy, artistry, and history, meaning decades of life. History is never simple. It's layers upon layers. But what exactly is this miraculous mercurial genre that has given so much to me and so many other artists, and to which we are trying in turn to give something back. Big question, long answer to follow. The story begins just after Thanksgiving of twenty twenty two. Leftover turkey is still the refrigerator. My manager, Sean Gee and the television producers Jesse Collins and Dion harm And came to me. They had a question, The Grammys want to do something for Hip Hop fifty Would you lead it? How do you feel about putting something together? I'm the king of yes and the victim of it too. Out of muscle memory and habit, I agreed to a job before I think about what it actually involves, what I'm getting myself into, and what I might need to get myself out of. Of course, I said, no problem, whatsoever. I could do this in my sleep. But sleep was exactly what didn't happen. I got right to work trying to tell the story of the genre. First by building playlists and sourcing history. I knew I would need headliners, big artists, and I would also need important artists who might not have sould quite as much, not to mention artists of the moment. That meant Jay Z Snoop Dogg, Public Enemy, Drake, Griselda, Cardi, b Coila, Ray Coast, Contra, Jack Harlowe, Meek Mill, and all points in between. About five hours into the sourcing, it felt daunting, but with a window of possibility. About ten hours into the sourcing, I realized that the segment, whatever ended up being, had to have a time limit, and that this fact created a second fact, which was that I would have to demote some artists and cut others out. I would have to make the hard choices and play favorites. This whole thing, which had the potential to be a landmark event, could also result in angry faces in a ring around me. Wait, was I being set up for failure? Instantly I felt a twinge of regret of having said yes. In truth, it was an accumulated twinge. I had the previous March one an Oscar for directing Summer of Soul, a documentary about the Harlem cultural festival also known as Black Woodstock. I created the movie and a relatively calm atmosphere that was ironically enabled by the broad international crisis of pandemic. I was doing different things, living upstate, sketching on weekend mornings, getting further into meditation. But in the wake of the Oscar, I was also in demand. People were seeking me out to direct more movies. I said yes to one offer and yes to a second, and before I knew it, I was down for half a dozen commitments. I remember a conversation with my ex girlfriend, one of the last ones before we broke up. She was dismayed, you learned absolutely nothing in the last two years. She said. You told me that the less work you do and the more time you had to breathe, the more the stars aligned. You were working only on the things you wanted, and that felt good, right, I said, So, what's up with all this new work? She said, you basically just regressed. You relapsed the way a drug addict would pandemic was calm in a way, but when real life came back, you went right back to hiding in your work. She started to say something else, but stopped. What she said instead was devastating. I guess you'll have space and time for this relationship in like twenty thirty two. Then and there I told myself I would never again agree to do anything without taking time to assess it first, to see what the time management landscape looked like, to think about who other than myself might be affected. But she was right to tell me that I was wrong, and I was wrong to think that I would listen to myself. And here I was, having committed to a hip hop fifty Grammy tribute that had the potential to burn a bunch of bridges while I was standing on them. One of the bridges that it started to burn was the relationship itself. The twenty thirty two estimate now looked optimistic. Relationship, which had spanned the pandemic, started to end, and I did what she knew I'd do all along. I moved forward into more work. Specifically, I started on the Grammy Tribute project. I made a demo. I put together an audio map of the hip hop genre over the half century from nineteen seventy three, going from the earliest Bronx djaying to Jimmy Cast to Apache, and moving through all of it, every song and artists. I loved all the ones that I just mentioned, and all the ones I didn't until I got to Glorilla or Ice Spice, or whoever I thought best represented twenty twenty three. I made what I thought were all the hard choices. By the time I was finished, it was thirty three minutes and forty two seconds. I knew that the Grammys weren't going to give me that much time, but maybe I could get close. I called Jesse and Dion and asked them how long I would have. Ten minutes said maybe eleven. I thought they were joking. I was sure they were joking. How could anyone paar down the entire half century to a segment that short. On top of everything else, it will require me to deliver disappointment to artists, telling some I could only use the snippet of their greatest songs, telling others I couldn't use them at all. And what about the artists who are no longer sharp performers, or who I knew wouldn't be warmly received on TV or social media? Would I have to write them out of history entirely? That's when it hit me. They suckered me into being the back cop. Is that why y'all came to me to make me the back hop? They started laughing, but the laughing didn't last that long. These things that you're bringing up, they said, they sound like yps instead of ops, meaning your problem instead of are a problem. A day later, I called Dion back. I'd work with her on the Oscars when I was the de facto orchestra and quasi host. I gave her a level with me talk. Even though I'm a creative, I'm also a suit I said, So don't shield me like I'm an artist. Tell me the truth. How much time do I really have? Ten to eleven? She said? Come on, I said, you can tell me I am telling you. She said, there are other parts of the celebration. We're going to give doctor Dre an award. You have ten to eleven minutes for your segment. Jesse and Dion are the Ashford and Simpson of production. I know when to go to Dad for some things and Mom for some other things. I rolled out my appeal Dion, I said, I need you to come through for me. You gotta find me five more minutes. Can you give another segment a haircut? I'll see what I can do, she said. She called me back the next morning. I got good news, and you didn't say bad news. I said, I got you more time. She said, how much seventeen sixteen eighteen? You have thirteen minutes? She said. She delivered the news like she had gone out and gotten venison and was going to feed the household for a month. It was spoken in triumph and a kind of finality, and the wake of that call, I thought about reindeer games I always do is one of the metaphors I've used more than any other. The roots since our inception often felt that hip hop was a party, and we were invited late or not at all. We didn't get to participate in everything that it had to offer. Even though we have the talent and the desire, gatekeepers turned us away for one reason or another, not perceived as hard enough, not making the right kinds of hits at the right time. Being Rudolph came to be my skeleton key for everything in this situation. Though I wasn't Rudolph, I was Sanna. I was the gatekeeper. All right, all right, all right, Calm down, calmdown. That's it for now. If you really enjoy what you heard, you can go to questlove dot com, q U E s T l o v e dot com in order your copy of Hip Hop Is History Today. Thank you,