More than a year after the murder of George Floyd, social justice has perforated the mainstream like never before. It's on our bookshelves and shop windows; corporate America hires diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) officers; media representation has taken center stage. This might spark suspicion: Where was the POC hiring spree before an innocent man was murdered in public? 

But to Common—a three-time-GRAMMY-winning conscious rapper just as famous for his music as his rallying for social equity—we need not assume the worst of people; it's just human nature. Sure, those posting slogans so as not to get yelled at will always exist, but sometimes it takes gl​​obal trauma for people with busy schedules to open their eyes and take notice.

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"Everyone was going about their business, and I've been one who went out about my business," Common tells GRAMMY.com over the phone. "But when things get drastic, sometimes you pay attention to it: 'Man, this can't happen. This is not good. This is inhumane.' The inhumanity of what people saw last year has changed people's thoughts." You can't say we don't live in a different world now, and it all started from within—which Common's new album is all about.

A Beautiful Revolution Pt. 2—which follows 2020's Pt. 1 and just arrived September 10—inverts the purview of its call-to-arms predecessor, homing in on how external change flows from within. This understanding permeates its best tunes, like "When We Move," "Set It Free" and "Star Of The Gang." 

When he recently performed the former song on "The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon" with Black Thought and Seun Kuti, an infectious sense of brotherhood radiated through the TV screen. And it's that spirit of conciliation, he says—not yelling and screaming—that will catalyze true change.

Read on for an in-depth interview with Common about how he learned to freestyle, the humanistic vision behind A Beautiful Revolution Pt. 2 and how he keeps J Dilla's spirit aflame every day.

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This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.

Nice to meet you, Common. How are you feeling?

I'm just really inspired and feeling happy and excited about the new album. I just did an L.A. Leakers freestyle on their station. You've got to check it out if you get a chance. It's these DJs and they call themselves the L.A. Leakers. They have a segment where they have people come through and do freestyles. It's getting a lot of buzz, so I'm happy. I'm getting a lot of good calls from friends at home. 

There's nothing like when your friends that you grew up with get inspired and sparked about what you're doing. It's a good feeling.

Do you remember when you learned to freestyle? How did you train your brain in that way?

I don't know if it was training. I guess there's a practice to it, but I really just dove into it and started doing it and realized it's something I love to do and fun in the way it made me and my friends feel—people that were around.

I was actually thinking about it the other day: "When did I start actually freestyling?" I don't know the actual time period, but I do remember being in gym class in high school—probably around my sophomore year—and freestyling with one of my classmates and friends who used to beatbox good. He would always have songs and ideas that were real vulgar. I would kick these other rhymes—and I would say some wild stuff too, sometimes—but it was just fun.

That's when I remember actually freestyling more and more. My name is Rashid, so they'd say, "Rashid, kick a freestyle!" I would get into it, and they'd freestyle with me. That's when I started working on the craft. I don't remember where and when it started.

I imagine it's like unlocking part of your brain, or stopping the overthinking part.

The word "free" is in it because you truly have to have a free mind and spirit to do it. I've been around people who aren't super-great rappers, but they're great freestylers because they're able to be spontaneous and say fun things and not take themselves too seriously. 

I think that was one of the things for me: Understanding that it's OK to mess up. It's OK that it's not perfect. It's OK to have a couple of bars that ain't as dope as the other ones. There's a freedom in letting go and letting your thoughts come out and express yourself in that raw [form]. You don't have a lot of time to think.

Honestly, the things we love about certain aspects of music: James Brown and those guys, some of that was just the feeling of the music. They were playing it and taking in what was in the moment. One of my favorite artists, John Coltrane—what he's doing is improvising in certain moments and just playing what comes to him and what he feels.

I think that's what great vocalists do. Ultimately, that's what freestyling is. It's a feeling.

Read More: ​​'Giant Steps' At 60: Why John Coltrane's Classic Hard Bop Album Is More Than A Jazz-School Worksheet

Now that you mention it, I imagine the roots of freestyling go back to early American folk and work songs—extemporaneous vocalizations.

Yeah! Now that we're talking about it, it's funny: You're making me want to think about "When did people start coming up with songs right on the spot?"

It is something you see artists in other genres of music do sometimes. PJ, who I worked with on this new album—she worked with me on A Beautiful Revolution Pt. 1—I've never seen a vocalist come up with so many songs in a moment. She basically could be a cypher, freestyling. She has that type of ability.

I definitely see people in other genres. I've seen Erykah Badu do it at a performance, but she also raps, too. Erykah can rap. I think PJ can, too. In this era, I think people who do it have some sort of hip-hop connection.

Read More: Didn't Cha Know?: 20 Years of Erykah Badu's 'Mama's Gun'

Before we dive into the new album, I've got to ask: Who do you think is the greatest freestyle rapper of all time?

[Considers the question carefully.] I actually think that Lupe Fiasco is up there.

Oh, wow.

Because I heard him freestyling and I was like, "Yo, this dude is incredible." It's really special what he was doing. I think he's one of the greatest freestylers I've ever heard.

Is the magic of a master freestyler the idea that they can spill out something that seems carefully written? Or does it have more to do with a raw, rough-and-tumble quality that can't be preconceived?

I think it's saying something where it's like "Man, did he write that?" The rawness is going to be there. 

And let's be clear: If we're talking about freestyling in front of a crowd, you want to keep it simple. You want to have something that people can hear. You don't want to go over their heads. But if you're doing it for a radio show or something, you want to have some lines in there because people are going to go back and listen. People that love hip-hop study lyrics. They listen to the lyrics and play it again and say, "What did he say here? What did he say there?"

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To me, the highest level of freestyling is being able to not only have the raw element but be able to say something clever where they can feel like, "Damn! How did you come up with that with a nice simile or a good metaphor within the freestyle?" I've been around people who can kick a story in a freestyle, which is amazing.

Even though you've been doing this forever, do you feel like you have a ways to go as a freestyle rapper?

Bro, I definitely feel like I could get better. I have a ways to go. I know that I could get better. I want to evolve and grow and expand. I want to do that only as a freestyle rapper, but as a writer, as an artist, as a musician. I just want to grow.

Let's face it: No artist and musician—or human being, for that matter—has reached perfection. You might have some really divine moments where the song is just exceptional and incredible, but you still get better from there. That's what's inspiring me, to be honest, as a musician and artist: "I could do better." There are things I don't know in music, obviously. There are things that I'm learning and places I haven't gone musically.

Listen Up: From Aretha Franklin To Public Enemy, Here's How Artists Have Amplified Social Justice Movements Through Music

As I listened to the new album, I mulled over the word "revolution." We hear it all the time these days, as well as similar ones like "reckoning," but it's been commodified and commercialized over the decades. What does it connote to you right now?

I think it means radical change. That was a word that always stuck with me. It's a go-to saying for me: "It's a revolution."

I heard the song "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" when I was young. One of my best friends used to play it. Even though I didn't know everything Gil Scott-Heron was talking about, I heard the word. Basically, as I started to discover Bob Marley and KRS-One and Public Enemy, my interpretation of "revolution" began to expand and I started to discover what it meant to me at that time, or what they may have meant by it.

My definition of a revolution has now opened up even more because I used to think of the revolt aspect of revolution. The overthrowing of systems and things that have not been beneficial to people—the people. To Black people. To brown people. I thought about overthrowing and changing those systems. But the more I started to learn things about life, I started to understand that a revolution was even beyond that.

