DeDe McGuire: A Woman With Vision

by Meaux Harrison

DeDe McGuire is often called “the hardest working woman in radio,” and for good reason. With over 15 years in the business, the award-winning nationally syndicated radio host, media personality, and philanthropist’s unabashed approach and candid conversations have defined her time on the airwaves. She’s interviewed some of the biggest names in and around hip-hop, like Jay-Z and Beyoncé, appeared on CNN, Fox, OWN and in the film The Best Man, and runs an organization that “provides scholarship to women whose higher education was interrupted or derailed because of family, personal obligations or financial distress.” That “hardest working” title makes sense.

DeDe always had a vision to become a radio host. Born in Seattle and raised in Texas–with a few years spent in Germany due to having a parent who served in the military– DeDe knew early on that she didn’t just want to be a local host but a national one. Robin Quivers, the longtime co-host of The Howard Stern Show, was her blueprint and inspiration.

McGuire landed her first radio gig  as a receptionist for KOOV 103.1, which was at the time a country music station in Killeen, Texas. 

“I went to college, majoring in Journalism with the hopes of becoming a big-time TV News Anchor. Money was tight, and my financial aid hadn’t made it to the school in time, so I was kicked out!” she told Yahoo! News in 2023. “I had to enroll in the local community college in my hometown of Killeen/Ft. Hood, Texas. While attending our local community college, awaiting financial aid help, I began working at a small Country Music radio station.”

Well-liked at the station, the owner's wife pushed for DeDe to be trained for an on-air position. She went on to make an audition tape and pitched it to the R&B/Hip Hop station 92.3 where she was hired on the spot with no experience. She worked there for a year, before connecting with radio legend Doug Banks and joining his morning show as a co-host. Around this time she took on an additional co-host role, joining the team over at the K104 morning show in Dallas. In just a few short years, The K104 morning show would become DeDe in the Morning and has remained so for the last decade. DeDe is one of the very few African American women in the country to have her own morning show in a major city market, with DeDe in the Morning being broadcast in more than 80 cities.

Her interview style is fearless, funny, and charismatic. Keeping listeners tuned in and engaged every morning she’s proven to the industry she’s the best woman for the job. She’s collected countless accolades that include top 25 women in Dallas named by Rolling Out Magazine, Most Influential Women in radio by RadioInk Magazine multiple years in a row, in the international black, broadcasters, lifetime, achievement award. She’s been featured in Essence, Ebony, Upscale Magazine, and in The Source’s Power 30.

Her impact extends beyond radio, too, with McGuire giving back to several nonprofit organizations such as Woman called Moses, whose mission is to put an end to domestic violence, and through the Achieve the Dream DeDe McGuire Scholarship that I mentioned in the first paragraph. The essence of DeDe McGuire’s career has been built from blending humor, resilience, and a commitment to using her voice as a force for positive change. 

I’ve been listening to DeDe since I was a kid. She’s a force and an important figure that everyone should celebrate, especially when we consider how often women in radio and southern women in hip-hop get pushed to the background. DeDe is truly an inspiration and role model. And a testament that anyone can go from a small-town girl to a national gem. 

How Katie Got Bandz Repped For The Ladies In Chicago's Drill Scene

by Maya Hood

While Chicago natives all over the world share a love for the music genres we’ve produced like house and drill, there’s nothing like being in high school at the rise of the latter. We went to school with the new and trending rappers, knew the neighborhoods they played basketball in, and knew that on Saturdays everyone would be downtown by the WaterTower Place. What was explicitly unique about drill music and the popularity that followed is that many of the artists at the time were genuinely starving artists with exceptional talent, telling stories about their everyday lives. Enter Katie Got Bandz.

Katie Got Bandz, born Kiara Johnson, hails from the Chicago neighborhood of Bronzeville, part of what we call “The Lowend.” For some people, she may be “the rapper that did that gun dance,” but to Chicagoans around the world, she is our Queen of Drill Music. 

Drill beats were aggressive, the lyrics were filled with raunchy storytelling and hostility, and the piano notes would ring like something out of a Michael Myers film. Between 2011 and 2013, Chicago experienced a big increase in teenage and young adult rappers from the subgenre; we had Chief Keef, Lil Durk, Lil Herb (now G Herbo) and King Louie who was Katie’s right hand man. These guys were all heavy hitters involved in making Chicago one of the “hottest hip-hop music scenes” at the time, and Katie, a woman, was right there with them. 

via Dazed

I remember being in school, listening to Katie reciting “I need a Hitta! Dreadhead Drilla” and the girls simply fell in line. Katie was only 18 years old, planning on getting her biology degree from Truman College and working at a fast-food restaurant when she decided to try rapping. Her infectious lyrics partnered with raw beats by her cousin BlockOnThaTrack– a popular Chicago producer at the time, led to Katie becoming a fan favorite with ease. Katie was beloved amongst many other women rappers, such as Shady, Sasha Go Hard, and all-girl groups like Pretty N Pink. In addition to her hit showing love to “dread heads” across the city, Katie gained even more notoriety appearing in Shady’s “Go In” video, where she performed her infamous gun dance turned meme moment that we still see people share today.

Around this time, Chicago also became a target for defamation regarding the homicides amongst Black and Brown people in the city. With so many young teenagers gaining popularity and influence and dis songs that sometimes went beyond the music and unfortunately played out in real life, it was easy to blame the crime on the media that we were consuming. We were under a microscope, with The New York Times noting that in 2013 Chicago’s homicide rates had increased by 16% and surpassed NYC and LA in 2012. In response, Chicago’s Mayor Rahm Emmanuel blamed the music, and even banned artists like Chief Keef from performing in the state of Illinois. Katie was one of the artists who stood ten toes in defending the genre beyond the mainstream reputation of promoting violence, noting in an interview with Ebony that people are rapping about the conditions in their neighborhoods that existed long before they stepped in front of a mic: 

“Before drill music people already had their beef and wars going on. It's just everybody is rapping now, so people think if they make a dis' record, they'll get noticed fast and they're putting it on beats instead of leaving it in the streets. Rapping don't have nothing to do with what's going on in Chicago. This has been going on in Chicago before Chicago got noticed.”

What I loved most about Katie growing up is that she always remained transparent and authentic. I believe that’s what has kept her image so iconic today. Over the years, she would go on to release her mixtape series Drillary Clinton and even had a verse on Nicki Minaj’s Super Freaky Girl remix in 2022.

In August of 2023, we were reminded of Katie’s impact when Victoria Monet and choreographer Bankhead incorporated Katie’s famous gun dance in the choreography for her “On My Mama” video. It perfectly captured who and what Katie represented. And when The “Hood’s Hottest Princess” Sexxy Red toured to Chicago this past Halloween, while celebrating her success she invited Katie on stage to perform “Pop Out.

