Grand Wizard Theodore and the Fantastic released this 12" in 1982 on the Soul-O-Wax label. You might know the Fantastic 5 from Wildstyle (where they were known as the Fantastic Freaks), or maybe you are already up on the crew: Waterbed Kev, Master Rob, Dot-A-Rock, Prince Whipper Whip and Ruby Dee.
For me, they are the only crew that can stand up to the greatness of the Cold Crush in that era. Not that there weren't a host of other amazing crews, and I gotta say that Funky Four + 1 are my all-time favorite, but Cold Crush/Fantastic have that ill chemistry that makes them great.
If you don't know about african funk/afrobeat music, you need to go visit Frank at Voodoo Funk.
Even if you think you know, you don't know like your man does.
He regularly posts his finds, and his latest mix has been on constant rotation. He has me dreaming of wax from Ghana. Add to the amazing music his candid tales of vinyl archeology and worldwide DJ adventure, and you have a contender for best music blog on the web.
I had no intention of going so long between posts, but this week was kinda rough at work, and any bits of free time that I could find were devoted to bike rides in an attempt to reduce the stress level. This Diplo mix makes for good work out music.
An alias for Grand Master Flash and the Furious 5 yielded this masterpiece from the first year of hiphop on wax: 1979. Looks like this came out on Brass Records which yielded some good 12s from the era.
Everyone's flow is a lot more raw on this than on the Furious 5 songs, and I think everyone loves this one for its raw energy.
I guess my friend Mike has known for a long time. He spent 10 years tracking down the history and artifacts of Colorado psyche/garage music in the 60s. He can break down the science on not only the bands and the records, but also on the clubs and recording studios. He really knows his sh*t. Gear Fab records reached to him out and put together a compilation called Psychedelic States: Colorado in the 60s (couldn't find an image of the cover).
Even at 50 tracks deep, the quality never slips. I had no idea anything this good/freaky could come out of Denver, Greeley, Pueblo, Colorado Springs, and Manitou Springs (Say what?). Needless to say, Mike has done his homework.
I can't remember the first time I heard hiphop music. I think it must have been Run DMC. That really resonated with me. Before then I always had the Rock'n'Roll hits of the 50s and the Motown classics of the '60s in my Radio Shack walkman, but I remember that You Be Illin was my sh*t. It took me some years to track down any other hiphop from the early 80s when I was younger. I loved the sound, but didn't really have the resources to acquire it. In a Colorado town of 100,000, before the internets, and with a steady diet of country music from my parent's stereo, I filed that drum machine sound away. But I didn't forget. I think this probably formed the basis of my beatdigging lifestyle.
Sometime around the end of Junior High, I found a cassette that was titled something like 'The Early Years of Profile' which was dope (does anyone else remember this thing?). It contained a stack of classics from that label (Fly Guy, Fresh, etc), but I kept rewinding to hear one song in particular called Beat Bop over and over again. Knowing what I know now, it was a good introduction to that first generation of hiphop records (I don't want to get into the significance of Rammelzee vs. K-Rob now, but if you don't know this record you need to do your homework). In fact, Beat Bop launched a lifelong obsession with the 79-83 era in hiphop records. They don't really turn up in Denver all that much (although Trickeration made my summer last year), so I had to wait for the world-class diligence and obsession of European collectors to finally compile, bootleg, and open the door for me to finally hear all those obscure classics I'd been reading about for so long.
On the real, why is it that some many other countries hold American music so dear while we forget our own history? I'm looking at you England/Japan/Germany. I guess a 'thanks' is in order.
When the first generation of rap crews was performing live, they rocked to the doubles their DJ brought to the jam. When it was time to record, they didn't have samplers, so they rocked to backing bands. Hence the name for this generation of rap records being called Disco Rap. Its a subject that is dear to my heart, and there is a lot of music to share, so stay tuned.
To kick it off, peep this video featuring two of my favorites from this era: Granmaster Caz aka Casanova Fly (spell that out letter by letter and then tell me Sugar Hill Gang wasn't biters!) of The Cold Crush Brothers and Sha-Rock of The Funky Four Plus One. Just in case, you were thinking these were some dinosaurs that don't have any relevance in 2007, we'll start here:
I love reggae music. I can't afford to buy it though. Not that a whole lot of reggae vinyl turns up in Denver, but even when it does, I force myself to turn a blind eye. I can't afford to buy up all the music in all the genres I love. I would be broke in no time. I did make an exception for Tenor Saw. My man Tim had the LP last time I was at the Austin record show, and I couldn't pass it up.
Beyond the ultimate classic Ring the Alarm (on the almighty Stalag riddim), I fell for Fever and Lots of Sign the very first time I heard them. Come to find out, Tenor Saw was killed in 1988. Three short years is not a lot time for creative output to make a lasting impression, but your man did just that.
The news of his passing has left me in a strange place the last couple days. According to James Brown's autobiography, the Byrd family took him in after he got out of prison as a youth, and they were together until the mid 70s as far as I know. Thats as official as it gets.
I'm not sure quite how to explain my fascination with this record. Simply put, it is a soul record. One of countless soul records in my crates. As I've moved past my twenties, my appreciation for soul music has increased deeply, and these records get more spins. I'm getting soft. Its true. I'm ok with that. I'm ok balancing out James Brown with The Whispers. I have a new appreciation for Curtis Mayfield albums. I'm not fighting this new reality. But still, this album is something else altogether.
It came out on the GSF label which was also home to the mighty Skull Snaps, Joe Quaterman & Free Soul, and a number of other coveted funk/soul releases. In fact, I've only ever found 1 weak album on the label: Avoid this.
The Classic Example is produced in a strange sort of way by W. Stevenson and C. Colbert. There is clearly a very specific vision for the feel of the album, and it feels like it was meticulously crafted. Big strings. Reverb. It recalls bits of the Wall of Sound, but it feels different. Maybe updated, or maybe just the same ideas in the hands of different producers. I can't quite put my finger on it.
It retains some of the innocence of the late '60s, even though it was released a few years into the '70s. This innocence is reflected in the lyrics, the vocal performance, and in the production as well. The singers are very capable, and they have the best qualities of soul singers: Honesty, Vulnerability, and Sweetness. Whether or not it is, every story seems true. That sweetness makes the pain that much more bitter.
My copy of this isn't the cleanest, and it took several passes to get the levels right when I was recording this. I listened to the first side 4 or 5 times through in a row, and by the time I got it right, I was a bit drained. Its like that.
The session was backed by top players: Paul Humphrey, Wilton Felder, and Joe Sample. The musicianship is outstanding, but I wouldn't have guessed these were the players. They all lay in the cut. I always wonder when session guys of this caliber show up on small label LPs whether or not they would ever think about the session again. I wonder if these guys even remember this LP. I wonder if they have any idea how coveted it is today.
