Kickin' it old school

The processed vocals and slick, minimalist beats of Wiz Khalifa, Fetty Wap, Drake and the Weeknd rule the hip-hop charts and the ears of the kids who drive the sales. But over on Backspin, the classic-rap satellite-radio channel that runs 24/7 on SiriusXM, they’re partying like it’s 1999. And 1989. Sometimes, even 1979.

Eric B. & Rakim leads into the Notorious B.I.G., which gives way to Digital Underground. If you’re of a certain age — roughly 35 or older — the beats and rhymes quickly trigger the nostalgia receptors. When did I first hear “Bonita Applebum,” A Tribe Called Quest’s ode to a round derrière? Where was I when I heard Tupac got shot? When did I stop subscribing to The Source?

The hip-hop generation is Humpty dancing toward middle age, and the entertainment industry is responding with a flurry of products aimed at old-school aficionados.

“We’re yearning for these songs the same way our parents would yearn for the old R&B songs of their youth,” says Dion Summers, vice president of urban programming for SiriusXM. “It reminds me of the music that I literally grew up listening to.”

On the radio you can flip back and forth between the commercial-free Backspin and the burgeoning chain of Boom stations, including 94.5 in Dallas. On TV, Netflix is gearing up for The Get Down, Baz Luhrmann’s drama about hip-hop’s earliest days in the South Bronx, which premieres Friday. Earlier this year, VH1 delivered The Breaks, a TV movie about hip-hop strivers orbiting around a label that acts a lot like 1990s-era Def Jam. A full season is slated to begin by the end of the year.

Not to be schooled on the old-school, the big screen is keeping pace. Last year’s N.W.A. biopic, Straight Outta Compton, earned $200 million at the U.S. box office. Coming soon: All Eyez on Me, a Tupac biopic; and Roxanne, Roxanne, the story of ’80s teen battle-rapper Roxanne Shante.

This all seemed improbable back when hip-hop was viewed as a scrappy stepchild from the New York streets. But times have changed, and now rap has its own variation of classic rock.

“People have realized that this is one of the coolest, most original American pop-culture inventions since jazz,” says Ice Cube, a founder of N.W.A and now a showbiz player in his own right.

“This is what being American is about: Coming up with new ways to express yourself. It should be embraced, and it’s kind of cool that people are realizing that it’s a great art, a great music and a great industry that grew out of the ashes of nothing.”

The elephant in the hip-hop nostalgia room is Empire, the hit Fox melodrama about a rap mogul (Terrence Howard) and his Shakespearean struggles to keep his family business in line and find an heir. Though set in the present day, Empire appeals to an adult generation raised on hip-hop. It’s hard to imagine The Get Down or The Breaks getting a green light without Empire.

“Empire reinforced to everybody in Hollywood that people who came of age during the ’80s and the ’90s have an appetite for art that centers stories on folks of color,” says Jeff Chang, author of Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation and the forthcoming We Gon’ Be Alright.

“It’s really insane that it had to be something like Empire to do that. It’s a lesson that points to the racism of the culture industry. Every generation has to relearn that there’s a whole market out there outside of white elitist tastes.”

Hip-hop nostalgia comes with a dose of irony. Hip-hop culture has long prided itself on looking forward and finding what’s next. It’s an aspirational music, especially for young people of color: “I made the change from a common thief/To up close and personal with Robin Leach,” raps Biggie on his 1994 hit single “Juicy.” It can be jarring to see a progressive culture cast a steady glance backward.

On the other hand, rap songs have long left room for a wistful look toward the past, especially in the ’90s, when hip-hop rushed headlong into the mainstream. Wu-Tang Clan’s “Can It Be All So Simple,” Ahmad’s “Back in the Day” and Coolio’s “I Remember” are among the ’90s cuts that express a yearning for simpler times, before hip-hop was big business. (Not coincidentally, all three songs are in the Backspin rotation.)

You can hear grumbling within hip-hop about the culture’s failure to honor its founders. Ed Lover, formerly of Backspin and now a morning-show host on Boom, put it this way in a conversation with ’80s and ’90s mainstay Big Daddy Kane broadcast last year on Backspin: “Hip-hop is the only genre of music where it’s almost like the young want to eat the old and make them disappear. That doesn’t happen in rock and roll.”

But the pop-culture surge of classic hip-hop suggests the tide is turning. There’s a purity to the old school jams. You can hear the magic of discovery in the bongo sample that kicks off the Sugarhill Gang’s “Apache,” or the poetic conceits of Rakim, or the political engagement of Public Enemy.

It’s never really gone out of style. And now it’s everywhere.

 @chrisvognar

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