For so many decades, hip-hop and rap have tried to erase the influence of women artists, watering down the talent, impact, and sometimes leaving them out entirely. But the stories of women rap artists, like Katie Got Bandz, should forever be told. That way you can get them, us, and the history, too.

How Music Marketing Professional Kirsten Daniel Combines Old Atlanta With The New

by Jessica Wilkins

Millennial Black girls from Atlanta are special. We came up during the analog version of “the A,” AKA “Old Atlanta,” where Blackness was always our default. Our teachers, doctors, lawyers, business owners, and neighbors all looked like us, so we were afforded a unique confidence in our identities. Once a place that offered small-town southern charm, rich in local Black culture, history, and community, Atlanta has now become a hub for creative industries, particularly music. Prior to the digital age, Atlanta had its own musical identity–from the bass music of So So Def, Kilo Ali, and Raheem the Dream which were synonymous with the Freaknik era, to Baby D and Oomp Camp Records ushering in the crunk era. And when Outkast’s André 3000 proclaimed “The South got something to say” at the 1995 Source Awards, everyone listened. Through the advent of the Internet, small pockets of Atlanta music were opened to the world. Music Marketing Professional Kirsten Daniel embodies the spirit of “Old Atlanta'' while contemporaneously navigating an ever-changing digital-based industry.

Being born and raised on the West Side of Atlanta with an enduring passion for the arts, Kirsten Daniel landed her first role in the industry as an intern at Grand Hustle Records in 2008. Since then, she’s managed a Grammy-nominated producer, had her company ATEAELLE named one of Forbes’s Black Businesses to Watch, and has built a 14-year career bridging the gap between artists and their audiences while serving the Atlanta community.

Jessica Wilkins: Did you always know you wanted to work in music? How did you arrive here professionally?
Kirsten Daniel: The only college I had seen was on A Different World so I was a little untraditional in the sense that everybody was talking about college and I was like ‘I’m just going to go work because college? Why? What am I going to do there?’ And when I was being forced to go by my godmother, I knew I was not a math and science girl…So Mass Communications resonated the most with me. I stumbled upon music after I tried radio, and I tried studying television and film, and none of those resonated. I got out of college and had an internship and I was like “This is it!” I knew immediately.

JW: How has being an Atlanta native impacted your career?
KD: If you play some bass music right now, I’m going to think about the 90s, being in the yard, playing hand games with my friends, making up dances. Every era of music has a soundtrack for me, so I was in full alignment when I [got in the music industry] because Atlanta music was so prominent in my life...Music was what I modeled my life behind, what I resonated most with, and what I connected most to from the harmony, the melody, and the lyrics, to commemorating different events with a sound. 

JW: Do you feel fully seen as a professional?
KD: I’m really fortunate to have some solid male OGs, or mentors, or leaders in that space. For instance, Jason Geter is someone I’m very close to. And I feel very seen, heard, and understood by him. So even if there’s something I feel uncomfortable with, a stance or a perspective that I have, I respect that he always values my input. It has been tough because we see oftentimes a lot of men in this space are not as smart or efficient, but they can transcend certain levels just by being a man. That used to be very tough for me to navigate, but now that I’m an entrepreneur I move to the beat of my own drum and work with projects I feel most connected to, and it’s a lot easier for me to say “This is not in alignment, yes I want to work with this person, no I don’t want to work with this person” because I’ve had so much experience. One thing I’ve never had a problem with is setting boundaries. 

JW: Was there a moment that taught you to have stronger boundaries, or was that something that happened organically over time?
KD: I’ve always been kind of self-aware. I trust that thing inside of me that says, ‘This doesn’t feel right. I’m compromising too much of myself and I’m not getting that in return.’ I’ve always been quick to see that. Anyone, man, woman, or child will tell you that the entertainment industry is a very unforgiving place. It’s a place that’s very selfish. You give so much of yourself, especially when you work with artists, and very seldom do you receive that energy back. So when I get to the point where I feel like I don’t feel appreciated or respected, it’s not an issue for me to say “Hey, this relationship no longer serves me.”

A gallery of projects Daniel has worked on in a management or in a marketing capacity.

JW: We’ve witnessed so many advances in technology and their impact on the industry, how has your role as a marketer had to evolve with those changes?
KD: When I started, there were departments that were called ‘New Media’ and it was the format where you go to run ads on different platforms and blogs back in the day like Concrete Loop or Bossip. Beyond that we were asking, “What are the in-stores? What is the promo tour? What platforms do you go to for interviews? What is the club run?” Everything was so much more irl when I started and now we’re in a predominantly digital space, I think it’s taken away some of the connection we feel with artists and with music. It’s affected the longevity of it. We’re so focused on consuming things so quickly that we’ve lost the allure of what value really is. I love messages like Tyler the Creator who said, “Work this record, this album for 12 months, for 24 months. Because if you put out something great, then you should stand behind it.” At a certain point, we’ve gotten more into quantity over quality and I think it’s hurt a lot of artists. I’m just more of an analog girl myself anyway, so for me to do a marketing plan, I’m always trying to figure out what we can do so the artists can get out and touch and see their fans…If there is no relevance to where your consumers are given the time and space we’re in right now, then it’s hard to build a connection beyond liking photos on Instagram and liking one dope song.

JW: What are your hopes for the future of Black women in music marketing?
KD: I hope we can start to appreciate the diversification of all different types of sounds, personalities, images, upbringings, backgrounds, sexual orientations, gender identities. I think we have to be a lot more inclusive about what it looks and feels like. If not, we’re going to have ten rap girls all doing the same thing from a different region or small city looking and sounding just the same. One thing about the music industry is that the people at the top are always trying to make the same thing a different way over and over again…I think it’s supporting what you like, being more diligent in finding and sourcing talent that resonates with you, and being more vocal about what you’re into. Sometimes you want to be put on. I find myself listening to the same artists over and over again. I would like for us to really support new artists with our voices, our dollars, and our social platforms.

How "Jersey Anniversary" Creator Tenaja (AKA Kia BHN) Helped Reignite Jersey Club Music

by Ayanna Costley

Behind every trend is a creator who set the foundation, an innovating trailblazer, and people who participate just because it’s popular. The current state of Jersey Club music is no different. In just over 2 decades, the genre grew from a hometown sound heard at local New Jersey parties to an undeniable force felt throughout the world. People discovering the sound for the first time on social media may think it started as a trendy musical moment on TikTok, but those who grew up with the genre are a witness to the fact that this is way more than that. Jersey Club is a movement. And  Jersey-bred artist Tenaja (aka @Kia_BHN and DJ Loki) is the star-bright flame who helped reignite it. 

In 2022, Tenaja’s song “Jersey Anniversary,” a Jersey Club blend of Tony! Toni! Toné!’s 1992 classic “Anniversary” and DJ Big-O’s “Ay Bay Bay” (a club remix of Hurricane Chris’ Ay Bay Bay), experienced the viral treatment. The song was everywhere, both online and in real life, from TikTok videos to DJ sets at parties to the radio.“It had been years since we heard a Jersey Club song on the radio. So to have that, that put me even further up to where I'm even at in Jersey Club culture,” Tenaja explains. 

