by Roni Sarig
DISCOGRAPHY
The Black Voices: On the Street in Watts (ALA, 1970; ffrr, 1996); featuring Hamilton and other area poets, this Last Poets-styled poetry album is not officially a Watts Prophets creation, though it has since been credited to the group.
Rappin’ Black in a White World (ALA, 1971; ffrr, 1996); the group’s finest statement, incorporating songs and monologues into a unified conceptual suite that captures the characters and feelings of life in Watts.
When the 90’s Came (Payday / ffrr, 1996); a newly produced reunion album featuring new poems as well as reworkings of old material, this record incorporates modern hip-hop elements and production from DJ Quik.
GIL SCOTT-HERON
Michael Franti, Spearhead:
His voice resonates with sincerity. He’s not the greatest singer technically, but he has developed his own great style. He invests his voice with meaning, and people take it to heart. Gil is someone I’ve always respected. I’ve spent time talking with him about content in music. What is the moral basis of an artist? Do we just put stuff out into a vacuum – the music business and entertainment world – or does the music go out into people’s cars and living rooms and find a way into their heart? He’s somebody who feels very strongly that artists bring out emotions people don’t always have a chance to express. And doing that comes with a responsibility.
Like the Last Poets, who directly inspired him, Gil Scott-Heron provided an early template for hip-hop consciousness and ‘90s spoken-word poetry. He’s been sampled by rappers ranging from Queen Latifah to Masta Ace, and cited by street poets such as Reg E. Gaines and Mike Ladd. Much of his career, though, has been dedicated to incorporating his earlier politically aware lyrics with deeply soulful music. In doing so, he has created a series of multidimensional recordings that go beyond black power rhetoric to capture the richness of African-American life with wit and wordplay, and with powerful humanism and lots of common sense. In doing so, he’s been a major inspiration to more song-oriented hip-hop groups like Spearhead and the Fugees, as well as musicians in all genres, and anybody else who’s ever invoked his most famous words, “the revolution will not be televised.”
Mase, De La Soul:
The issues he would touch in his poetry was like the same thing rappers are talking about today. He had a certain type of cadence and style that he flowed to make you interested in what he was talking about. Gil Scott is definitely one of the inspiring lyricists to De La, for sure.
Though he was born in Chicago, Gil moved to Jackson, Tennessee, when his Jamaican pro soccer playing father and librarian mother divorced, and was raised by his grandmother. By the time he rejoined his mother in New York City as a teen, Scott-Heron was already a talented writer, and his work earned him acceptance into a prestigious private high school. While still in college (Lincoln University, the alma mater of Gil’s literary hero Langston Hughes) he published two novels – The Vulture and The Nigger Factory – and a book of verse, Small Talk at 125th and Lenox.
As Scott-Heron became more politicized in the late ‘60s, he decided to leave college and return to New York to focus on his increasingly political writing. When it became clear to him that he could reach more people through radio than books, Gil decided to set his volume of poetry to music and record it. Inspired by what he’d seen of the Last Poets, Gil’s first album in 1970 (also called Small Talk) consisted mostly of spoken pieces set to percussion, such as The Revolution Will Not Be Televised and Whitey on the Moon. In addition, songs like Who’ll Pay Reparations on My Soul? offered Richie Havens-style singing and piano-driven gospel soul.
Mike G., Jungle Brothers:
I was around it. Even back then, every little element of what he was doing had so much strength. Growing up in Harlem, you could see the effect it had on your elders. A pride about being black, a positive mindstate. It was about black upliftment.
