by Roni Sarig
In 1975, U-Roy signed with British label Virgin, who introduced his music to larger audiences than ever before. By then, U-Roy had embraced Rastafarianism and his lyrics had taken on the more spiritual slant heard on Dread in Babylon and later releases. Back in Jamaica, he also began his own Daddy Roy Sound System, which introduced other top DJs such Charlie Chaplin and Josey Wales. Now in his late fifties and living in Southern California, U-Roy continues to record and perform around the world.
DISCOGRAPHY
Dread in Babylon (Virgin 1976; Caroline, 1991); U-Roy’s first album available outside of Jamaica.
Natty Rebel (Virgin 1976; Caroline, 1991).
Rasta Ambassador (Virgin, 1977; Caroline, 1991).
Version Galore (Front Line, 1978); this collection features many of U-Roy’s early hits, and offers a good taste of the original “talkover” style.
Jah Son of Africa (Front Line, 1979).
Crucial Cuts (Virgin, 1983); a collection of the best tracks from his Virgin records.
Music Addict (RAS, 1987).
True Born African (Ariwa, 1991).
Rock with I (RAS, 1992).
Smile a While (Ariwa, 1993).
3 Pack (Caroline, 1994); a three-CD box set retrospective.
Original DJ (Caroline, 1995).
Your Ace from Space (Trojan [UK], 1995).
Babylon Kingdom Must Fall (Ariwa, 1997).
LAST POETS
Darryl McDaniels, Run-D.M.C.:
When I look back on the things I heard, I see the Last Poets as inspirational on us as rappers and composers. They were the first ones to keep it real, to deal with the attitudes and emotions of what was going on in society. They were the first ones to inspire you to speak out and not hold it back. Express your opinion. By them doing what they did, it helped us do it on record. We’re using the same heart, the same expression.
Though it was not necessarily the most direct antecedent of today’s rap music, the Last Poets’ technique of laying rhythmic poetry on a beat provided early hip-hoppers with an important example of how vocals could be used to confront social issues and raise black consciousness. By the late ‘80s, groups like Public Enemy, A Tribe Called Quest, and Michael Franti’s Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy were drawing direct connections between their music and what the Last Poets had done two decades earlier. Yet perhaps the Last Poets’ example as a band of writers and vocalists working under one unified name was even more important than their message in laying the groundwork for the modern rap group.
Michael Franti, Spearhead:
The Last Poets may not have invented rap, but they were definitely there when rap was being invented. The idea of storytelling and talking over a beat is something they advanced. It’s important to look at those pioneers and see that when rap was coming out as an artform it wasn’t just all about trying to get ahead and make money. Voices were reaching out and saying things, because they weren’t being said somewhere else. They brought a voice to people who weren’t being represented. I definitely dug what they were doing. It wasn’t just singing or rhyming, you could get out there and say what you want on top of a beat, and say it in a poetic fashion.
The three original Last Poets first performed together in May of 1968, at a Malcolm X birthday celebration in Harlem. They were three distinct individuals, all products of their time: David Nelson ran an antipoverty program and was closely involved with the black students’ movement at Columbia University. Gylain Kain was a downtown bohemian poet in the mold of one of the group’s direct predecessors, Amiri Baraka (LeRoi Jones). And Charles Franklin Davis – who would soon adopt the Yoruba religion and change his name to Abiodun Oyewole – was the middle-class product of upward mobility whose belief in integration had been severely shaken by the assassination of Martin Luther King only a month earlier.
The trio extrapolated their name from South African writer K. William Kgositsile, who wrote that the time for poetry would soon end as the revolution begins. “The goal was to revolutionize the world using poetry as our weapon,” Oyewole says. “To make people wake up before the shit hit the fan.” Such noble intentions required more than the strength of a single writer. “Poets are generally individuals, set aside from everyone else. But to put three strong individuals together was saying the problem is such where we have to bring ourselves to some collective to address it.”
Afrika Baby Bam (Nathaniel Hall), Jungle Brothers:
The Last Poets influenced me from a cultural standpoint. Communicating to me what was going on around the times I was born. They educated me about the way society was and to a certain degree still is. Just the spirit of the music is what influenced me to write the way I write.