Tenaja grew up at the time when the aggressive, hard hitting 135 BPM club music was popping off in Jersey. The electric sound, complete with a sharp five count kick pattern, chopped samples from mainstream genres, fragmented vocals calling out dances like ‘sexy walk’ or ‘rock your hips’, and found sound like the infamous bed squeaks or gunshots, was undeniably infectious. When Tenaja’s older cousins threw basement parties she’d hear the bass knocking through the floor. And when she was finally old enough to attend parties, she started making her mark as a dancer. Jersey Club was male-dominated during this time, with almost all of the well known DJs and dancers being men. Instead of letting that stop her, Tenaja used it as motivation, admitting, “My motive every time was like, ‘Yo, I'm a girl. And I want y'all to know that I can legit do it just as hard as y'all.’ I just wanted them to see that I could do the same thing.” That motivation, coupled with the influence from the trailblazers who came before her, put Tenaja on the path to making an indelible impact. “I definitely followed in the footsteps, without knowing, of 40 Cal. From dancer to DJ to vocalist and from dancer to vocalist to DJ–he did it back and forth.” 

It’s clear now that her multi-hyphenate creative history in the club scene prepared her for her defining, star-making moment. But when she dropped the title track of her 2021 EP, Jersey Anniversary, she didn’t set out to go viral. “I had that vision. I wanted everybody to dance again because I felt like the world had just stopped,” Tenaja tells me. “Nobody was bumping good club. Nobody was bumping good music.” Everybody became hooked on her sound, and as a result, everybody wanted their own version of it. “When it went viral– when I tell you I never seen so many artists jump on one song,” she recalls as she thinks through the song’s impact on pop culture.

Controversy tried to spoil the big moment when Hurricane Chris remixed “Jersey Anniversary” without featuring Tenaja as an artist or dancer after talks to do so. Unfortunately, he’s not the first or the last artist to commit a fast-grab appropriation of the Jersey Club aesthetic for a temporary rise in streaming ears. For artists interested in creating within the Jersey Club genre, there’s a better way to go about it. “I'm definitely not okay with people just making beats and just making it seem like it's a Jersey club beat. No, it's more than just putting that beat together. It’s way more because you never know what you can get out of really coming here and really acknowledging the sound and what the community really has to offer,” Tenaja says. Lil Uzi is a prime example of that, specifically the way in which he tapped Newark producer MCVertt for his viral song “Just Wanna Rock.” During a red carpet interview at the 2023 Grammys, Uzi even proudly stated his love for the influential genre. “I got so much love for Jersey…When I was younger, I used to go to the famous Camden skating rink…and kick it with my Jersey homies and sharp bounce…so I’m a real real Jersey representer even though I’m from Philly,” he said without hesitation. 

Tenaja admits that it’s sometimes hard to talk about “Jersey Anniversary” because of the highs and lows she experienced as the song made its way around the world. In a moment of vulnerability, the Jersey artist shares, “I always have to remind myself how what I manifested really came into fruition. Remembering the process of how bad my hands were sweating because there's like four drafts of that song before it really dropped to what it was.” She also recounts working through the motions of grief after experiencing a familial loss in the midst of the creative process. That led to the creation of her song “Jersey 90s” which feels as if Jersey Club and 90s R&B had a baby. “‘Jersey 90s’ was my healing song,” Kia said. “That was my first step to healing. It was me getting back to myself like remembering who you are.”

Lately, the New Jersey DJ and dancer has been trying to answer a question that’s been racking her mind: In a world where Jersey Club’s popularity keeps growing, what specifically stands out about Jersey Club culture and how can we show that specialty? Maybe it's the fact that the very nature of Jersey Club culture is kinetic and dependent on liberating motion, both aural and physical. The one thing that is clear is that as Jersey Club music continues to dominate pop culture, it's easy to see that Tenaja aka Kia aka DJ Loki will continue to be in the mix.

Lady Crush, The Rapper From South Jersey Who Cemented Her Place In Hip-Hop History

by Nadirah Simmons

As I’m sure you already know from my and The Gumbo’s social media, my debut book First Things First: Hip-Hop Ladies Who Changed The Game is coming out on January 30, 2024. I learned about a lot of different women during the book writing process, and it struck me just how many hip-hop ladies there are that the average person doesn’t know about. Shoot, how many hip-hop ladies there are that I don’t even know about.

As a New Jerseyan, I’m constantly advocating for my state’s contributions to hip-hop culture. Ladies like Lauryn Hill, Queen Latifah, and Rah Digga are indelible figures in Jersey and hip-hop history, with their music filling my playlists growing up and today. But for a long time, those were the only women rappers I knew who hailed from the Garden State.

Now, of course I knew about women musicians from New Jersey who made hip-hop music. Faith Evans was raised in Newark and started singing at the city’s Emmanuel Baptist Church as a kid. Claudette Ortiz was the sole lady in the R&B/hip-hop group City High, who saw success with tracks like “What Would You Do?” and “Caramel.” (Fun fact, Claudette is from the town right next to mine!) And then, of course, there’s Sylvia Robinson, who moved to Jersey in 1966 and would go on to be known as the “Godmother of Hip-Hop,” founding the pioneering label Sugar Hill Records.

But the extent of my knowledge on New Jersey hip-hop ladies ended there. Until…

I randomly decided to look up women rappers and literally every single city in New Jersey that I could think of! And when I typed in “Camden” and “women rappers” I got “Lady Crush.”

Hailing from Camden, New Jersey, Lady Crush-born Rochelle Ryndia Ray-would rhyme with her cousins as a kid and even won some poetry contests. She came up with her name at the age of thirteen, to signify “a Lady that would Crush an emcee’.” And when a local radio station announced that they were hosting a rap contest with the prize being a feature on an upcoming record, Lady Crush rapped on air and won. Another teenager by the name of Baby T won, as well.

Lady Crush and Baby T appeared on the 1984 Tim Greene track “The Facts of Life” and then the remix of the track called “The Dub of Life”-which appeared as the B-side on the 1985 pressing of “The Facts of Life.” The success of “The Dub of Life” led to Lady Crush recording her first solo record entitled “MC Perpetrators” on KAM Executive Records, which also featured a verse from Tim Greene. As Lady Crush wrote on her website, she didn’t just write her “MC Perpetrators” verse, she also wrote “all but a few words of Tim Greene’s feature rap verse.” But when the song was released, Tim gave two of his family members writing credits.

The next part of Lady Crush’s story is a familiar one to anyone who knows a thing or two about hip-hop deals from those early days. Here are some bullet points from Lady Crush’s website:

• Tim Greene asked then 14 year olds Lady Crush and Baby T out for pizza and then asked them to sign a “recording contract”- without parental advisory or consent. He then later circulated information about the meeting, joking that he had signed them for only pizza and a drink. 