To be really clear with you, I even thought of using the title A Beautiful Revolution because one of my heroes, a woman named Assata Shakur who was a Black Panther and was exiled in Cuba, had a quote about how revolution is love and treating your partner well. Revolution is honoring yourself. She was saying all these beautiful things.

At one point, she said "Revolution has beauty in it." I was like, "Ah, yes! Yes! Yes!" It's still a radical change for me, but the radical change may be the way I treat myself. Changing the way I approach my mornings. Changing the ways that I talk to my daughter or listen to her. Changing the way I think about my diet.

I think about revolution now not only as "We've got to dethrone the system!" It's more like, "Man, how did that change happen within me, within myself? How do I issue that change to other people—people close to me and strangers?" That's what makes revolution palatable and valuable for me now. That's what my definition of it is right now.

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You're interested in internal revolution first. Perhaps cleaning your yard before you offer to clean your neighbor's.

Yes. Within this project, A Beautiful Revolution Pt. 2, I felt like that was the mission. The intention is to put out energy that's like, "What's love? What's self-empowerment? Where can we find joy? How do we create hope for ourselves in times where things have been difficult?"

There's been a lot of hurt out there. There's been a lot of loss and a lot of the unknown. A lot of change for us. But I still believe in the power of human beings and the power of God. We can be positive and put good things out there and create happier days and times.

It starts inside. There could be a lot of things going on outside and, depending on how I approach them and look at them and receive them, it'll determine the way I look at them and what my mind-state is. I'm talking about the internal revolution first and then looking outside and seeing what we could do to change them.

Can I get your opinion on how social justice has perforated the mainstream lately?

There's definitely a commercialization of social justice out there. A lot of companies we see are making it like that's what they're about and that wasn't what they were about two years ago, three years ago, or 10 years ago.

But you know what? I feel like it's OK. Because I would rather you start doing some things, even though it's not for the right reason at first. If you're helping some people, it's still healthy and you're benefiting some lives. In the course of that, you will feel like "Man, this is the right thing to do." Maybe it becomes more of a practice.

I don't know if you've ever heard the saying "Fake it 'til you make it"? People will tell you, "Man, just say you're great until you become great." I don't mean you don't put in the work until you get there, but I'm saying it's a great step if people are even putting it out there. I see Black women in a lot of commercials now. Or kids getting opportunities in Hollywood. Film studios are like, "We've got to get some Black creators in this, and brown creators and people of color and women."

Even if, at the beginning of it, it was just because they got forced to do it and there was a society-wide wave going on, it's still a good wave. This can actually benefit us. And the more we do it, it becomes who we are—a reality to us. You also, by doing it, are going to invite and attract people who are sincere about it. They can help change the real scope of it.

After George Floyd was killed, I had a director I worked with on a commercial call me. He said, "Man, listen: I own one of the biggest commercial studios in the country. Do you know any young Black directors that I can help develop? Even if they haven't directed commercials, do you know anybody?" And I gave him a list of some people. 

I don't know if he used the people I knew, but he found some directors and got them working. To me, that was a sincere thing. He used the platform that he had and really had been affected enough to say, "This is how I'm contributing to bettering the world and changing things. I have power and I have this privilege and I've been paying attention, so I'm going to do it now."

My long answer to that is: Yes, social justice has been commercialized, and giving Black people a fair shake, that's been part of the wave. But I think it's a great wave and it can become part of the DNA of our society at some point, the more we do it. I'm happy to see the opportunities coming.

While what your friend did is beautiful and commendable, stories like that can also invite cynical readings: "Why weren't those opportunities being extended back when an innocent man wasn't being slaughtered on the news?"

Well, listen, listen. Let's face it. I've been guilty of this too. There are certain things that go on in the world that we just don't pay attention to. Some of the struggles that Black people have been experiencing in this country, some people didn't pay attention to.

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Man, the life of George Floyd is something special. To many, he was an average human being, but him losing his life in the way he did really opened a lot of people's eyes. It really changed things. Some people, by seeing that—years ago, like I said, they weren't on that. They weren't thinking. Everyone was going about their business, and I've been one who went about my business.

I was doing work for a lot of inner-city youth and Black people, but there were issues going on that I may not have paid attention to. But when things get drastic, sometimes you pay attention to it: "Man, this can't happen. This is not good. This is inhumane." The inhumanity of what people saw last year has changed people's thoughts.

That's a really compassionate take on it. It's just human nature: We're busy. We can't grasp all the ills in the world at the same time. What I'm getting from what you're saying is that it's OK to respond to a stimulus. It doesn't make you a bandwagon-jumper, necessarily.

It is. If you're doing it from the intention of "Listen, I've got to do this because it's for my business. This business has to work and if I don't say anything about Black people at this point, our business will fall," the truth will come out at some point and it won't last long what you're doing. It will be revealed at some point.

But it's OK to be like, "I didn't even know much about this struggle, but now I'm seeing this has changed me." To be honest, that's what life offers you. Life gives you that gift, in a way. People don't need to lose their lives for certain experiences to change us, but that's what happened, in many ways. If somebody says "Man, I didn't know anything about this and I didn't care and was just going about my business but now I do," I respect 'em because we're all human.

There was a time I was sitting there doing a documentary on Black America and this author was like, "Man, do you ever think about the plight of women?" I was like, "Man, I talk about it sometimes, but I haven't been involved in the fight in a way I could be!" It was a wake-up call.

So, my point is: We all sometimes need to be awakened to things going on with other peoples' struggles. There's somewhere in my humanity where I say "If there's something to contribute towards helping this cause, I'm going to do it."

Let's talk about the new album a little bit. What did you feel you wanted to say with A Beautiful Revolution Pt. 2, that you didn't necessarily get to on Pt. 1? Or is it all kind of one thing, just divided in half?

I think, on Pt. 2, I got to look at the hopeful side of the struggle. Pt. 1 was written while we were dealing with the deaths of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. The election was going on. There was a lot of dissension and conflict and hurt and angst and it was a charged era. I consider that music movement music.

But Pt. 2 is, "What is the next step in the revolution?" As you spoke to earlier, I said, "You know, we use that word a lot, but what's the next step in it? What's the progression in the revolution?" In Pt. 2, I felt like I was saying, "Man, having a good time is the revolution." That's part of the revolution, to find places where you enjoy life. Also, giving yourself self-love is a revolution.

That's why, in this song I've got called "Set it Free," I'm telling a woman, "Don't let anybody—this guy—determine your happiness. You create that and then you can bring your happiness to them. But don't let somebody else outside of you determine your happiness. You've got it in you."

Common. Photo: Brian Bowen Smith

Is there a part in revolution where we may have to interact with or even dignify people whose views we find reprehensible? We're in the era of "distancing yourself" from others, but I have my doubts about that. You may have to have a heart-to-heart with them.

Man, you and I think alike in certain ways. I truly believe that people who think like me—or may think the total opposite—I still don't mind sitting down and dealing with them. I like to deal with them. And we might come out still not agreeing, but I heard you, you heard me. It gives you a better understanding, and hopefully gives room for me to be me and you to be you.

Now, if the person is consistently not going to listen or give you the time of day, at a certain point, you've got to make a choice. Like, "Man, this ain't going nowhere. I've sat down with this person five times. I've sat down with this organization five times." 

But otherwise, I remember being on the campaign trail doing some canvassing. We were in Jacksonville and there was this woman hollering out how she was basically pro-Trump. I went over there and talked to her. She was talking about abortion and how she'd never vote Democrat. I was just listening to her, and I didn't even try to convince her too much. I was just trying to be respectful and nice to her.

