You have proven to be extremely valuable to the popular public discourse for something other than being recognized as a bit-player in 'True Romance' and 'Higher Learning,' or for your surprisingly funny turn as a disgruntled employee in the 'Pop Copy' sketch on Chappelle's Show.
For you, good sir, compiled and directed an admirably entertaining and thought-provoking documentary on seminal 1990s hip hop collective A Tribe Called Quest, titled "Beats Rhymes & Life" (incidentally, also the name of the group's fourth album, a release that sadly signaled the beginning of the end for the ambitious Queens jazz-rap pioneers).
I've been as amped up as a trailer park junkie waiting for a new shipment of Heisenberg's blue crystal upon finding out that said doc was to be released this summer.
Tribe holds special significance for me. They were the first true iteration of genuine, non-mainstream hip hop that I discovered in my younger days, and absorbing their rare form of jazz-infused musical goodness was instrumental in setting me on a path of discovery for a sonic movement that once thrived, but is now unfortunately buried in a morass of generic and uninspired beats/lyrics, marketing, self-promotion, twitter, auto-tune, i-tunes and a new generation of listeners that wasn't around to appreciate hip hop's golden era.
In the late 1990s, the Wu-Tang Clan is the hip hop collective I would claim as the genre's saviors, and my personal favorites. But before there was Wu-Tang, and before there was Biggie, even before Tupac started blowing up, there was the Native Tongues movement, spearheaded largely by A Tribe Called Quest and their 'hip hop brothers from another mother' De La Soul.
Yes, Tribe was amongst the early hip hop acts that wasn't concerned with videos, swag, chart positioning, groupies or any of the pratfalls that has prematurely claimed the careers of many a great musical artist. The focus was on the music, plain and simple. And boy, did Q-Tip and DJ Ali Shaheed Muhammad dig deep into the crates to find some of the most blessed, inspiring soundscapes to serve as a backdrop for the dope lyrical stylings of Tip and Phife Dawg.
The documentary was filmed mostly during Tribe's 2008 Reunion Tour, when they performed at the annually largely-attended Rock the Bells Festival. As with most films of this genre, we see the chronological progression of Tribe's career, the genesis of how they all met each other and began performing and recording their music. But a constant overall theme that Rapaport is wise to examine heavily is the long-standing tension between Q-Tip and Phife Dawg, which ultimately led to what many would describe as a premature disbanding of the group in 1998.
To be honest, Tribe breaking up when they did was a dagger in the heart of hip hop fans everywhere. The musical form was starting to navigate into a weird place. The 1980s represented the art form's burgeoning popularity and its invasion into the mainstream music-consuming experience. It was no longer just for jeeps and landcruisers rumbling through gritty urban landscapes, or block parties in the South Bronx or Union Square, or the rowhomes of Philadelphia or Baltimore.
It began to find its way into the homes of white suburbia. My own experience is proof positive. As far back as 1987 in east central Pennsylvania, I can vividly remember my older brother and I owning at least 3 cassettes that were an integral part of us becoming rap music fans at a young age - and for the curious-minded, those cassettes were Run DMC's "Raising Hell," (1984) The Beastie Boys' "Licensed to Ill" (1986) and LL Cool J's "Bad" (1987). Which is all fine and good.
But those artists are prime examples of those who were groomed for the big-time, for mainstream success. Even in the world of hip hop and rap music, there is a clear divide between those who enjoyed that type of success, and those who never quite made that large an impression in terms of overall popularity and record sales, but have a certain amount of respect and cache that can never be measured in dollar signs. Tribe certainly falls into that latter category, and it's always a magical experience when you discover your first favorite musical collective that is great to you, but will completely miss the boat with almost everyone else. Then, as you get older, you realize that just because a large number of people aren't digging something, that doesn't mean it's not good. It just means it wasn't made for the masses. This perfectly describes Tribe's music, as well as that of countless other highly-respected genre practitioners from back in the day.
Tribe's sound is rooted in jazz horns, thumping rhythms, fat bass lines and the smooth rhymes and flow of Tip and Phife. There's also a noticeable touch of social awareness in some tracks, and an appreciation for the music they're creating. With Tribe, the music isn't merely a vehicle for a message, as is the case with righteous power-rappers Public Enemy, or the gangster posturing of N.W.A. With Tribe, the music and lyrics co-exist together effortlessly and beautifully, unlike many unbalanced rap artists who are clearly much more gifted at either music or rhymes.