• When the initial press of [“MC Perpetrators”] ran out, more copies were still being requested from record stores and DJs and were also needed for Lady Crush to continue to book shows- Tim Greene and Butch Kelly (KAM Executive Records) refused. 

• A heated argument then ensued between Lady Crush’s momager Joyce and Tim Greene’s team that not only did her daughter not have a valid recording contract for [“The Facts of Life” ] or [“MC Perpetrators”], since she wrote the lyrics on the record she should be given the masters anyway to do as pleased. A week later Lady Crush was mailed the [“MC Perpetrators”] masters.

Nonetheless, Lady Crush persisted, and along the way she performed on tv shows like Dancin’ USA and Dancin’ On Air and opened for acts like Heavy D & The Boyz, UTFO, and Salt-N-Pepa.

Today Lady Crush works behind the scenes, writing songs and producing for herself and others. In 2015 she released her first single in more than 30 years, entitled “F**k,” followed by the EP Fifty Shades of F**k.

She’s another lady in hip-hop that you need to know.

Clubbing in Seoul's K-Hip-Hop Scene

By Nyasha Oliver

As a Black woman, clubbing in Seoul, the capital of South Korea, can be an experience. On one hand it can feel strange, with onlookers watching your every dance move hoping to catch a real life You Got Served moment. On the other hand, it can feel familiar when the DJ transitions from a South Korean artist like DPR Live to Megan Thee Stallion, transporting you back to the States while also affirming hip-hop’s global reach. Wherever you end up if you ever visit Seoul, you’ll quickly learn why the capital has been infamous for drawing people from all walks of life to its hip-hop club scene, Black people included. But in order to understand why, we have to go back.

LA List says that spaces like Moon Night Club, a “hip-hop nightclub for Black American GIs in the heart of 1980s Seoul, South Korea” for a better understanding of this infamy.  The publication says that:

“After WWII, the U.S. military stationed itself in what is now South Korea and established its headquarters in the capital city of Seoul, specifically in a military compound located next to a neighborhood called Itaewon. From the 1950s onward, Itaewon developed into an area where American soldiers liked to hang out.”

Itaewon’s Moon Night Club was a place for Black soldiers to hear hip-hop music and new jack swing, as well as spread the sounds to the rest of Korea until it closed in the mid-1990s.

As a result of this spread, Koreans began adapting and creating hip-hop of their own, resulting in the subgenre that’s now become a mainstream phenomenon: Korean hip-hop.

“The exposure of American media led to a high rate of hip-hop fans in South Korea who have emulated Western [hip-hop]  culture which in turn has created this cycle,” says Khia Monroe, who has spent countless summers in the heart of Gangnam, one of the 25 districts in Seoul. And it’s true.

Once hip-hop was in the ears of the people in Korea a new subgenre emerged. Additionally, clubs like nb2, Owl Lounge and Octagon–known for playing everything from 1990s hip-hop music to the most recent cuts–became hot spots, while reality competition shows like Show Me The Money and Unpretty Rapstar helped push hip-hop to the general public in Korea. Which brings me to clubbing.

The neighborhoods in Seoul today can be compared to the boroughs of New York City: the underground scene of Hongdae neighborhood emulates the youthful counter-culture of Brooklyn, Itaewon’s multicultural crowd feels like Queens and the lavish district of Gangnam can be likened to the Upper East Side. There’s a space for everyone, and while the scenes themselves may be physically different, the music and atmosphere are familiar. And rest assured, you’ll be hearing hip-hop.

“My friends and I go to clubs like Octagon around 1AM,” says Khia of the popular high-end club in Gangnam. “One time, we got an invitation to a private VIP booth at Club Octagon during one of their hip-hop nights and [got to experience the lavish] lifestyle that party goers enjoy.” 

On the other side of Seoul, Sam–a London native–was club-hopping with her friends to the popular hip-hop spots Sinkhole in Hongdae and Madholic in Itaewon. The latter of the two is a popular hip-hop club with “a youthful vibe,” that Medium describes as the perfect place to “blow off steam and throw it around the dance floor until 8 am.”

The influence of hip-hop culture in Seoul has not put a stop to stereotyping, however. Incidents of cultural appropriation and blackfishing take place regularly, and Sam and Khia have experienced the effects firsthand. Sam recounts being approached by a man speaking to her in AAVE and using Black hand gestures, while Khia remembers being described as “exotic”–which we’ve learned is nowhere near a compliment. 

There have also been incidents at places like Burning Sun, a nightclub which involved several Korean celebrities in an alleged assault and prostitution scandal, as well as the Itaewon Halloween crowd crush, where severe overcrowding led to many people being killed, have rightfully had an impact on Seoul’s clubbing scene as of recently. 

Hopefully with the passage of time  and the introduction of more preventable measures the space will become more populated again and everyone can experience them safely. And if you’re a Black woman traveling to Seoul anytime soon and want some advice, here’s what Kia and Sam say: 

From Sam: “I’d advise anyone going for the first time to always go with someone, have your wits about you and have fun!”

From Khia: “My only advice is to not club on an empty stomach!” 

How to: #1800Safesexxx festival with selekta xxx

Festival season is no joke, and the work that is required to put one on is not as well. A few weeks back The Gumbo headed out to the 1800 Safe Sexxx festival in Philly, a day filled with music, art, fashion and food by some of the tri-state area’s most talented DJs, artists, brands and dancers. We talked to Selekta XXX about coordinating this year’s event, what the city of Philadelphia offers that no other place does, the importance of patience and planning and more.

The Gumbo: We’re a few days out of the 1800 Safe Sexxx festival! How are you feeling about hosting yet another successful event?

Selekta XXX: Whew 😅 it’s definitely some weight lifted off of me (Pressure) 😂😂 But overall I am extremely happy with the outcome. The most important thing to me about the festival is that the purpose of it is actually alive.

What were your favorite moments from this year’s festival?

Some of my favorite moments were of the brands that vended and the attendees. The vendors really showcased the experience of their brand versus selling something. My motto is “I want to buy something I can feel without touch” and they did that. That made me proud.

The attendees were very stylish and showed up with an open mind. They were free, fun, creative and most of all they left with some type of connection to work with others in the future. Those are very valuable moments for me!

A lot of people don’t understand the work that goes into putting on something like this. Talk to me a bit about the process of producing a festival.

The process involves a lot of patience, FAITH, a strong team that believes in the purpose and want to see things through as passionately as you do. It sounds easy but it isn’t.

That’s why I said patience is first because it takes time to find the right people that align with your vision.

Planning is most important but your Plan “A” will definitely include the rest of the alphabet when things don’t work according to your first plan. And when this does happen you have to be quick on your toes with Solutions because there isn’t any time for excuses.

There’s something so special about the community in Philly when it comes to nightlife, events and fellowship. In your words, what does Philly offer that no other city does?