I think one of the things we overlook is just listening to the other side or somebody who doesn't think like you. Just listening to them is something. It's paying respect. It's necessary. I believe heart-to-hearts are necessary. That's where growth comes in. If I sit down with people who always think like me, I'm not even learning anything new!

And the change I want to see: I ain't changing them. The church members who need to hear the preacher are the people in the streets. Now, I'm using church as a metaphor, but I think the real messages should go out into the hoods and places where people don't want to hear what you're talking about. You hear them out and you give them [a new way] to think about things.

If you want to change people's hearts, the worst possible way is to insult them and call them names. They'll never listen to you after that.

That never works for anybody. It takes some work because we all have feelings. If our feelings are hurt and somebody says something or we feel emotional about something, we want to spew out what we feel. I'm saying that to say: You've got to be slow to anger. 

If you want to get a point across, you're never heard when you're yelling at someone. The person you're yelling at won't respond, "Oh, man, I actually hear you. That was powerful what you said. I receive your message," because they've been screamed at. How can they receive it if you're screaming at them? You're already attacking them. Anyone who's being attacked is going to defend themselves in some way.

On the topic of community and connection, tell me what you appreciate about your collaborators on A Beautiful Revolution Pt. 2—their individual artistic voices and what they brought to the table.

Well, Brittany Howard is one of the most gifted, individualistic, talented and true-to-her-artistic-tastes artists that I've been able to be around or even, honestly, listen to. She knows what her voice is and ain't going to let that be diluted.

She's so true to what she believes is quality. When we did the song "Saving Grace," she was like, "This is what grace is to me." We talked it through and worked through some more ideas. I was like, "I want to say something about grace," and she was talking to me about how grace is power. I was like, "Keep that part. Just make sure grace is in there. That's what I want the song to be about." Her perspective needed to be heard. I really appreciated it and think it's super dope.

Man, I love her. And then Marcus King is so soulful. What he brought to the song "Poetry" was grit. We wanted to feel like somebody was sitting on the porch singing, and he did that. I just love his music and think he's a really special vocalist.

PJ is featured on a lot of songs. As I mentioned earlier, she's one of the dopest songwriters and one of the most stylish vocalists I've been around. The way she styles with her vocals is just unique and fresh. She can do a lot of different things.

Then: Black Thought! Black Thought is one of the most prolific and incredible MCs to ever exist. He's been an inspiration for me forever. I've worked with him forever. But when I heard the song "When We Move," I was like, "I wanted something that sounds like a Fela Kuti kind of hook." Black Thought introduced me to Fela Kuti's music back in '96. 

So I was like, "Man, Tariq, can you give me a hook? I want to talk about how we move—the way we as Black people move. I want to celebrate our Blackness and the influence we've had on the planet." He came in with that hook and he brought Seun Kuti to the table, who is Fela's son. It tied everything together and also made it international to me. It made it a global-sounding song to me. I was geeked about it—excited!

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And then the poets I have—Jessica Care Moore and Morgan Parker—I mean, they're incredible writers. The poem at the beginning, "Push Out the Noise," says so much. We had a conversation and I was telling her about how this album is about being still and what I've found in that stillness. What I found is the joy and happiness and power within me and different things that are positive for me in being quiet. She took that and wrote a beautiful piece.

Morgan Parker's the poet who ended the album. She's an inspiration to me because I read her poetry and then I want to go write. I love poets who do that for me, like James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, Nikki Giovanni or Dr. Maya Angelou.

Those are some of the collaborators, and I've got to give it up for the collaborators who produced it. Karriem Riggins produced this album and it's co-produced by Isaiah Sharkey, who plays guitar and other instruments and is one of the [greatest] cats around. He's from Chicago. Boom Bishop is the bass player, who also came up with some of the tunes. 

Collaborating with him, I feel like the music goes to so many places, and this album has taken me to places I've never been before musically. That feels incredible for me, because I've been making music professionally for some years now. I've never rhymed to a beat like "Get it Right" or "Set it Free" and I've definitely never rhymed to a beat like "Poetry."

I remember doing "When We Move" on "Jimmy Fallon" and Jimmy was like, "What sample is that?" I was like, "That's not a sample, man! Those cats are playing that!"

Read More: GRAMMY Rewind: Watch The Roots And Erykah Badu Gleefully Win Their First GRAMMY in 2000

Speaking of: How did it feel to play on "The Tonight Show"? That must have been like a family reunion since you've worked with the Roots and Soulquarians so much.

Dude, that was so much fun, man. I was so excited. The Roots are my family and Black Thought is my brother, man. I love him. We wanted to present something that was fresh. We videoed Seun Kuti in Nigeria. We also had a director work on some visuals for us.

I felt like we were rocking that joint. I felt excited to be there. I think you can see the excitement on my face. My mother was like, "Man, that song is incredible! You rocked that!" so it's always good to have a little love from Mom.

I've been revisiting Like Water For Chocolate, which turned 20 last year. When you think of those times, what immediately comes to mind?

Being around some of the greatest musicians and artists that the planet has ever seen. D'Angelo is timeless and incredible. Erykah Badu. Questlove is a genius. We see that not only with his music,  but the movie Summer of Soul is a masterpiece, man. Being able to go from one studio and work with Mos Def to working with Bilal, and then Jill Scott coming to rock with us. Talib [Kweli] had been around; Dave Chapelle came through the studio, just hanging out.

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Everybody loved J Dilla and wanted him [to participate]. He was in Detroit, so he would come out to work with us. Electric Lady was the place we worked, and then I just remember flying out to Detroit and creating with Dilla—really developing a sound that was inspired by Fela Kuti and Slum Village. I came up with my own thing, but these producers gave me the best music.

We were going to do a 20-year celebration, but things couldn't happen with that. So I'm grateful that that album exists. Some people come to me and be like, "Like Water For Chocolate is my favorite of your albums!" and a lot of musicians who play say, "Man, I was digging into that album."

And that's one of the things I want to say: I'm a hip-hop artist, but I'm also a musician. I don't really play any instrument at a professional level yet, but the point is, I love when musicians tell me they love my music.

Can you reflect on J Dilla a little bit? I'm sure he still feels like a presence in your life.

J Dilla will always have a presence in my life. He was the most gifted musician that I had worked with. His music hit people in ways I had never seen music influence. People reacted to him. I walked into a studio with J Dilla and Pharrell got down on his knees and was like, bowing down to him: "You the god!" James Poyser, Questlove and D'Angelo used to call him "the god": "That's the god right there!"

And his spirit: He was a good dude, man. He was dynamic, meaning he was a Detroit dude who entertained and drove around in a Range Rover. But he was sampling Gentle Giant and Herbie Hancock and Dave Brubeck. He was so, so musically gifted and just a wonderful friend in his soul.

I love him and will keep his presence. It's around. It's here. It will continue to impact me. At times, I feel that presence influencing and inspiring me and I'm grateful for it.

Do you feel that your best work is ahead of you?

Yes. Yes. I do feel my best work is ahead of me. I feel that I'm learning more and more about music and life, and that's allowing me to be my highest self and creative self.

Common Tells The Stories Behind 'Like Water For Chocolate' For Its 20th Anniversary

"You don't know that people are going to 40 years later call you up and say, ‘Can you talk about this record from 40 years ago?’"

That was Cory Robbins, former president of Profile Records, reaction to speaking to Grammy.com about one of the first albums his then-fledgling label released. Run-DMC’s self-titled debut made its way into the world four decades ago this week on March 27, 1984 and established the group, in Robbins’ words, "the Beatles of hip-hop." 