Sammy B, Jungle Brothers:
My parents listened to it, and that really influenced me because they were really into the black movement and I was really exposed to it at a young age.
As the Last Poets’ popularity grew through performances and workshops, the possibility of recording arose. But as Kain vehemently opposed the capitalist notion of becoming a “recording artist” and Nelson returned to community organizing, only Oyewole was left to carry on the Last Poets name. By 1969, he’d brought in two new poets who had been hanging around the group: Omar Ben Hassen and Alafia Puddim. It was this new trio that Alan Douglas (Jimi Hendrix’s producer) first saw on community television, and it was Douglas who first brought the group in to record their poems and chants on record.
With Douglas, the trio recorded two albums – The Last Poets in 1970 and This Is Madness in 1971 – that would forever secure their reputation. Featuring the African-styled conga of percussionist Nilaja and the group’s incessant chanting, the poets took turns reciting revolutionary verse to a beat. Tracks like Niggers Are Scared of Revolution, White Man’s Got a God Complex, Time (later sampled by A Tribe Called Quest), and Run, Nigger (sampled by N.W.A.) seethed with a passionate commitment to the struggle for black empowerment. Despite radical, often inflammatory language, the Last Poets’ reputation spread by word of mouth in the black community. Even without a mainstream breakthrough, the debut reached #29 on the Billboard album charts in 1970.
Wyclef Jean, the Fugees:
That was a major influence. Conscious rap. It made me be aware of what I’m saying. Listening to the Last Poets was like street poetry. It taught you a lot of things you didn’t know.
By This Is Madness, though, Oyewole had dropped out (as he says, “Words weren’t enough, I needed to be directly involved”) and original Last Poets David Nelson and Gylain Kain believed that Puddim and Ben Hassen were unqualified to carry on the group name. With Puerto Rican poet Felipe Luciano, Nelson and Kain formed a second Last Poets, who documented their work in the film Right On! before dispersing shortly after. By 1972, Ben Hassen had left his version of the Last Poets as well.
That left only Puddim, renamed Jalaluddin Mansur Nuriddin after converting to Islam, to carry the Last Poets through the ‘70s. Along with fellow poet Suliaman El-Hadi, the group released albums such as Chastisement and At Last, which introduced increasing amounts of instrumental accompaniment and singing to the spoken word – a style they called “jazzoetry.” During this time, Nuriddin also recorded work under the name Lightnin’ Rod that, while less revolutionary, was at least as influential. Following an earlier recording of the traditional toast “Doriella Du Fontaine” that featured Hendrix on guitar, Lightnin’ Rod released an album in 1973 called Hustler’s Convention. The album – long epic tale of a street-player gathering featured the funk accompaniment of Kool & the Gang, as well as other known musicians. With its more danceable accompaniment and colorful story, the record became a favorite of New York deejays in the mid- and late ‘70s, when it was undoubtedly owned and heard by the founding fathers of hip-hop.
Chuck D, Public Enemy:
Around ‘78 or ‘79 I got into Hustler’s Convention and backtracked from there. Hustler’s Convention was pretty much the thing that launched the whole rhyme scene in the Bronx. A lot of people took a
lot of the verbiage off that record. Like Melle Mel – ”rock your world, from the top of the world to the depths of hell” – that type of stuff.
After a decade away from recording, Nuriddin and El-Hadi’s Last Poets returned for one Bill Laswell-produced album in the ‘80s. This version of the group emerged once more, for a 1994 album released only in France, before El-Hadi passed away. By then, Omar Ben Hassen (now Umar Bin Hassan, since adopting Islam) had resurfaced, with a new album (also produced by Laswell), Be Bop or Be Dead. The record contained new poems as well as updates of Last Poets classics, and reunited Bin Hassan with original Last Poet Abiodun Oyewole.