Philly is a gem. What I love about our city is that it is constantly growing creatively and giving our community things to do and learn. Philly has so many dope places such as Art galleries, restaurants, Pop-Up experiences etc that I still have to visit myself and I live here lol. We’re also so much more than our cheesesteaks LOL. If you haven’t already you must experience Philadelphia at least 3 times in your life, it’s a beautiful city with beautiful people in it.

What can attendees expect from the next one?

Next year we’re gonna turn the experience up a notch. I don’t want to leak anything BUT we’re going to keep climbing up the ladder to give the best possible experience we can give to the people! Stay tuned!

Missy Elliott and the Beauty of Found Family

by Alexandra Fiorentino-Swinton

One of my earliest memories of experiencing FOMO came from listening to Brandy’s “Best Friend,” a four minute and 48 second testimony to the everlasting power of siblinghood in the face of ever-transient friendships. Only children are notoriously independent, but who wouldn’t want a seemingly built-in best friend to be by your side no matter what? Growing up is realizing that this isn’t necessarily the default relationship status for siblings, but the way our culture props up siblings as irreplaceable day-ones inevitably leaves a mark on the psyche of an only child. We frantically seek out that best friend to fortify our sense of belonging and community. Hip-hop has historically been a genre born of such found families, founded on collectives and born of communal spaces of joy and respite like block parties. In fact, it was DJ Cool Herc’s sister Cindy Campbell who planned the historic Sedgwick Avenue party that is widely considered the very birthplace of hip-hop. And despite the many forces working against them, women in hip-hop and R&B often find sisterhood and curate artistic communities.

While under the practically carceral control of then-husband Tommy Mottolla, Mariah Carey found fleeting moments of refuge by breaking out of Mottolla’s gilded prison of a mansion with Da Brat, and the two went on to create collaborative success on tracks like “Heartbreaker.” Lil’ Kim and Mary J Blige’s friendship is storied both on and off the mic, and has resulted in iconic tracks like “I Can Love You” and music video features like “No Matter What They Say” and the “Not Tonight” remix. And friend to all of the above, featured on both “Heartbreaker” and “Not Tonight,” and co-star of the “No Matter What They Say” video is musical genius, feminist icon, and only child Missy Elliott. The aforementioned collabs are mere drops in the bucket of Missy’s long history of lifting up other women in hip-hop and R&B, and at a time where the general ethos around women in hip-hop was that there could only be one. 

Having begun her career in in girl group Sista (originally named Fayze), as a member of DeVante Swing’s Swing Mob collective, and later solidifying her circle of frequent collaborators in the Supafriends spin-off group, Elliott’s entire career has been about showing—and loudly telling—the world how much love she has for her chosen family. In particular, for her chosen sisters, as the vast majority of her songwriting and producing credits are for other women. As much as Elliott’s jubilant exclamations on songs she wrote and produced—“new Monica!” on “So Gone,” “new Trina!” on “No Panties,” “new Keyshia!” on “Let It Go”—became a social media meme, it’s brought newfound recognition to Elliott’s continued reverence for her peers. And her social media accounts are full of nothing but love, light, and of posts of appreciation for her peers. While mass individualism and aloofness have become en vogue, Missy Elliott has remained a torchbearer for the value of earnestness. 

A notable Afrofuturist, Elliott’s work embodies the idea that, as Ytasha Womack claims, "Afrofuturism is a free space for women, a door ajar, arms wide open, a literal and figurative space for black women to be themselves. They can dig behind the societal reminders of blackness and womanhood to express a deeper identity and then use this discovery to define blackness, womanhood, or any other identifier in whatever form their imagination allows." The “Sock It To Me” music video is an Afrofuturist ode to Black women—co-starring Lil' Kim and Da Brat, it casts Black women as the protagonists of a technological future. It’s representative of Elliott’s own groundbreaking status as a successful Black woman in the writing and production side of music and her penchant for supporting other Black women in breaking various technological and genre barriers.

One of the most inextricable pieces of Elliott’s legacy is her hallowed friendship and musical partnership with the late Aaliyah. In 2002, Missy described Aaliyah as her little sister, stating “Our relationship went beyond the work we did together. We felt we had created a new sound, but it wasn’t like we just did records and that was it. It was more of a family vibe than just work. We could tell each other anything.” Through their shared passion for their respective crafts, their sisterhood manifested as a series of timeless, genre-defying, generation-defining collaborations. Alongside Timbaland, Elliott and Aaliyah ushered in a modernized, futuristic form of R&B production that changed the genre’s music and aesthetics indefinitely, and to this day artists follow the sonic playbook they wrote. 

In front of the mic, Elliott and Aaliyah released a few collaborations, including “Best Friends,” an ode to sisterly love in the face of said sister’s infatuation with unworthy men. But more pertinent to the depth of their friendship is “Take Away,” Missy Elliott, Tweet, and Ginuwine’s song about Aaliyah. A tearjerker of the highest caliber, the lyrical content of "Take Away" doubles as a memorial for a departed friend as well as a romantic relationship, which makes it that much more profound. Released two months after Aaliyah’s tragic death in 2001, it deeply understands the value of true kinship and of feeling known.  

You may have initially heard of Missy Elliott from hits like “Work It” or “Get Ur Freak On” or endless others, but to really know her career is to be inspired and empowered. Initially, by her well-chronicled innovation and avant-garde brain that is light years ahead of the rest of pop culture. But she’s not only an artist, not only a hype-woman on your other favorite artists’ tracks, but a curator, a conduit for creativity. There’s something about her curation of her musical family, and her eagerness to love them loudly, that always resonated with me. 

Only children often crave close connections and we indeed, as “Take Away” pleads, "wanna be the perfect match" for our close friends, and thus "we become so attached," heavily investing in platonic relationships to make our own villages and to make them last. We desperately seek out that Ray J to our Brandy, the person we think was made for us to love and to love us "from the beginning to the end." "Take Away" is a manifesto of hope for those who yearn for more out of their connections, proof that you can find your people—people who will, as the song's dedication states, "bring life to your music." 

In 2020, another hit song titled “Best Friend” emerged, featuring two non-related women rapping each other’s praises. This decade has seen women dominate rap, and the largely harmonious landscape of its participants wouldn’t have been possible without Missy Elliott's insistence that there was room for every last woman at the table.

Born without a biologically built-in cohort of peers, Elliott worked to curate a personal and professional environment founded on sisterhood, and her then-novel outlook diffused across her friends and collaborators. Missy Elliott helped turn a generation of little girls into eager consumers of hip-hop, assuring us we had a place here, and as I, now 22, enter into the adult world, her continuous exaltation of her found family makes me excited to find and love my own lifelong sisters.