Rarely in music, or anything else, is there a clear demarcation between old and new. Styles change gradually, and artistic movements usually get contextualized, and often even named, after they’ve already passed from the scene. But Run-DMC the album, and the singles that led up to it, were a definitive breaking point. Rap before it instantly, and eternally, became “old school.” And three guys from Hollis, Queens — Joseph "Run" Simmons, Jason "Jam Master Jay" Mizell, Darryl "D.M.C." McDaniels — helped turn a burgeoning genre on its head.

What exactly was different about Run-DMC? Some of the answers can be glimpsed by a look at the record’s opening song. "Hard Times" is a cover of a Kurtis Blow track from his 1980 debut album. The connection makes sense. Kurtis and Run’s older brother Russell Simmons met in college, and Russell quickly became the rapper’s manager. That led to Run working as Kurtis’ DJ. Larry Smith, who produced Run-DMC, even played on Kurtis’ original version of the song.

But despite those tie-ins, the two takes on "Hard Times" are night and day. Kurtis Blow’s is exactly what rap music was in its earliest recorded form: a full band playing something familiar (in this case, a James Brown-esque groove, bridge and percussion breakdown inclusive.)

What Run-DMC does with it is entirely different. The song is stripped down to its bare essence. There’s a drum machine, a sole repeated keyboard stab, vocals, and… well, that’s about it. No solos, no guitar, no band at all. Run and DMC are trading off lines in an aggressive near-shout. It’s simple and ruthlessly effective, a throwback to the then-fading culture of live park jams. But it was so starkly different from other rap recordings of the time, which were pretty much all in the style of Blow’s record, that it felt new and vital.

"Production-wise, Sugar Hill [the record label that released many key early rap singles] built themselves on the model of Motown, which is to say, they had their own production studios and they had a house band and they recorded on the premises," explains Bill Adler, who handled PR for Run-DMC and other key rap acts at the time.

"They made magnificent records, but that’s not how rap was performed in parks," he continues. "It’s not how it was performed live by the kids who were actually making the music."

Run-DMC’s musical aesthetic was, in some ways, a lucky accident. Larry Smith, the musician who produced the album, had worked with a band previously. In fact, the reason two of the songs on the album bear the subtitle "Krush Groove" is because the drum patterns are taken from his band Orange Krush’s song “Action.”

Read more: Essential Hip-Hop Releases From The 1970s: Kurtis Blow, Grandmaster Flash, Sugarhill Gang & More

But by the time sessions for Run-DMC came around, the money had run out and, despite his desire to have the music done by a full band, Smith was forced to go without them and rely on a drum machine. 

His artistic partner on the production side was Russell Simmons. Simmons, who has been accused over the past seven years of numerous instances of sexual assault dating back decades, was back in 1983-4 the person providing the creative vision to match Smith’s musical knowledge.

Orange Krush’s drummer Trevor Gale remembered the dynamic like this (as quoted in Geoff Edgers’ Walk This Way: Run-DMC, Aerosmith, and the Song that Changed American Music Forever): “Larry was the guy who said, 'Play four bars, stop on the fifth bar, come back in on the fourth beat of the fifth bar.' Russell was the guy that was there that said, ‘I don’t like how that feels. Make it sound like mashed potato with gravy on it.’”

It wasn’t just the music that set Run-DMC apart from its predecessors. Their look was also starkly different, and that influenced everything about the group, including the way their audience viewed them.

Most of the first generation of recorded rappers were, Bill Adler remembers, influenced visually by either Michael Jackson or George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic. Run-DMC was different.

"Their fashion sense was very street oriented," Adler explains. "And that was something that emanated from Jam Master Jay. Jason just always had a ton of style. He got a lot of his sartorial style from his older brother, Marvin Thompson. Jay looked up to his older brother and kind of dressed the way that Marvin did, including the Stetson hat. 

"When Run and D told Russ, Jason is going to be our deejay, Russell got one look at Jay and said, ‘Okay, from now on, you guys are going to dress like him.’"

Run, DMC, and Jay looked like their audience. That not only set them apart from the costumed likes of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, it also cemented the group’s relationship with their listeners. 

"When you saw Run-DMC, you didn’t see celebrity. You saw yourself," DMC said in the group’s recent docuseries. 

Read more: 20 Iconic Hip-Hop Style Moments: From Run-D.M.C. To Runways

Another thing that set Run-DMC (the album) and Run-DMC (the group) apart from what came before was the fact that they released a cohesive rap album. Nine songs that all belonged together, not just a collection of already-released singles and some novelties. Rappers had released albums prior to Run-DMC, but that’s exactly what they were: hits and some other stuff — sung love ballads or rock and roll covers, or other experiments rightfully near-forgotten.

"There were a few [rap] albums [at the time], but they were pretty crappy. They were usually just a bunch of singles thrown together," Cory Robbins recalls.

Not this album. It set a template that lasted for years: Some social commentary, some bragging, a song or two to show off the DJ. A balance of records aimed at the radio and at the hard-core fans. You can still see traces of Run-DMC in pretty much every rap album released today.

Listeners and critics reacted. The album got a four-star review in Rolling Stone with “the music…that backs these tracks is surprisingly varied, for all its bare bones” and an A minus from Robert Christgau who claimed “It's easily the canniest and most formally sustained rap album ever.” Just nine months after its release, Run-DMC was certified gold, the first rap LP ever to earn that honor. "Rock Box" also single-handedly invented rap-rock, thanks to Eddie Martinez’s loud guitars. 

There is another major way in which the record was revolutionary. The video for "Rock Box" was the first rap video to ever get into regular rotation on MTV and, the first true rap video ever played on the channel at all, period. Run-DMC’s rise to MTV fame represented a significant moment in breaking racial barriers in mainstream music broadcasting. 

"There’s no overstating the importance of that video," Adler tells me. vIt broke through the color line at MTV and opened the door to a cataclysmic change." 

"Everybody watched MTV forty years ago," Robbins agrees. "It was a phenomenal thing nationwide. Even if we got three or four plays a week of ‘Rock Box’ on MTV, that did move the needle."

All of this: the new musical style, the relatable image, the MTV pathbreaking, and the attendant critical love and huge sales (well over 10 times what their label head was expecting when he commissioned the album from a reluctant Russell Simmons — "I hoping it would sell thirty or forty thousand," Robbins says now): all of it contributed to making Run-DMC what it is: a game-changer.

"It was the first serious rap album," Robbins tells me. And while you could well accuse him of bias — the group making an album at all was his idea in the first place — he’s absolutely right. 

Run-DMC changed everything. It split the rap world into old school and new school, and things would never be the same.

Perhaps the record’s only flaw is one that wouldn’t be discovered for years. As we’re about to get off the phone, Robbins tells me about a mistake on the cover, one he didn’t notice until the record was printed and it was too late. 

There was something (Robbins doesn’t quite recall what) between Run and DMC in the cover photo. The art director didn’t like it and proceeded to airbrush it out. But he missed something. On the vinyl, if you look between the letters "M" and "C,", you can see DMC’s disembodied left hand, floating ghost-like in mid-air. While it was an oversight, it’s hard not to see this as a sign, a sort of premonition that the album itself would hang over all of hip-hop, with an influence that might be hard to see at first, but that never goes away. 

