— Simon Mills
Kayfabe is a professional wrestling term for protecting the secrets of the industry. In the pre-internet days, the magazines and broadcasters acted as if it were a real, competitive sport even if we either knew or suspected that it was all scripted. (I was in denial about the true nature of pro wrestling for much of my youth even though it did always make me wonder how the guy performing the airplane spin never got dizzy when it seemed to almost kill his opponent) Wrestlers were expected to strictly observe kayfabe and not just in the ring. Good guys and bad guys had separate locker rooms and it was considered a no-no for foes to be seen traveling or partying together. Just as the magician isn't supposed to give away their tricks, wrestlers had to act as though it were all legit.
There was a time when the makers of house and rap music observed their own form of kayfabe. Sampling was done liberally, without any thought to getting legal permission. Club DJs had spent the better part of a decade making their own mixes of danceflood favourites and this was carried over when they started to become pop stars. The sight of a young tech geek backspinning a 12" record on Top of the Pops may have looked cool to an entire generation of even younger tech geeks but it wasn't a great visual for the public at large. Mark Moore of S'Express had the idea to go on stage to mime their magnificent chart topping hit "Theme from S'Express" with a three attractive girls as they all "played" instruments and "sang" parts that were all sampled. Apart from this being more of an arresting visual, it also gave off the impression that acts like S'Express were proper bands just like Europe and UB40.
Take the promo for "I'm Chillin'". Opening with a closeup of Kurtis Blow in a trench coat, fedora and shades, he lipsynchs a very computerized "Transformers...don't come in disguise" before he introduces "Tee-Bone", one of three percussionists to appear on the record. Yet, they're joined on stage by a much fuller band. A guitarist, bassist and keyboardist are all present despite the fact that they aren't credited on the accompanying album Kingdom Blow (though the group Trouble Funk are thanked and credited in the video). Is it all sampled? A part of me reckons he's nicked the whole thing even though there aren't any of those cliche Funky Drummer/"ah yeah" sounds that would soon take over house music. Or maybe it was all created organically by Blow and his colleagues in the studio. I'm probably too jaded by excessive hip hop combos featuring rappers, DJs and an assortment of armed guards, spiritual advisors and anti-Semetic professors to recognize a time when sampling wasn't at its backbone. Go-go had been a branch of funk originating in Washington D.C. and had always had real musicians. In marrying (in the words of Simon Mills) it with rap, Blow could rely on the best of both worlds with some first rate percussionists working alongside mixers.
Speaking of which, this is pretty old school stuff. Blow is a unconventionally conventional rapper with a diction that could just about pass as his normal speaking voice. There's nothing in the way of goofball antics or put upon toughness and it almost seems like a novelty hip hop number like the "Super Bowl Shuffle". This was still a time in which rap's pedigree didn't go back especially far but neither was it held back by much. Adversarial relationships have always been a part of hip hop but it's refreshing to hear someone express disinterest in it all. Sure, he wants to take male rappers to task for how they diss women ("don't forget LaToya and the Real Roxanne") but he's not out to steal anyone's thunder only to give a boost to himself.
And that's another bit of the old timey rap to look back on with nostalgia: the self-obsession at its heart. Blow isn't trying to impress everyone by showing off his bling and/or the wide variety of female companions he has at his "disposal", only that he's pretty damn ace at what he does. Do I necessarily agree? Well, he's fine, doesn't dazzle the ear but neither does he make me want to hurl. Not much of a recommendation, I know, but there's something to be said for hip hop you can just listen to, enjoy and then switch off. I'm quite happy to be indifferent to a track like "I'm Chillin'" — just as I'm content to believe in kayfabe rap, convinced everyone's playing real instruments and that's Kurtis Blow himself doing the DJ scratching with his voice. You know, just like that guy from the Police Academy movies.
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Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Spandau Ballet: "Through the Barricades"
Gary and Martin Kemp reviewed the singles last time round which means they missed their shot at trashing their latest by just a fortnight. What, they would've been complimentary towards it with Martin possibly even having it go over Lionel Richie as his SOTF? Given how they mercilessly bashed damn-near everyone (including each other's picks), you'd expect fair and impartial treatment of their own contribution. At any rate, Mills does his part in giving the Spands a good (and well-deserved) arse kicking. Having done a stirring three-song, twenty minute set a year earlier at Live Aid, they regrouped in '86 just so everybody could be aware of just how much they still care about stuff. In this case, it's Northern Ireland and (possibly) a Romeo and Juliet-esque tragedy about lovers caught on opposite sides of ver barricades. As Mills says, it's well-intentioned but horrible and the only guitar work of Gary manages to salvage it a bit. Tony Hadley sounds in over his head, though, to be fair, it's no worse than when Simple Minds gave peace in Ulster a go and they were brainy. Dead brainy.
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