A History of Black Artists Using Performance Attire To Defy Rigid Gender Norms

by Jessica Wilkins

Soul Train performances from the 1970s and 1980s are some of my greatest sources of joy in this chaotic world, for many reasons. First, the funk and soul music from that era reflect the joy of the Black American cultural experience, fusing gospel, R&B, blues and jazz with drums and syncopated beats that make you want to dance. Second, the music transports me back to the Saturday mornings I spent cleaning the house with my family as a kid. Third, I love the haze of the picture quality and the choreography in all of its theatrical synchronized glory. But most of all I love the fashion in the performances, more specifically the way the men used their costumes onstage to defy rigid gender norms.

Gender-bending through fashion is nothing new. The outfits of women like TLC, MC Lyte, Queen Latifah and Aaliyah immediately come to mind. Baggy pants, oversized t-shirts, bandanas and other garments that were seen as traditionally masculine were sported by women in hip-hop who chose to reject clothing expectations dictated by the feminine-masculine binary. Prior to this, Black male singers like Teddy Pendergrass, The Isley Brothers, The Gap Band, Cameo and The Ohio Players also performed in outfits that defied rigid gender norms. The lapels were huge, the colors were poppin’, the necklines were deep V’s, the pants were fitted and flared, midriffs were out and the boots had heels. There was nary a piece of fabric that wasn’t bedazzled, tasseled, or embellished in some manner. 

The reason is because men’s fashion of the 1970s built upon the Peacock Revolution of the 60s, creating space for men to explore a broader definition of masculinity through style. Social changes like second-wave feminism, the Anti-Vietnam and Civil Rights movements, the rise of the Black Panther Party, the first string of gay rights movements and environmentalism, and the ideals and values of the people began to move into a less conservative space. Thus, as did the fashion. Instead of sporting outfits like standard baggy suits in drab colors, men’s style incorporated brighter colors, patterns and textures, longer hair, tall and lean silhouettes and variations on the classic suit. 

The lines between traditional men’s and women’s attire were blurred for everyday people. “Fashion had reached a new level of gender equality, particularly in informal wear,” says Milford-Cottam in “Fashion in the 1970s.” José Criales-Unzueta further supports this point in the piece “What Is Queer Fashion, Anyway?,” noting that “this disruption to traditional clothing items or codes of dressing where queerness is often found in fashion, and it can come from various places.”

Male performers took full advantage of the sartorial freedom afforded to them, hitting the stage in costumes that allowed them to shed the confines of traditionally masculine clothing. Not only were their looks an affirmation of their right to dress freely and without restrictions, but the element of performance also affirmed the right of the many viewers and audience members to do so as well. You need to look no further than the current news cycle to see just how important images on television and onstage are when it comes to shaping the opinions of the world around us.

The Gap Band performed “Outstanding” wearing bright red satin matching pants sets that featured glitter embellished collars and sleeves, rhinestone epaulets, and multi-tiered fringe tassels, topped with glitter rimmed cowboy hats.

Harold Melvin and the Bluenotes performed their 1972 single “I Miss You” wearing purple, blue, pink, and orange color-blocked sets that featured deep v-necklines, various cutouts (one that revealed a single nipple), exposed midriffs, and tuxedo tails with white heeled boots.

In the music video for the 1978 disco/house hit “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” Sylvester begins wearing a black leather jacket, black tunic, and black leather pants, with light makeup and textured hair. The next scene features slicked back hair, a white pants suit, and a light green button down shirt accessorized with bangles and a folding hand fan. These looks are modest in their queerness, but by the third and fourth scene, Sylvester transitions into a full multi colored sequined gown accented by a sequined headwrap and finally a gold sequined look with tightly curled hair and makeup. This openly queer icon’s attire reflected more traditionally feminine wear as the song continued. The more real the object of the song made him feel, the more femme his attire became.

As we moved into the early part of the Reagan Era, the age of excess brought forth power suits with exaggerated shoulder pads, athletic wear as outerwear, preppy fashion inspired by the Ivy League, and goth fashion. Androgyny became a signifier of glam and punk rock, and pop well into the ‘80s. “Both men and women wore clothes inspired by Victorian mourning garb and Bram Stoker’s Dracula and it was not long before this movement took to the streets,” writes Kathryn Hennessy in “Fashion: the ultimate book of costume and style.” 

When Prince and his band the Revolution opened for the Rolling Stones in 1981, he emerged wearing bikini briefs, thigh-high boots, and a sheer jacket. He was booed off the stage twice as the crowd yelled racist and homophobic remarks and threw food at the stage. Instead of retreating to the safety of more masculine performance attire and lyrics, when homosexuality was vilified from a push for conservatism during the Reagan era and the AIDS epidemic, Prince leaned harder into blurring the lines between race, gender, sexuality, and musical genres throughout his entire career.  

Cameo lead singer Larry Blackmon wore a bright red codpiece and thigh-high patent leather boots over a spandex bodysuit in the 1986 video for the hit “Candy.” 

Conversely, Black women R&B singers like Phylis Hyman and Whitney Houston played up the feminine glam in their performance attire. Hyman was known for her extravagant headpieces which complimented cleavage revealing necklines, padded shoulders, and embellished dresses.

In the late 80s hip-hop street fashion like tracksuits, sneakers, distressed and tapered denim, polo shirts, nylon jackets, and gold chains dominated as the rap genre gained popularity. And when some of the women in the genre desired to be taken seriously as MCs who could hang when the man, the fashion matched that of the men. As David Opie notes:

“Not only did it help set them apart aesthetically, but in the patriarchal world of ’90s hip-hop, it also sent out the message that these artists wanted to be taken as seriously as the men. By shifting the focus away from the artists' bodies, streetwear helped female artists gain recognition for their music alone in a systemically sexist and misogynist industry.”

When contemporary artists like Saucy Santana, Lil Nas X, Kid Cudi, Bad Bunny and Lucky Daye perform in gender nonconforming looks, they are not only carrying on the tradition of queering fashion in music, but they are also reflecting a changing society. Moreover, just as generations past responded to imposed ideals of hyper-conservatism, so do today’s artists. Maybe this time around, where we’re more openly discussing gender and identity, today’s artists can help usher in a new era wherein everyone can decide for themselves who they are and how they present themselves.

How HBCU Homecoming Concerts Set The Stage for Stardom

by Flisadam Pointer

Homecoming. By definition, it’s the “instance of returning home.” In the United States, the word represents the longstanding tradition of alumni returning to their high schools or colleges to celebrate. Homecoming week and weekend often find students, educators, and alumni alike participating in parades, attending tailgates, celebrating at parties, and cheering at games. At Historically Black colleges and universities, those events are enhanced by the celebration of school spirit and Blackness that not only plays a part in the enjoyment of the entire celebration but also in the success of an artist’s career: the homecoming concert.

Growing up just outside of New York City had a lot of perks. It’s the number one media market, with dozens of legendary music venues just a short train ride away and three of the most prominent urban radio stations on my dial constantly spinning the most popular acts in rap. 