A Guide To New York Hip-Hop: Unpacking The Sound Of Rap's Birthplace From The Bronx To Staten Island

African music has become increasingly mainstream, with Afrobeats gaining global popularity in recent years. As Burna Boy, Davido, Wizkid, and Tems have become household names, and the Recording Academy presented the inaugural Best African Music Performance award in 2024, all eyes are on Africa.

Hip-hop is a crucial thread running through Afrobeats, which also mixes traditional African rhythms with pop and dancehall. Hip-hop landed in Africa between the 1980s and 1990s, first in Senegal in 1985 and in South Africa the following decade. Over time, African hip-hop advanced from imitating American styles, to a focus on artists incorporating their own cultural experiences, languages, and social commentary.

The result was a distinctly African sound, present across the continent from West to East Africa. In Nigeria, the rap scene is almost mainstream with artists like Olamide earning a GRAMMY nomination for Best African Music Performance for his hit song with Asake; Tanzania has gained enormous respect on the international rap scene for its own "Bongo Flava." 

Women have been a part of African hip-hop since its onset, contributing to the genre’s foundation. Nazizi Hirji is known as the "First Lady of Kenyan Rap" for becoming the first successful female artist in her country at age 16. Mariam of the Malian duo Amadou and Mariam created a distinctive sound by fusing elements of hip-hop and traditional Malian music. 

Africa's hip-hop community is ever-evolving, and women are at the forefront. The following 10 African women rappers are bringing their unique voices, experiences and sounds to the scene.

SGaWD

After leaving her career as a lawyer to pursue music, the Nigerian rapper SGaWD is beginning to make her mark on the scene. Fusing elements of hip-hop and Nigerian alté, SGaWD creates a sound without restrictions. 

She released her debut EP, Savage Bitch Juice, in 2021 and collaborated with fellow Nigerian artist Somadina on flirty lead single "Pop S—." In the second single "Rude," SGaWD detailed the nuances of her romantic and sexual experiences with men. She followed this with a slew of singles, including "INTERMISSION " and "Dump All Your Worries On The Dance Floor."

Her summer anthem "Boy Toy" is a sexy and melodic blend of rap and R&B. Her comfort with sexuality goes beyond lyricism; the music video for "Boy Toy" shows her comfort and embrace of sexuality via wardrobe choices and choreography.

But it's not all sex; SGaWD is dedicated to organizing her community. In December 2023, she organized The Aquarium, a sonic experience that included performances from herself and other female rappers.

Lifesize Teddy

Mavins Records is known for producing back-to-back breakout stars — from Rema to Arya Starr — and fans now expect a new artist from them annually. When Lifesize Teddy was introduced to the scene, rapping as her alter ego PoisonBaby, she got deep. Her intro video dissected her relationship with her inner child and explored her roots in Port-Harcourt, Nigeria. 

After spending three years of artist development in the Mavin Records Academy, she started her music career, by releasing two EPs in the span of four months in 2023. Her self-titled debut EP was led by the single "Hypnotic," a flirty song of sexual freedom that merges hip-hop and Afrobeats. Her second EP, POISN, featured five songs with one featuring her fellow Mavins Records artist, Magixx.

She ended last year headlining different shows in Lagos’ Detty December and is a special guest on Ayra Starr World Tour. 

Eno Barony

Ghanaian rapper Eno Barony's name reflects her aura and essence: "Eno" is Twi for mother, and quite fittingly she is referred to as "The Mother of Rap" in Ghana. Raised by missionary parents, she uses her music to spread the message that women should not be silenced. 

She has been releasing music for over a decade, with singles "Tonga," "Megye Wo Boy", "The Best," "Touch the Body," and "Do Something" gaining mainstream attention on the continent. Eno Barony released her first album in 2020 and, the following year became the first female rapper to win Best Rapper at the Ghana Music Awards. 

Her most recent album, Ladies First, captures the nuances and complexity of being a woman in Ghana and serves as a form of resistance to patriarchy. Opening track "God Is a Woman," featuring Ghanaian singer/songwriter Efya, establishes the tone: Eno is "entering every lane" even though "it’s a man’s world and she entered without a passport". 

Eno Barony continually pours vulnerability into her music. On these lead singles; "Heavy Load" and  "Don’t Judge Me" she raps about accepting her body image and addresses the culture of unconstructive criticism in the music industry, respectively. Last month, she released a new single "Good Enough," a romantic and reflective tune.

Nadai Nakai

Hailing from both Zimbabwe and South Africa, Nadai Nakai has been a fixture in the African rap scene for over a decade. She was the first female rapper to win the Mixtape 101 competition on the hip-hop show, "Shiz Niz."   

A mentee of pioneering Kenyan hip-hop artist Nazizi, Nakai released her first single "Like Me" under Sid Records in September 2013. The rightfully braggadocious song detailed her many talents and skills, wrapped in clever lyricism. She continued to release a slew of singles, including "Naaa Meaan" (a collaboration with Casper Nyovest, a South African male rapper), which garnered over 1 million views. Her debut album, Nadai Naked, was an ode to women making liberating choices. 

Her hip-hop and R&B-inspired songs highlight her values of female free expression and strength. Her most recent single, "Back In," announced Nakai's return to the industry after grieving the death of her boyfriend, AKA. She plans to release a tribute EP dedicated to AKA.

Deela

Deela saw a hole in the Nigerian music industry that needed to be filled. Where were the women who talked and behaved like her, with brazen confidence and an unfiltered sense of expression? 

She started making music during the pandemic lockdown, releasing singles such as the raging "Bitch Boi" and trap track "Rolling Stones." Both tracks later appeared on her debut album, Done Deel. Deela's most popular single, "Get A Grip," shows the rapper is demanding autonomy while owning her promiscuity and single life.

Deela's experimental sound includes ventures into trap, drill and more. Her 2023 album Is This On? showcased this range via UK rap-inspired "Trapstar" and straight-up hip-hop track "Take That Up" featuring Flo Milli.

She hit the ground running in 2024, releasing a collaboration with Somadina titled "Lagos" and a love-themed EP, Love Is Wicked. 

Deto Black

Lagos-based rapper Deto Black is an artistic polymath who dabbles in modeling, acting and photography. Her music spans hip-hop, Afrobeats, rap, pop and rock, and is becoming known in the alté scene following her collaboration with Odunsi the Engine, Amaarae and Gigi Atlantis on "Body Count." Deto’s verse on the 2020 track is  sex-positive, and encourages listeners to follow her example. 

Deto released her debut EP, Yung Everything, in 2021 and followed with singles "Nu Bag" and "Just Like Deto." At the start of 2024, she released "It’s A No From Me" featuring Chi; its music video was directed by notable alté artist Cruel Santino.

Rosa Ree

Tanzanian rapper Rosa Ree addresses the nuances of womanhood in male-dominated spaces. She entered the scene in 2016 with the goal of proving her naysayers wrong, releasing the aggressive "One Time" to dispel any notions that a woman couldn't exist in hip-hop.

In her 2022 single "I’m Not Sorry," Rosa Ree dismisses criticism and asserts that she won’t be sorry for showing her true image or voice. She also explores the unique bond between mother and child in 2023's "Mama Omollo," further showcasing the multifaceted identities of women in music.

Rosa Ree's 2024 single "In Too Deep" further showcased her introspective side by exploring themes of emotional hurt, betrayal and disappointment.

Candy Bleakz

Nigerian rapper Candy Bleakz fuses Afrobeats, amapiano and hip-hop, with heavy emphasis on street music. She started making music in 2019 and quickly began developing a community. Candy Bleakz collaborated with Zlatan and Naira Marley on "Owo Osu." 