Though his deep voice, mixed with fierce Intelligence and lyrical humor, was more than enough to get Scott-Heron’s poetry across, it wasn’t long before he drifted away from the jibare-bones spoken-word style of the Last Poets toward the more musical approach he’d hinted lit on Small Talk. Beginning a collaboration with keyboardist Brian Jackson, a friend and former mate from Lincoln University, Scott-Heron Produced a series of jazz and soul ballad records in the early ‘70s that stand among his best work. Though 1971’s Pieces of a Man focused on introspective material, such as I Think I’ll Call It Morning and the title track, it Included a reworked funk version of The Revolution Will Not Be Televised that became Scott-Heron’s most enduring work – sampled, jutted, or adapted by countless rappers, writ-lifers, and even advertising executives. On 1972’s Free Will, Scott-Heron reconciled his opposing impulses – spoken and sung, political and personal – by offering one side of full-band songs and one side of spoken word with percussion and flute accompaniment. By 1974’s Winter in America, the music of Scott-Heron and Jackson had progressed to a level of sophistication where that socially conscious (The Bottle) and the personal (Your Daddy Loves You) were seamlessly integrated.
Jenny Toomey, Tsunami / Licorice:
I love Gil Scott-Heron. I did a paper on him in high school, based on the song “The Bottle.” I was writing about how clever it was to put this [anti-alcohol] message into music that was going to be played at rock clubs. He’s so clever in the way he twists things. For a long time I’ve wanted to cover Pieces of a Man, but how could I? I’d feel like a bad white girl singing “God Bless the Child” on Star Search.
In 1975, Scott-Heron’s music was introduced to a wider audience when he became the first act signed to Arista Records, the label started by famed record executive Clive Davis. With his newly formed Midnight Band, he and Jackson injected mid-‘70s albums such as The First Minute of a New Day with a richer, more orchestrated sound. From South Africa to South Carolina produced a hit with Johannesburg, one of the earliest pop songs to confront the issue of apartheid (it would be another 10 years before he would inspire and participate in the star-studded antiapartheid album, Sun City). In other songs, Scott-Heron’s sharply critical lyrics focused on nuclear proliferation (We Almost Lost Detroit) and his continued concern for the plight of urban America.
Chuck D, Public Enemy:
I knew about Gil Scott-Heron when he was out in ‘74 and ‘75, but later on, finding out what he did was a big help. It just rang a lot of bells. When I decided to do Public Enemy in that particular way, it came from trying to infuse what we knew as children in the ‘60s into rap. I found a lot of the topics I was delving into in rap were already thoroughly covered in a different level of poetry.
Though Scott-Heron split with Jackson in the late ‘70s and formed a new band, Amnesia Express, he continued to make music that combined soulful vocals with humanistic and socially aware lyrics. In the early ‘80s, current president Reagan and his conservative regime became a popular target in songs such as B Movie and Re-Ron. In that more apathetic age, though, Scott-Heron’s music seemed out of place. Though he continued to perform to capacity audiences, after 1982’s Moving Target he stopped recording for over a decade.
Darryl McDaniels, Run-D.M.C.:
We used to rap over his music back in the day. Before rap records were even made, if you were a DJ and didn’t have his records in your crate, something was wrong. I look at Gil Scott-Heron as one of the ambassadors of his time. What made us so popular was we were speaking for the youth. Gil Scott-Heron, along with the Last Poets, were the artists and philosophers and men of wisdom of their time. Speaking what a lot of people were either afraid to say, or were held back from saying. They used their records and poetry to express things people weren’t saying.
In 1994 Gil entered a recording studio to produce Spirits, a strong return that bridged generations with Don’t Give up, a song produced by Ali Shaheed Muhammed of A Tribe Called Quest. Subsequently he was seen on MTV and appeared at Woodstock ‘94. By then, politically aware hip-hop and spoken-word artists had acknowledged his important legacy, wh
ich Gil himself addressed in Spirits’ Message to the Messengers. As he reiterated for Vibe’s James Ledbetter, “If I have any influence [with rappers], then let me use it to ask them to say something positive with theirs, to get off some of this dumb shit and to start using the influence that they have. If they admire what we did, then use it in the same fashion that we tried to. To say things that are positive for people and about people.” In this, Scott-Heron continues to challenge, and lead by example.