Since 1993, Bin Hassan and Oyewole’s revitalized Last Poets have released two new albums – featuring guests such as Grandmaster Melle Mel, Chuck D, and members of P-Funk – and performed in concert (in Lollapalooza ‘94) and the movies (in John Singleton’s Poetic Justice). Their 1997 album, Time Has Come, even features Umar’s rapping sons. The two remain keenly aware of the role they play as hip-hop elder statesmen, and are concerned about the direction rap has taken. Oyewole hosts an open house each Sunday in Harlem, where poets can discuss their work and current issues. Over the years, many rappers have attended as well. “It’s a wonderful thing,” Oyewole says. “I appreciate the relationship I have with members of the Wu-Tang, KRS-One, Rakim, MC Lyte, Brand Nubian, A Tribe Called Quest, Chuck D, on and on. There’s quite a number who have given us props and who we have a lot of respect for.”
DISCOGRAPHY
Last Poets (Douglas, 1970; Restless Retro, 1992); the classic debut as a trio, with powerful spoken poems such as Niggers Are Scared of Revolution.
This Is Madness (Douglas, 1971; Restless Retro, 1992); recorded as a duo, but featuring equally rich and ferocious proto-raps.
Chastisement (Blue Thumb, 1972; Celluloid, 1992); the first record with the ‘70s line-up of poets Nuriddin and El-Hadi, as well as added musical accompaniment.
At Last (Blue Thumb, 1973).
(Lightnin’ Rod) Hustlers Convention (Casablanca, 1973; Celluloid, 1990); a classic blaxploitation record, with an extended toast by Nuriddin and funk backing by Kool & the Gang.
Delights of the Garden (Casablanca, 1975; Celluloid, 1985).
Oh My People (Celluloid, 1985); a Nuriddin/El-Hadi reunion, with slick production and cheesy dance beats.
Freedom Express (Celluloid, 1991).
Retro Fit (Celluloid, 1992).
(Umar Bin Hassan) Be Bop or Be Dead (Axiom / Island, 1993); Bin Hassan’s return to music, which includes remakes of two early Last Poets classics.
Scatterap/Home (Bond Age [France], 1994); a final Nuriddin/El-Hadi record, released only in France.
Holy Terror (Black Arc / Rykodisc, 1995); the first of the new Last Poets releases, with Bin Hassan and Oyewole.
Abiodun Oyewole / 25 years (Black Arc / Rykodisc, 1996).
Time Has Come (Mouth Almighty / Mercury, 1997); a partial return to the percussion and chanting style of the first records, this strong effort features a guest appearance by Chuck D.
WATTS PROPHETS
Lyrics Born:
I knew about them because I collected records. They didn’t make a lot of history books, at least not the ones I read. The Watts Prophets were the unsung heroes of spoken word. They had a different perspective, being from California. Over the years, they never diluted the message. It’s surprising, because after so long not getting much mainstream attention, most people have a tendency to accommodate a larger audience somehow. That’s really admirable. And they continue to be an inspiration because of their perseverance.
At a time when the record industry was more regionalized, it was possible for similar movements to take hold at opposite ends of the country without one having any knowledge of the other. Given the mounting frustrations in black America and the artistic blossoming in the late ‘60s, it seems almost inevitable that a group would arise to voice the same percussive poetry in Watts, Los Angeles, as the Last Poets offered in Harlem, New York. Though lesser known than the Last Poets, the Watts Prophets laid the groundwork for an L.A. hip-hop scene that would produce both the gangsta rap of N.W.A. and the message-oriented pop of Coolio (both of whom have sampled the Watts Prophets), as well as the more clearly Prophets-influenced underground lyricism of Freestyle Fellowship.
Aceyalone, solo / Freestyle Fellowship:
We did a couple shows with the Watts Prophets. It was an honor. The inspiration I get comes from being from the same area as them. And their subject matter, how they keep it positive. And they’re still around in the community.
In essence, the Watts Prophets were born out of the 1965 Watts riots. Among the people who stepped forward to help rebuild the community after the devastation was Budd Schulberg, a Hollywood screenwriter best known for writing On the Waterfront. He set up the Watts Writers Workshop to provide a place for young aspiring writers in the neighborhood to learn and share their work. One participant was Anthony Hamilton, an eighth-grade dropout who had recently spent time in jail and was having difficulty finding his way out of the criminal life. At a poverty program he met writer Odie Hawkins, who invited Hamilton to the Writers Workshop. Though he initially came for the free food, Hamilton ended up reciting some poetry he’d scribbled on scraps of paper. When the response from others was positive, he was hooked. “I could say a poem saved my life,” he told Brian Cross in It’s Not About a Salary. “Because from that poem I realized I could do something. I had something inside of me.”