Her resume now includes hits like "Baba Nla," "Kelegbe," "Virus", and "Kope." Her single "Won La" was even featured on the American TV series "Flatbush Misdemeanors." The most amazing thing about Candy Bleakz, though, is her courage to question the established quo and push for female representation in the infamously male-dominated street music scene.

She released her debut EP, Fire, in 2022 and raps proudly about her life and talent. On its breakout single, "Tikuku," she addresses her haters head-on. This song has garnered over 300,000 posts on TikTok going as far as eliciting a challenge in the Nigerian section of TikTok.

Candy Bleakz's second EP, Better Days, was released on March 22 and featured lead single "Para," a rap song featuring African drums, strings and chords. 

Femi One

At just 26 years old, Femi One is a renowned  Kenyan rapper and songwriter. Most of her songs are in Swahili and Sheng — a unique offering as many African rappers perform in a more universal language. 

Over the past five years, Femi One has released back-to-back singles, culminating in her 2019 debut EP XXV. " Two years later, her debut album, Greatness, further detailed her wild style and personality. Tracks like "Balance" are jam-packed with witty wordplay and hidden allusions. She also taps into her gospel roots on Greatness, thanking God for her career on "Adonai."

Her latest single, "B.A," is a pure Afrobeats song that invites listeners to lose themselves in the music and positive energy by throwing open the virtual club doors. 

Sho Madjozi

This South African rapper is known for her bold aesthetic, from her rainbow-coloured hair to her bright costumes. She released her first song, "Dumi Hi Phone," in 2017 and dropped her a genre-bending debut album the following year. Limpopo Champions League explores sounds from hip-hop to EDM.

Sho Madjozi has a quirky habit of writing songs about notable individuals. Her breakout single "John Cena," a tribute to the wrestler and actor, earned her the BET award for Best New International Act in 2019. She also collaborated with Sneakbo, Robot Boi and Matthew Otis on the hit amapiano song "Balotelli," which celebrated the renowned African soccer player. 

Sho Madjozi's music is entirely intertwined with her culture; she raps in the Bantu language Xitsonga and performs traditional dances such as xibelani wearing an adapted 

xibelani skirt. The xibelani (which translates to "hitting to the rhythm") dance is native to Tsonga women, and is performed by girls on special occasions as a celebration of their culture. Sho Madjozi's use of the dance and interpretation of its clothing helps shape her region’s cultural identity.

11 Women Pushing Amapiano To Global Heights: Uncle Waffles, Nkosazana Daughter, & More

When we look back at the Recording Academy’s 2023, the 50th anniversary of hip-hop will loom exceptionally large.

The ongoing celebration permeated every facet of the world’s leading society of music professionals this year, from the 65th Annual Awards Ceremony in February to the special airing of "A GRAMMY Salute To Hip-Hop" in December — a dense, thrillingly kaleidoscopic televised tribute to the breadth of this genre.

One major accompaniment to this was coverage of the genre’s legacy via GRAMMY.com, the editorial site run by the Recording Academy. If you haven’t been keeping up, we’ve got you covered. Here’s a highlight reel of the work GRAMMY.com published in honor of the 50th anniversary of hip-hop.

We Profiled Rising Stars

From Lola Brooke to Tkay Maidza, GRAMMY.com engaged in comprehensive in-depth interviews with artists who are at the forefront of shaping the future of hip-hop, and held a roundtable discussion about exactly what the next 50 years might look like. 

We Published Conversations With Legends

DJ Kool Herc and Questlove, who have played unquestionable roles in hip-hop’s continuing evolution, spoke to GRAMMY.com about their profound and abiding connections to the idiom.

The Contributions Of Women Were Highlighted

Without the inspired vision of countless women, hip-hop would not be what it is today. The "Ladies First" segment, which kicked off "A GRAMMY Salute To Hip-Hop" featuring Queen Latifah, Monie Love, and MC Lyte, among other lady greats with Spinderella as DJ, was an ode to this. 

In acknowledgment of female trailblazers in a world dominated by men, GRAMMY.com wrote about teen girl pioneers, women behind the scenes, a revealing Netflix doc, and women artists pushing the genre forward in 2023, from Ice Spice to Lil Simz.

We Revisted Hip-Hop’s Biggest Releases

From Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) to Jay-Z’s The Black Album to Cardi B’s Invasion of Privacy, GRAMMY.com dove deep into the core hip-hop canon. We also broke down the genre’s development decade by decade through the 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s, 10s, and 20s, with a focus on classic albums from each era.

Listen To GRAMMY.com's 50th Anniversary Of Hip-Hop Playlist: 50 Songs That Show The Genre's Evolution

We Criss-Crossed The Country

GRAMMY.com’s series of regional guides — from the Bay Area and SoCal, to Texas and the Dirty South, to D.C. and NYC — highlight hip-hop’s diversity of culture and sound.

We Went International

Although hip-hop is a quintessentially American phenomenon, its impact, appeal, and influence has spread worldwide. The international appetite for hip-hop was showcased in coverage of Latinx and Argentinian rappers to know, as well as five international hip-hop scenes to know: France, Nigeria, Brazil, South Africa, and England.

We Explored Hip-Hop’s Larger Impact

Hip-hop is more than a sound. It’s a culture that permeates almost every sector of life. Showcasing this effervescence, GRAMMY.com ran pieces about the evolution of hip-hop’s influence on educational curriculum worldwide, as well as its biggest fashion and style moments.

We Covered On Stage Celebrations

"A GRAMMY Salute To 50 Years Of Hip-Hop," the two-hour special that aired in December on CBS and is available on demand on Paramount+ represented a culmination of the Recording Academy’s 50th year anniversary celebration.

Revisit the 2023 GRAMMYs’ hip-hop revue, and check out a recap of "A GRAMMY Salute" with photos, a rundown of all the performers and songs and coverage of the Black Music Collective’s Recording Academy honors in February.

It Didn’t Stop There…

Notable coverage also included the evolution of the mixtape, 11 Hip-Hop Subgenres to Know and 10 Binge-worthy Hip-Hop Podcasts, as well as a breakdown of Jay-Z’s Songbook and Snoop Dogg’s discography.

For everything GRAMMY.com and all things hip-hop — including our rap-focused run in the GRAMMY Rewind series — visit here.

2023 In Review: 5 Trends That Defined Hip-Hop

Today, Public Enemy's 1988 album It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back is correctly viewed as a watershed not just for hip-hop, but all of music. But when Questlove's father overheard him playing it, it didn't even sound like music to him.

"He happened to pass my room while 'Night of the Living Baseheads' came on and he had a look of disgust and dismay, like he caught me watching porn," the artist born Ahmir Thompson tells GRAMMY.com. "He literally was like, 'Dude, when you were three, I was playing you Charlie Parker records, and I was playing you real singers and real arrangers, and this is what you call music? All those years I wasted on private school and jazz classes. This is what you like?'

"I couldn't explain to him: 'Dad, you don't understand. Your entire boring-ass record collection downstairs is now being redefined in this very album. Everything you've ever played is in this record,'" he says. "If my dad — who was relatively cool and hip, but just getting older — couldn't understand it, then I know there's a world of people out there that are really just like, whatever."

That nagging reality has powered him ever since — whether he's co-leading three-time GRAMMY winners the Roots, authoring books and liner notes, or directing Oscar-winning films.