Whether I was trucking it into the city to sneak into a taping of 106 & Park after school, grabbing student discount tickets to a critically acclaimed musical on Broadway, or attending a special one-night-only concert featuring one of rap’s biggest names, as long as I had the money I could go. As a result, I always knew what was hot.  

When it was time for me to go off to college I eagerly packed up my belongings for the nearly eight-hour drive to Virginia State University (VSU), an HBCU in Petersburg, Virginia. I daydreamed about what the southern live rap music scene had to offer me, hoping it would rival that of my childhood right out of the city. Upon arrival at VSU, I sadly realized the answer was nothing. The school, located 20 or some odd miles outside of the capital, was the complete opposite of the musical environment I had been accustomed to back home. There were no major venues in town and the nearest major city, Richmond, ranked 56th in the media market. rap artists viewed this area as an afterthought when it came to touring. It wasn’t until the whispers about homecoming week began to make their way around campus that I realized my historical Black university had something so much more special to offer me as an avid music lover: the homecoming circuit.

My VSU ID card.

The groundwork had been laid for my magical homecoming experience long before I applied for college. A few months after his performance at Summer Jam in 1995, The Notorious B.I.G. traveled down to Washington, D.C. to perform at Yardfest, the outdoor concert held during Howard University’s homecoming. Alongside him? Foxy Brown, Biz Markie, and Bad Boy label owner and former Howard student Diddy. A few years later Roc-A-Fella descended on the university, with Jay-Z, Memphis Bleek, and Beanie Sigel taking the Yardfest stage to perform some of their biggest hits. In 2001 the Howard homecoming celebration saw the return of Foxy Brown as well as performances from DMX and Capone and Noreaga, and the introduction of a reggae concert headlined by Beanie Man. Big names didn’t just descend on Howard’s homecoming celebration. Schools like Lincoln University in Pennsylvania, for example, saw homecoming performances by big names in rap like Big Daddy Kane, Chill Rob G, EPMD, and De La Soul in the 90s and beyond. Homecoming wasn’t just a place for these artists to perform, it was a place for them to connect with the Black students who contributed to and could further propel them to success.

Before Rolling Loud, Broccoli City, Power 105.1’s Powerhouse, Something in the Water, Roots Picnic, and Day N Vegas, there was only Hot 97’s Summer Jam. Law enforcement's criminalization of rap music effectively made it more difficult for the genre’s newer acts to get booked on a grand scale. From overt harassment of the acts playing large venues seen in tour bus raids which often results in unjust detainment, or enforcing noise ordinances to shorten the length of performers' sets, promoters found-and still do find-themselves walking a financial tightrope. In Mark Anthony Neal’s “What the Music Said: Black Popular Music and Black Public Culture,” he notes that “insurance industry had a particularly compelling impact by raising venue insurance rates for hip-hop concerts in relation to the public paranoia associated with hip-hop performances, in effect making the promotion of such events a distinct financial risk.”

As rappers dreamt of the Summer Jam stage, prior to 2013, when non-local acts were granted the opportunity to play Festival Village (the festival’s official pre-show originally founded in 2004), without massive popularity on the artist’s part, playing the main stage was not even an option. This is where the HBCU homecoming circuit comes into play.

With students like myself miles away from home, homecoming week allowed us to learn from all of the unique regional cultures and discover new acts. My first homecoming was in 2010 at the height of hip-hop’s “blog era.” On the concert lineup, names included Big K.R.I.T. and Wale. While both artists already had a few projects under their belt by the time the VSU homecoming concert rolled around, their performances allowed them to “work” their material for the crowd as well perform for an audience that could, and would, further catapult them to success. The following year Wale signed to MMG, and two years after the show K.R.I.T. released his debut studio album, Live from the Underground, which debuted at number five on the Billboard 200 chart. In the years that followed, artists like Rico Nasty and Megan Thee Stallion would hit the VSU homecoming stage to perform, with Rico going on to snag a Forbes 30 under 30 slot and a Gold-certified record, and Meg landing two number-one singles on the US Billboard Hot 100 and three Grammys. 

Here is what a few HBCU alums had to say about their homecoming experiences:

Melody Asherman graduated from Tuskegee University and currently works as a fashion designer. She attended a total of eight homecomings, her favorite years being 2006, 2010, and 2015. “[Homecoming 2006] because that was my first and 2010 [because] I hosted the concert on the yard. Future is one of my favorite rap artists. In 2015, he headlined the convent. His energy is unmatched! He had the entire auditorium on 10! I had to go see him in concert after that!”

Freelance writer Markayla Brooks, a 2020 graduate of Clark Atlanta University (CAU), has attended a total of seven homecomings between her alma mater and neighboring colleges, Spelman and Morehouse. “Homecoming culture is an unmatched experience,” she says. “I always went to the R&B concert for Spelhouse. They had Ella Mai, Jazmine Sullivan, and Jacquees. My HBCU is in Atlanta [so] any celebrity could be on campus any given day. Morehouse had Hump Wednesday [a weekly party hosted around the campus that features games and, at times, music performances], and they had rappers like G Herbo and the Migos.” 

Journalist Ariyana Griffin, also a graduate of CAU, has attended both her school’s homecoming and the Spelhouse activities. Despite the global pandemic being a damper on her college experience Griffin was able to attend a few homecomings, describing them as “similar to a family reunion.” The most memorable homecoming for her was “Clark Atlanta’s in 2022,” which saw appearances from Saucy Santana, Asian Da Brat, G Herbo, and Lil Baby. The official recap video curated by Streetz 94.5 radio personality Fly Guy DC has racked up hundreds of thousands of views on YouTube. She says, “It was one of my best memories, especially being a senior. I really enjoy the concerts because at least at Clark’s, they allow students to perform and open for the celebrities, so it also gives them a major opportunity, and it also opens the student body up to new music from our peers.”

From its birth in 1520 Sedgwick Avenue’s recreation room in 1973 to today’s TikTok trends launching the careers of so many of today’s biggest names and historically Black colleges and universities stamping who the next big live act will be, Black youth have and will forever be the tastemakers of hip-hop music. Just as homecoming is a right of passage for the students, it also serves the same purpose for the current era’s acts. 

A Love Letter to the Cypher

by Tolu Edionwe

Hinge put me on the spot the other day and asked me to describe my ideal celebrity encounter. Without question, I would jump at the chance to gather my favorite emcees in a room for a cypher. André 3000, Queen Latifah, JAY-Z and Smino, to be specific. As a lover and occasional practitioner of freestyle rap myself, the pinnacle of praise is when my performance is used as a jumping off point for a peer’s creative exploration. So when that day comes, I want to cyph with them. To me, they are masters of the craft, and I hope to garner their respect in the same way, as peers in the workroom of rap. It is the cypher that presents a uniquely optimal environment for this type of peer-to-peer art-focused exchange, and in my opinion, is the most ideal performance space that we have today. 