Because of its success, the workshop received extensive media attention. When schools and organizations around the country began to invite members of the workshop to come speak, the poets began to group into units for the purpose. Hamilton hooked up with Otis O’Solomon, an Alabama native who moved to L.A. in his teens, and Richard Dedeaux, who’d arrived from Louisiana around the same time. By 1968 the trio (who would soon adopt the name Watts Prophets) began performing at local gatherings as well as in well-known L.A. night clubs. Their art combined socially critical verse with theatrical performance in a way that both thrilled and outraged the audience. At one of these shows – at USC in 1969 – the Watts Prophets shared a stage with the Last Poets. Though they had been doing similarly styled black-awareness spoken-word poetry, it was the first time either group had heard of the other.
Around this time, Laff Records – a comedy label best known for releasing Richard Pryor’s first album – approached Hamilton and other Watts poets about recording an album. Because the subject matter was anything but comical, Laff set up the ALA label to release an album called The Black Voices: On the Street in Watts. Along with work by Odie Hawkins (who would become a well-known novelist), Ed Bereal, and Emmery Lee Joseph Evans Jr., Hamilton contributed nine provocative poems – including “I’ll Stop Calling You Niggers” and “Pimping, Leaning, and Feaning” – set to Last Poets-style percussion and other instrumental background.
The following year, Hamilton brought his fellow Watts Prophets to the attention of ALA. Though the album they did for the label, Rappin’ Black in a White World, marks the first time “rap” was used on record to describe black spoken-word performance, it was more conceptually and stylistically broad than the usual rap album, with extended suites that included character monologues like The Master and manifestos such as Amerikkka (a spelling later adopted on Ice Cube’s first album). Tying it all together were the bluesy piano compositions of Dee Dee McNeil, a former Motown songwriter who had been collaborating with the trio since 1969. Her contributions, along with the use of strings and soulful singing, make Black in a White World as rich and varied musically as it is lyrically.
DJ Quik:
I heard ‘em when I was a kid, it was scary cause it was too radical for me. I was like five, though, when I got into it. I think the real reason I remembered it and the reason I wanted to use it was because of how blatantly scary and formidable it was, it was thought-provoking and fearful. They were the first rappers in the truest sense, they been doing it since the six
ties. If what you consider rap is philosophizing over rhythmic African type beats, they paved the way for this shit, [from It’s Not About a Salary (Verso, 1993)]
Though McNeil returned to performing solo in jazz clubs shortly after, the Watts Prophets continued performing throughout the ‘70s. They contributed to albums by Quincy Jones (Mellow Madness, featuring O’Solomon’s “Beautiful Black Girl”), Stevie Wonder (Songs in the Key of Life), and Don Cherry (Multi-Kult) and did concerts at colleges and prisons across the country. When the Watts Prophets stopped performing around 1980, each focused on outside work: Dedeaux and O’Solomon did work in film and television, as actors, writers, and producers, and continued to help with community poetry projects. Hamilton became Father Amde, a leader in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, through which he befriended Bob Marley and his family (Ziggy Marley recorded O’Solomon’s “Hey World (Part I)”).
In an eerie case of history repeating itself, the South Central L.A. rioting of the early ‘90s spurred the Watts Prophets into activity once again. Now elder statesmen in a hip-hop scene that has widely sampled their work (including DJ Quik and DJ Shadow), the trio has reemerged as outspoken community leaders. After an EP produced by the Dust Brothers, the Watts Prophets produced When the 90’s Came, their first new album in 25 years. Featuring appearances by DJ Quik, US3, and Blackalicious on tracks that mix new material and old, the record brings the group full circle in the story of west coast rap. And with tracks like the updated I Remember Watts (originally written in 1967), the Watts Prophets are as relevant as ever.