And that path led straight to Questlove's role as a executive producer for "A GRAMMY Salute To 50 Years Of Hip-Hop," which will air Sunday, Dec. 10, from 8:30 to 10:30 p.m. ET and 8:00 to 10:00 p.m. PT on the CBS Television Network, and stream live and on demand on Paramount+.

Questlove makes no bones about it: working on that 12-minute Hip-Hop 50 revue at the 2023 GRAMMYs was taxing. So taxing, in fact, that he lost two teeth due to the psychological pressure. But he soldiered on, and the result is an inspiring rush of a two-hour special.

"The thing that really motivated me — Look, man, roll up your sleeves and run through this mud — was like, if there ever was going to be a hip-hop time capsule, a lot of the participants in this show are somewhere between the ages of 20 and 60, and everybody's still kind of in their prime," he says.

"So that way,” Questlove continues, “in 2030, 2040, 2050, when our great, great, great, great grandkids are born and they want to look up someone, this'll probably be one of the top five things they look up. And I wanted to be a part of that."

Read on for a rangey interview with Questlove about his role in "A GRAMMY Salute To 50 Years of Hip-Hop," in all its dimensions.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

What can you tell me about your involvement in "A GRAMMY Salute To 50 Years Of Hip-Hop"?

I could be the guy that complains and complains and complains and complains: Man, I wish somebody would dah, dah, dah. Man, somebody needs to dah, dah, dah. And then the universe the whole time is poking you in the stomach like a dog. You think you're going to be drumming for life — like, that's your job.

So I went through this period where I just hated the lay of the land. And now people are like, "Well, the door is open if you want to come and see if you could change it." And for me, it was just important to.

And at first, I was really skeptical about this because even when I was an artist, my peers all the time would — I say in air quotes jokingly, but it's like, man, I know they're serious — they would just call me a suit. Whenever someone's called a suit in a sitcom or it is like, that's always the bad guy. Or especially for me that's known for all this artistry.

But for me, it's like, I can either just sit on the sidelines and watch this thing slowly kind of go in a direction that I don't want it to go. And often with the history of Black music in America, we're innovating this stuff, but we're really not behind the scenes in power positions to control it or to decide what direction it is. And it's a lot of heartbreaking and hard work.

After the success of the thing that we did in March — that 12-minute revue thing — I'll be honest with you. For 12 minutes that was like going through damn near, and I'm not even using hyperbolic statements by saying, coming out within an inch of my life.

When that moment was literally over and I was on the airplane landing back in New York, two of my teeth fell out. That's the level of stress I was [under]. Imagine landing in JFK and I got to rush to "The Tonight Show," but then it's like, Oh, wait, what's happening? Oh God, no! My teeth are falling out! And going to emergency surgery. My whole takeaway was like: Never again.

So of course when they hit me in July, "Hey, remember that 12 minute thing you did? You want to do the two-hour version of it?" I was like, "Hell no." And of course I hell noed for three weeks and it's like, "All right, I'll do it, but I'll just be a name on it. I ain't doing nothing." And then it went from that to like, "All right, what do you need me to do?"

What I will say is it's a two-hour show in which you got to figure out how to tell [the story of] hip-hop's 50-year totality — its origins, its peak period, its first moments of breaking new ground, the moment it went global around the world. You got to figure out a way to tell this story in two-hour interstitials and be all-inclusive. 

It was just as stressful, even up until four hours ago. I'll just basically say that my teeth didn't fall out, thank God. And it was worth everything, because it's really a beautiful moment.

Sorry for that 12-hour answer, but that's just how my life rolls.

It was a great answer. What was your specific role behind the scenes?

Oh, I'm a producer. Jesse Collins called a group of us in to help facilitate: me, LL [Cool J], Fatima Robinson, Dionne Harmon, Brittany Brazil. There's a group of nine of us who were producers.

So, [part of] my actual division of labor thing was finding people to help facilitate music. This is a genre in which maybe the first six years of the art form, there was no such thing as an instrumental. "Or, "Hey, J.Period, can you recreate 'Check Out My Melody' by Eric B. & Rakim with no vocals in it?"

Finding the right people to do the music, sometimes I'd have to do it myself. And a lot of people in hip-hop have been super burnt. Super burnt. And I mean, that's putting it lightly.

And so you're giving these impassioned, Jerry Maguire, help-me-help-you speeches. The amount of times I was like, "Look, I really want you to reconsider your answer. This is our legacy we're talking about."

I'm using terms that a lot of these people, frankly, are hearing for the first time, Because like I've said in past interviews, hip-hop started as outlaw music. No one thought it was going to be a thing. So there's a whole generation that had to lay out the red carpet, just so that the next generation could benefit from it while we disposed of them.

But then that next generation gets disposed of, and then here comes my generation. And then the next thing, you wake up and it's like, "Oh, we're not relevant anymore," and dah, dah, dah.

And I'm trying to convince people, "Wait, you don't understand. Now we have a seat at the table. Now we get to control. All that we talked about, we need to control our destiny, and this is our culture." And there was a lot of that. And some people [were like], "All right, I'll do it for you." [To which I said,] "No, no, don't do it for me. Do it for the culture."

But then there were also people like, "Man, never again. F— all that." And there was also, "Hey, why wasn't I asked?" and all that stuff.  So in these two hours, you're going to see eight to nine segments in which we try to wisely cover every base.

This is the "Lyricist" section, and this is the "Down South" section. And ["Ladies First"] is all about the ladies. And this is for those that passed away. And this is for the club bangers. And this is for music outside of America. And this is for the left-of-center alternative hip-hop.

Yes, we wanted to include everybody, but this is network television. And at that, you only get eight to 12 minutes at a time. So that's even hard. "Hey, why can't I do my chorus and my verse?" "Look, man, you got 32 seconds." If you've ever seen those "Tom and Jerry" cartoons where they're juggling plates in a kitchen — like 30 at a time — I don't recommend that to anybody.

But we got through it. I want everyone to feel proud of where hip-hop has come, because to be nine years old and to get on punishment for hip-hop — you know what I mean? I come from that generation. You've got to pay a price to live this culture.

And now it's established. So that's why I got involved. So there was a lot I had to do. A lot of calls, a lot of begging, a lot of arrangements, a lot of talking to people about clearing their samples, to call up publishing companies: "Look, it's just a four-second segment. It's just one drum roll. Can you please overlook it just for the sake of it?"

The amount of times I had to give those speeches. So yeah, that's what I had to do.

Jesus.

And that's just me. It's nine of us. So there's lighting directions, and choreography, and wardrobe, and dealing with clearance — like FCC, and, "They can't say that." And, "All right, which one of us is going to try to call Snoop to ask him that sort of thing?"

And the amount of Zooms that we were on at five in the morning in the Maldives or halfway around the world.

There must be some component of this process where you recognize that there could never be a perfect two-hour special. There could never be a perfect 200-hour special. There must be something freeing about realizing that nothing can be comprehensive when you're dealing with a cultural ocean like this.

[At one point], I had to take a hip-hop break. And the first thing that I did a week later, after recuperating, was I went on YouTube and I just watched every award show I remember watching — like prime Soul Train Awards back in '87, '88, '89, the years that Michael Jackson was killing the GRAMMYs.

Award shows were so magical to me, when I was a kid. There was a period just between five to maybe 15 or 16 in which I religiously watched that stuff, and you just take it for granted.

When Herbie Hancock did Rockit back in 1983 with all those mechanical break dancers, I wonder the work and the headaches that it took to make that happen. The drummer from Guns N' Roses [was] missing while they had to do "Patience" at the American Music Awards — and Don Henley, of all people, was just on the sidelines like, "Does anyone know how to drum?"