DISCOGRAPHY
Small Talk at 125th and Lenox (Flying Dutchman, 1970; RCA, 1993); a mostly spoken-word album, stylistically indebted to the Last Poets.
Pieces of a Man (Flying Dutchman, 1971; RCA, 1993); a collection of jazz and soul compositions with full-band accompaniment, including The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.
Free Will (Flying Dutchman, 1972; RCA, 1993); an album split between sung piano songs and spoken word percussion pieces.
The Revolution Will Not be Televised (Flying Dutchman, 1974); a compilation of the early Flying Dutchman material.
Winter in America (Strata/East, 1974; TVT, 1998); a varied collection of songs that remains unified in its vision.
The First Minute of a New Day (Arista, 1975; TVT, 1998); the first to feature the Midnight Band.
From South Africa to South Carolina (Arista, 1975; TVT, 1998); taking an internationalist view of social problems, this is Gil’s most overtly political work since his debut.
It’s Your World (Arista, 1975; TVT, 1998); a live double album.
Bridges (Arista, 1977; TVT, 1998); a solo album featuring Gil’s new band, Amnesia Express.
Secrets (Arista, 1978; TVT, 1998).
The Mind of Gil Scott-Heron (Arista, 1979; TVT, 1998); a compilation of the late ‘70s Arista material.
1980 (Arista, 1980).
Real Eyes (Arista, 1980).
Reflections (Arista, 1981).
Moving Target (Arista, 1982); Gil’s last studio recording before re-emerging in the ‘90s.
The Best of Gil Scott-Heron (Arista, 1984; 1991); an anthology of Gil’s best known work.
Spirits (TVT, 1994); his first new album in 12 years, this is a surprisingly rich and up-to-date record that proves his music is still viable today.
ICEBERG SLIM
Ice-T [from his introduction to Pimp (Payback Press UK, 1996)]:
Although I never met the man, Iceberg Slim was to have a profound effect on my career and life. Even before I knew who he was, I knew the man’s words. Ghetto hustlers in my neighborhood would talk this nasty dialect rich with imagery of sex and humor. My buddies and I wanted to know where they picked it up, and they’d told us, “You better get into some of that Iceberg stuff!”
Robert Beck – the man better known as Iceberg Slim, the “godfather of gangsta rap” – has inspired generations of rappers, from Ice-T and Ice Cube (whose names pay tribute to Slim) Snoop Doggy Dogg (who has vied with Ice-T to play Slim in the film version of his autobiography). Slim’s novels, masterpieces of pulp fiction, have introduced glossaries full of ghetto slang to rappers, readers, and fans who’ve never come near the ‘hood. Though he was a novelist and not a lyricist or musician, he did record one album of his gritty stories set to jazz backing. But even if he’d never entered a recording studio, Iceberg Slim’s huge influence on the language and themes of gangsta rap would remain.
Lyrics Born:
His slang is the shit. When you’re dealing with lyrics, you’re dealing with flipping words in different ways, and hearing new slang is always intriguing. But the biggest thing that I got from him is how everyone’s just trying to make a quick buck because they know it’s going to be gone.
Everything was “cop and blow,” everything is transitive. It really helps when I look at things in life, they’re just so impermanent you really take advantage of the moment. One of the things you learn from reading Iceberg Slim is that everything passes, you can only be a player for so long, you can only be anything for so long. It’s kind of inspirational, the theme – obviously I don’t want to be a pimp – but the observations are interesting.
Beck was born in Chicago in 1918. Though he grew up in Milwaukee and even attended Tuskegee Institute for a short time in the 1930s (where he was a classmate of another African-American literary giant, Ralph Ellison), he soon dropped out and returned to the streets of Chicago. It was there, before he’d reached the age of 20, that Beck embarked on a life of crime. As a pimp he was called Iceberg Slim, a fitting name for the role he assumed as the archetypal black hustler. Tall and thin – dressed in the flashiest threads and a pricey leather overcoat – Slim used his considerable intellect to develop a persona well-suited for his cut-throat world. Like an evil street genius, Slim studied and calculated his every move, using cruelty and intimidation to maintain control over his prostitutes. He didn’t just live the life, he became the game’s top student and Chicago’s most enduring pimp.