Beats Rhymes and Life, however, explores the degeneration of Tribe as much as, if not more so, the actual music. Some would criticize the film for this, but I say, it's an endeavor worth exploring, especially since so many years have passed since the breakup, and all that we fans have ever been able to pontificate about it all is - "Uh, so that's it? They're not getting along anymore?" As I mentioned before, the type of hip hop that Tribe excelled at was beginning to die out when the group broke up anyway. If you want to get philosophical about it, you could ask which event triggered the other? Did Tribe break up because they couldn't figure out how to continue putting out great music within the context of hip hop's rapidly evolving state, or did the shift that hip hop was undergoing signal the 'end' for musical acts cut from Tribe's cloth?
I prefer to think it was the latter, but I recognize that on many levels that simply makes me a curmudgeon, and not entirely unlike the grumpy grandfather shaking his cane from his front porch at the rowdy youngsters. However, I know there are lots of others who feel the same way.
Ultimately, Tribe's first three albums - People's Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm (1989), The Low End Theory (1991) and Midnight Marauders (1993) - are the gold standard by which all innovative hip hop of that time capsule is measured. Nobody could fuck with Tribe back then, and all real hip hop heads knew it. Yeah, maybe they weren't getting as many spins as Dre and Snoop when "The Chronic" exploded, but like I said, real heads knew where the hip hop perfection was truly located. Tip or Phife would slay Dre or Snoop in a lyrical battle without batting an eye.
Then after Midnight Marauders, they took an extended break. Phife's health troubles began to seriously take their toll (he's suffered from diabetes for most of his life, and needed a kidney transplant within the past few years from his wife). Aside from that, Phife and Tip have long had their own personal turmoil with each other regarding their individual roles and their relationship with each other as defined through Tribe. Tip states repeatedly in the documentary that it's about the group, and no one individual should rise above any of the others. That sounds great and all, but for hip hop fans in general, it's fairly routine knowledge that Tip is the group's defining member. He had the business savvy, and he was the guy making sure shit got done. Phife, it seems, was happy to write and spit nasty rhymes, but that's where it seemed to end with him. As we all know, you need at least one guy in the group to be the one who cracks the whip; the 'dad' making sure everyone eats their peas before dessert. Apparently, that was Tip, and Phife grew tired of it after awhile.
But it would be unwise to blame the group's disbanding simply on the Phife/Tip squabble. The changing landscape of hip hop was part of it. The fact that "Beats Rhymes and Life" and "The Love Movement" were received with lukewarm reception from both fans and critics alike was another part of it. Nothing continues forever. At least they still reunite for a tour every once in a while. I saw them myself twice, once at Rock the Bells in '08 and again at Rock the Bells last year, and let me tell you, they were amazing in the more recent performance (not even a year ago).
Hip hop is still alive and well if you know how to keep it going. But the current musical landscape isn't littered with groups like Tribe, De La Soul, Biggie, Tupac, Rakim, Gang Starr, Big L and a whole host of others. It's not like it was 15-20 years ago and beyond. To find the good-to-great stuff is harder than ever, but it IS out there.
Beats Rhymes and Life is an extremely in-depth look at Tribe. Tip, Phife, Ali Shaheed Muhammad (the peace-loving DJ who just wanted to make music) and Jarobi (whose spirit defined what Tribe was really all about) made musical history, and every now and then, they do revisit that special place. Even if you're not a huge fan of hip hop, it's hard not to appreciate this flick. Tons of cameos from hip hop visionaries abound as well, such as Busta Rhymes, Beastie Boys, De La Soul, Common, even Black Thought and Questlove from The Roots.
But perhaps the most poignant moment in the film comes when Phife is discussing the current state of hip hop, and pontificating whether other career options he’s considering might need to take over his involvement full-time. He makes an allusion, with respect to the music, about “the way things are going,” and sort of trails off while shaking his head, letting those words hang in the air.
At that point in the otherwise animated (for much of the movie, anyway) theater, it was soft enough to hear the needle dropping on an old piece of vinyl from about 50 feet away.
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