What
you need to understand before we begin is that hiphop is a culture. It’s a
theory, a philosophy. But like the Tao, or trying to define exactly what “porn”
is, it’s hard to nail down. Hiphop incorporates breakdancing, MCing, DJing, and
graffiti, but it is not defined by those elements alone. It’s a movement that
often gets misrepresented and even mistreated by its ostentatious brother,
mainstream rap.
It is easy to confuse the two, though. Artists in both forms will
sample anything from old funk (James Brown and his contemporaries have been
bottomless cups of inspiration) to jazz (see: A Tribe Called Quest) to rock (DJ
Shadow’s latest opus, The Private Press,
sneaks in some rock samples from the early ’80s). Decisions these artists make
about their beats and rhymes tell a tale of differing viewpoints.
You may hear P. Diddy on the radio
using lifted notes from Sting, or Led Zeppelin, or any of the other artists’
hooks he’s repackaged. You might think P. Diddy is hiphop, but this is where
the line gets blurry. Between hiphop and mainstream rap is the age-old division
of art and commerce. In general, hiphop culture is one of thought and skill, of
artistry and awareness (Eric B. & Rakim, Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Jurassic 5). The stuff that bangs out of your local frat house late on a
Thursday night is all flash and cash, usually with no depth (Nelly, Ja Rule,
Nelly, DMX, Nelly).
Driving around while listening to
the radio, you’ll hear that mainstream rap is in a rut; a very narrow rut of repetitive lyrics and
here-today-gone-tomorrow hooks. It’s close-minded: a get-rich-quick scheme of
small ideas and plastic beats. Hiphop is more open-armed.
“You have to be open to
everything,” says Chuck Cerankosky, an unassuming, genial kid who flies
under the moniker DJ Wagun when he’s DJing with Discolobos, a local turntable
crew that hosts Java’s bi-weekly Full Circle. “There’s no rule that we
have, like, ‘You can’t buy this, you can’t play this.’ It just has to be good
and it has to be positive.”
Poetry readings and live jazz are
already staples of Java’s week, but Full Circle adds an element that might seem
a little incongruous to the coffeeshop atmosphere. But the event makes more and
more sense as the evening advances.
Cerankosky and another third of
Discolobos, Ben Gonyo aka DJ Brasby, set up a table, two turntables, a couple
of speakers, a drum machine for a little extra color, and a microphone. It’s
the same now as it was when hiphop first established its roots in the ’70s. The
drum machines are as different as a Ford Excursion is from a Gremlin, and the
turntables are much more expensive, but DJing and MCing remain a perennially
accessible approach to making music.
For the first hour, while the early Sunday-evening
loungers are finishing their drinks, Cerankosky and Gonyo spin records and
homemade beats while the night crowd — the Full Circle crowd — slowly shows
up. Someone brings a swatch of linoleum and unrolls it on the sidewalk; there
will be breakdancing tonight.
The atmosphere is genial and
positive; it’s nothing like a Tupperware party, but rather a meeting of
musicians and ideas. Sure it’s clichéd, but these are the kids you imagine as extras in movies about coffeeshops. No
one is iced out, no one arrives with an agenda of attitude. This is just a
bunch of kids in love with a musical form.
“The real fun starts when the MCs come down,”
Cerankosky says while trading beats with Gonyo. Gonyo starts a pattern on the
drum machine and Cerankosky walks over and smiles, commenting excitedly. The
two share Discolobos with Jessie Oakner (D.D. R.E.J.) who has temporarily
relocated to New York City. All three spend a good chunk of their private lives
working on solo projects, most of which include beats they create after hours
of digging through record bins. They meet for the occasional gig and Full
Circle. New beats are always shared with pride, and they cheerily poke through
each other’s latest vinyl purchases.
Discolobos have enlisted Hassaan
Mackey as Full Circle’s host MC. Having recently won “best
freestyler” at a local contest, it’s easy to see why Hassaan stands out.
By 10 p.m. enough people have arrived to begin the freestyle portion of the evening,
and Hassaan produces rhymes and lyrics with ease and style. At times he
incorporates people and sudden events — friends who have just walked up or
the motorcycles that drive by flaring their engines — into a seamless flow of
words.
“It’s like a poetry night with
beats,” Gonyo says.
You’re welcome to take the
microphone, as long as you can hold your own against the standards of the crowd
around you. There’s no ill-will, there are no hard feelings. Handshakes and
respect are given to anyone who makes his way here. Small-fry MCs who pass the
mic quickly after getting lost in their own misuse of the beats are always
eager to try again. The best MCs — Hassaan and a few others — reappear with
the mic in hand and chop away at thoughts and issues relevant to the moment.
Bent over their turntables with
headphones hanging like collars around their necks, Discolobos spin a dizzying
array of records and drum patterns: anything from their own stuff to Mos Def,
D.I.T.C., Large Professor, and The Roots. MCs pass the mic while breakdancers
swing their way about the makeshift dance floor. The crowd continues to grow.
The usual Java’s caffeine junkies have spilled out into Gibbs Street; the crowd
of Full Circle onlookers parades about with cups of coffee and lemonade; a high
school graduation has moved in from the Eastman Theatre to join the
festivities. The heat affects no one. Cerankosky leans over to Gonyo and says,
“It’s like a party.”
The latest incarnation of Full
Circle has been around for about a year. “It’s almost completely
word-of-mouth,” Cerankosky says. “Some nights are bigger than others.
And some nights it’s 9:30 and no one’s here, and I get nervous. But then an
hour later it’s crazy.”
“Last beat” is called.
It’s midnight and Gonyo has to work early in the morning. The crowd begins to
break up. Cars lope off. Flyers are handed out. Hiphop disciples bid each other
good night. Java’s employees are taking out the trash and flipping chairs. It
has been a good night, and everyone leaves happy.
The fact that Full Circle happens
right down the street from the prestigious Eastman Theatre is not lost. Isn’t
this what a city’s supposed to be
like? A symphony hall at one end of the street, hiphop at the other. Rochester
will never be New York City. But we should be happy that a crowd this big can
get together under the name of hiphop and spread some positivity. See you
Sunday.
Full Circle takes place
from 9 p.m. to midnight every odd-numbered Sunday at Java’s.
This article appears in Jun 26 – Jul 2, 2002.