I was in the audience during the whole Chris Brown-Rihanna controversy of [2009]. I was literally at the GRAMMYs. There were like 40 minutes left, and I watched the producer run up the aisles.

Because the thing was, that was the year they decided, "You know what? This is going to be the first year in which we're going to ask artists to double down on stuff. So we're going to have Rihanna sing three songs, and we're going to have Chris do two songs. We're going to have Justin Timberlake. And then, suddenly, their absence now means that there's five major gaps open.

And they had 40 minutes left before they went to go live and I'm watching the producer make an announcement: "Ladies and gentlemen, something just happened. We can't get into it."

The level of viralness now on Instagram or Twitter is expected, but back then it was like, Oh, I wonder what happened? And they're just running up the aisles to Stevie Wonder, "Yo, can you [mimics rapid-fire, inaudible chatter]?"

And I'm looking at him, pondering: What the hell are they asking him? And then Stevie's getting up and doing it, and then, "Jonas Brothers, can you duh, duh, duh? Boyz II Men. Where's Al Green? Is Al Green here?" So literally, I'm watching them solve a headache in real time. And with 20 minutes left, backstage rehearsing, and we were really none the wiser.

I've seen that a few times. My very first GRAMMYs was when Luciano Pavarotti got sick and someone just randomly asked, "Hey, does anyone out there know the lyrics to 'Ave Maria'?" Aretha Franklin raised her hand, and we were all like, 'Wait, we mean the Italian version, like that 'Ave Maria.'" And she's like, "I do know the version."

We underestimated if Aretha Franklin from Detroit, Michigan knew how to sing something in Italian. And within a half hour she was on that stage and she killed that s—.

So it made me literally recapitulate every award show I ever watched.Now I'm watching with the analytical eye: I wonder what headaches it took to put that together? So, it changed me as a spectator and a participant.

I have a friend who's been a dedicated hip-hop fan his entire life. We were talking about the 50th anniversary of hip-hop. He questioned the entire enterprise, arguing that it's an arbitrary number that doesn't mean much to true rap fans. What does the 50th anniversary of hip-hop mean to you, personally?

Well, to me, it's important. There's an interlude that I put on the Things Fall Apart record. The album starts with an argument from [the 1990 film] Mo' Better Blues in which Denzel Washington and Wesley Snipes' jazz musician characters are arguing about just the disposability of the art form.

And it ends with a quote from Harry Allen saying that the thing about hip-hop is that most people think that it's disposable: Let me get what I can out this thing, and I'll throw them out the window. And on top of that, people don't even see it as art. And that really hit me in the gut, because I see the beauty of it.

This is kind of why I got into the game of: first it was with liner notes, and then with social media doing these mammoth history posts. And then it's like, Alright, well, let me write some books, because I'm afraid that no one's doing this level of critical thinking about this particular thing.

I know that the disdain and the dismissiveness that I got from some of hip-hop's participants does sort of stem from a place of ego being bruised. And it's righteous. It's righteous anger. But I also knew that if I sat on the sidelines, then it's like when I have grandkids and they Google this, and if it was a half-assed job, then that's my fault. And I definitely don't want to be the guy that talks, talks, complains, complains, without being a part of it.

So yeah, for the amount of people that prematurely died before the age of 30, and for the startling volume of people that have recently passed away in the last three years because of health issues, cardiac arrest, strokes, a lot of us are dying… You and I are talking right now, right when Norman Lear has passed away at the age of 101.

I just read that in The New York Times.

Dude, can you imagine "Tupac Shakur Dead at 103"? Can you imagine that for hip-hop?

It's a survival tool, because for a lot of us, that was the way out of poverty. It was vital for me. I couldn't just sit back and not watch one person behind the wheel. I have to be the designated driver. So, that's why it's important to celebrate that number.

And a big part of my convincing them was like when they were going to pass, like, "Nah, dog, I'm cool. I got a gig that night," I was like, "Dude, we're not going to do this for the 51st or the 52nd. And frankly, will we be here?" I will be 92 years old if it makes it to the 75th. You know what I mean?

The only person that got in my face was Latifah like, "Excuse me, I will be here for the 75th and I will be for the 100th. You don't know when I'm leaving." So I was like, "More power to you, Dana. All right, good. Queen Latifah will be here for the 100th."

What I'm gathering from what you're saying is that no matter what, it's important to have an organization of this prestige canonize this cultural force.

Oh, absolutely. And I know that oftentimes we play the game of public appearances for the gaze of the establishment. I don't want to get into that thing either: making performative celebrations just so that the mainstream can celebrate us.

I have to say that when you watch it, it really doesn't come off as compromised. This thing really looks good. That was the one thing that we laughed at in the group chat, like, "Man, we just went through Apocalypse Now, and are we all saying it was worth it?"

There are at least three people in my production thread that were sort of like, "Uh-huh, never again. I will never again subject myself." And one of them is dead serious. One of them started doing something the opposite, like, "Nah, I'm just doing classical music from now on. There's no stress there." But it was worth it. It was worth it to me.

*Questlove in 2023. Photo: Jamie McCarthy/Getty Images*

It looks to be a classy, expansive special. I'm excited for it to air.

The best part about it? So if you remember, to me, the star of the 12-minute version that we did at the GRAMMYs in March, was Jay-Z.

It was one of the things where it's like, "Hey, do we even ask Jay-Z?" And that's the one guy we decided ourselves, "Well, let's pass on him because number one, he's already performing with DJ Khaled, so we'll pass on him."

Jay-Z actually wound up being the star of that because he was a fan mouthing it in the audience, which to me was almost like better than us just doing a song with Jay-Z on stage. But the audience is the absolute star.

To see Chuck D smile — I've never seen Chuck D smile. As all these acts are coming out and Chuck D's like, singing [Sly and the Family Stone's] "Everyday People," like Boston fans sing "Sweet Caroline" at Red Sox games. Who knew that Chuck D was so jovial about things? But that's with everyone in the audience watching, supporting each other.

So that to me is also an important thing because as audience members on stage, they're ripping it, but as audience members, they're supporting each other. And that, I think is the most important part, because a lot of my take was like, "Wow, I didn't know that dah, dah, dah was so supportive." Or, "Man, Nelly actually knows every Public Enemy lyric. Who knew?" There are a lot of "Who knew?" moments that will shock people for this show.

I'm so glad you brought that up. That was one of my favorite moments during the Hip-Hop 50 performance at the 2022 GRAMMYs. Jay-Z is a billionaire twice over and a global cultural figure, but we see him in the audience, grinning ear-to-ear like a little boy, doing finger guns in the air.

He's getting his life back. And it's important. Especially now, I'm all about joy. And it's not even just like this particular hip-hop figure celebrating his music.

When Chance the Rapper comes out, again, I'm like, "Wow, [Cee] Knowledge from Digable Planets knows Chance?" And then I was like, "Well, they got kids, so of course I'm sure their kids play around the house." I'm doing all this analytical things like, "Wait, how do they know this song? And this is past their age range."

And that to me is the most telling part of this whole thing, to watch generational people get out of their actual zone and to find out that they're fans of — when GloRilla comes out, to watch [Digable Planets' Ladybug] Mecca mouth the lyrics. I was just like, "Oh, wow, OK."

That kind of puts to bed that stereotype that we only listen to the music in our realm. So, yeah, man — to me, that was the magic part of it all.

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