Beck continued this way for decades, occasionally landing in jail for his deeds, but always returning to the life when he got out. In the early ‘60s, after escaping from prison and being recaptured, Beck was given 10 months in solitary. During his confinement, Beck had plenty of time to reconsider his life, and when he got out, Beck decided not to return to pimping, but to write about his experiences. The result, published in 1969 under the name Iceberg Slim, was Pimp – The Story of My Life. The novel let readers into a world that was rarely covered by detective novels or Hollywood gangster films: the black criminal underworld. His chilling depiction of the hustling life alternately glorified the thrills and laid down the spills without moralizing. Beck understood the tragedy of black urban life that sometimes necessitated crime. But while he had thrived and ultimately survived the game, he knew most don’t.
With its street jive and rich characterization, Pimp became a huge success, both inside the black community – where, for better or worse, he became something of a folk hero – and outside. Universal Studios even bought the film rights to the book, though they soon determined it was too hot to handle. A movie was made of Trick Baby, Beck’s second book, the fictional tale of a light-skinned hustler whose ability to pass as white provided advantages in crime. By then, the genre of blaxploitation – which Pimp had helped define – was well established, and Iceberg Slim was among the best-selling black novelists in America.
DJ Spooky:
All these rappers read that stuff. People think hip-hop artists don’t read. They do read, but they read books outside the normal zone. They’d much rather read Iceberg Slim than Ernest Hemingway. Everyone’s going to read something that speaks to their own experiences more.
As Beck’s novels moved further away from his personal experiences – such as with Death Wish, an attempt to write about the Italian mafia – they were less successful. Though he’d long been criticized by groups such as the Black Panthers for glorifying his victimization of black women, by the mid-‘70s his own personal guilt and his mother’s disappointment weighed heavily upon him (which he reveals in his collection of essays The Naked Soul of Iceberg Slim). His sole recording, 1976’s Reflections, contrasts his brutal pimp stories with Mama Debt, a son’s final plea for forgiveness. Beck began doing lecture tours at colleges – some of which had begun teaching his works as part of the “rogue novel” tradition – and speaking more directly about the emptiness and destructiveness of criminality. He also became something of an activist in the black community. From that period until his death in 1992, at age 74, Iceberg Slim lived a quiet life. Bob, as he was known to friends, married and had four kids. He continued to speak at schools and occasionally write from his home in Los Angeles. By the time he died, his works had sold over 6 million copies, and his legacy of ghetto horror stories was fast becoming the dominant flavor in hip-hop music.
Ice-T:
Later in my life, I turned back to his works and realized that although he was a pimp, he had become a writer. It was a revelation, because nobody tells you when you’re young that being a criminal or a pimp or a
gangster can lead to anything positive. But because of him, I decided that although I was on the street doing wrong, I could take this experience and turn it into something else, possibly something constructive... Like him, I wanted to be somebody who didn’t just die there out on the streets. I wanted to be able to document some of my experiences, and that’s what I’ve been trying to do in my music for the past decade. I took my rap name in tribute to him, and I’ve never regretted it. [from his introduction to Pimp (Payback Press UK, 1996)]
DISCOGRAPHY
Reflections (Infinite Zero, 1994); a collection of four spoken word poems, covering Slim’s usual subjects, set to jazz backing.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Pimp: The Story of My Life (Holloway Publishing, 1967); Slim’s autobiography that introduced him as a bard of street life. (Note: Ice-T’s introduction is available only in the British edition published by Canongate / Payback Press.)
Trick Baby: The Story of a White Negro (Holloway Publishing, 1967); about a light-skinned black hustler, later made into a movie (note: Ice-T’s introduction is available only in the British edition published by Canongate / Payback Press).