There are a few different theories as to how the term cypher came about; some believe it emerged from the language of the Islam-influenced Five Percent Nation, others believe the encoded meanings in rap lyrics point the origins towards cryptography and the practice of deciphering secret messages. Either way, the term has become intertwined with emceeing and breakdancing, and in today’s day and age is most popularly associated with hip-hop culture. And in B-Boying and Battling in a Global Context: The Discursive Life of Difference in Hip Hop Dance, Imani Kai Johnson describes the cypher as a competitive space that prompts performative duels between individuals or their crews. 

So whether you’re describing rapping or dancing, a cypher in hip-hop is defined as a group of people in a circle improvising and interacting. This last tenet is crucial, with interactivity differentiating a cypher from a regular stage performance. When you go to a concert and watch musicians on an elevated stage, you spectate from a space that is purposely separated from the performers. No matter how close you get to them or how loud the music is, and despite the best of the best crowdwork maneuvers – like bringing an audience member onstage – your role as a concertgoer is ultimately static: you are there to receive the performance. In a cypher however, the existence of the entity itself relies on continuously evolving participation from attendees. The spectator is at once the audience and the performer, transitioning between the two roles throughout. This fluidity binds the spectators into a social contract with each other: they must actively follow the norms of the cypher, or risk complete dissolution of the space.

Start at 1:45:33

Their tasks? To clock the amount of time a rapper gets to spit before someone else grabs the mic. Clock the way people transition from watching and listening to rapping, the volume and energy that commands attention. Clock the content of the lyrics – what is impressive to the crowd? (The mention of current news events, a topic mentioned by the previous speaker, the incorporation of real time details – the weather, the color of another rapper’s sweater, the surprise appearance of a dog in the circle.) 

The cypher participant is made aware of these norms quickly, with the help of audible reinforcements that can be either ad-hoc from the crowd or deliberately structured into the cypher. From the crowd, reactions are instant and loud. Anti-authoritarian sentiments are cheered, interruptions by overintoxicated people who fail to adhere to rhyme or rhythm: booed. 

Legendary Cyphers takes place every Friday night from May to November in Union Square Park in NYC. Each summer since 2013, orators have stepped forward to riff with pretty verbiage and exchange stories with their peers. And so tradition has emerged; whenever people creep too far into the center and space gets tight, a refrain rings out from the founding emcees:

TAKE TWO STEPS BACK AND OPEN UP THE CYPHER!
TAKE TWO STEPS BACK AND OPEN UP THE CYPHER!

Positive reinforcement exists within the LC structure as well, geared less towards the individual and more towards encouraging a spiritually united cypher with a call and response:

THIS IS HOW WE RAPPIN’ AND HOW WE GET IT HYPER//IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THIS IS, IT’S LEGENDARY CYPHERS
FROM, FRONT TO BACK IF YOU LOVIN’ WHERE YOU AT, SAY HELL YEAH (HELL YEAH) 
SIDE TO SIDE IF YOU LOVIN THE VIBE, SAY HELL YEAH (HELL YEAH) 
IF YOU LOVIN THE CYPHER, THEN THROW YO FISTS UP! 
IF YOU LOVIN THE CYPHER, THEN THROW YO FISTS UP!
IF YOU LOVIN THE CYPHER, THEN THROW YO FISTS UP! 
AND SAY HELL YEAH (HELL YEAH)

In these ways, cypher participants are called to actively contribute to the vibe, maintain the physical space, and keep the flow going, all within a cultural syntax specific to the cypher. 

In contrast, proscenium viewing relies on one-way attention, which is distinct from participatory support and psychological safety. As a performer on a stage, one can hope for applause as a sign that the audience is receiving the performance positively, but there is no guarantee that the details in the execution are noted or appreciated. The physical circumstances of the space frame the performer as a spectacle to be marveled at, with a limited amount of feedback gauges available. This leaves a gap for the audience to receive the performance without critical thought or cultural immersion. 

The rapper Aminé responded to the phenomenon of his predominantly white audiences rapping along too readily to his “Caroline” lyrics by substituting the n-word with a deliberate warning. Instead of “killa//... west side n***a”, he reminded the NPR Tiny Desk audience: “killa//...if you ain’t black don’t say it”. Noname has also expressed discomfort with her proscenium experience, famously tweeting her irritation with performing for mostly white crowds whom she strongly suspected didn’t align with her ideological beliefs. Many performing arts creatives have likely experienced similar unease, albeit on a smaller scale. Feedback just hits different when it's from people who see the nuances of the environment, whether it’s other dancers hyping you up at a class, or other musicians “Ow Ow!”-ing you at a jam session. 

For the proscenium performer, there’s little controlling who is in the audience. But the interactivity embedded into the cypher dynamic gives the performer more flexibility. The cypher educates the audience on the appropriate cultural and ideological norms in real time, and encourages assimilation through call and response. This increased trust in the audience’s discernment is topped off by the best perk of all: a fellow rapper jumping in to catch your flow.  It’s the highest of compliments, and the beauty of the cypher. 

Start at 28:50

Cindy Campbell's Back to School Party Birthed Hip-Hop

Cindy Campbell at 1520 Sedgewick Avenue, Photo courtesy of Cindy Campbell via NYMag

by Nadirah Simmons

With its inception coming off of the heels of the civil rights movement, hip-hop emerged as a cultural movement during the 1970s among African American, Caribbean American and Latino American youths residing in the South Bronx in New York City, presenting its four distinct elements-music (oral), turntablism or “DJing” (aural), break dancing (physical) and graffiti art (visual). Widely credited as beginning at DJ Kool Herc’s home in a high-rise apartment at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue, the movement later spread across the entire borough. DJs such as Grand Wizard Theodore, Grandmaster Flash, and Jazzy Jay refined and Herc’s technique, and by the late 1970s, DJs were releasing 12-inch records where they would rap to the beat. Tracy Denean Sharpley-Whiting in “Pimps Up, Ho’s Down: Hip Hop’s Hold on Young Black Women” says that due to “technological innovations, consumer capitalism and media and entertainment mergers, hip-hop naturally expanded beyond its DJing, MCing, break dancing, and tagging origins.” In “Masculinity and the mic: confronting the uneven geography of hip-hop, Gender, Place & Culture,” Rashad Shabazz says that in the 1980s rap emerged as the culture’s most dominant element, superseding DJing and graffiti. As a result, hip-hop moved from simply being a tool of cultural and political expression to a mainstream, global, multimillion dollar business.

Much of the scholarship on hip-hop contends that space is a fundamental element of hip-hop-look no further than Mark Anthony Neal and Murray Forman’s “That’s the Joint!: The Hip-Hop Studies Reader” and Tricia Rose’s “Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America” for affirmation. Rashad Shabazz says that it is this space that allowed young men and boys in hip-hop to use “to not only counter their spatial disempowerment, but also to exclude women from these same spaces (Shabazz 2014).” Thus, although women have been a part of hip hop as rappers, DJs, b-girls and graffiti artists since the culture’s beginnings in New York City, the majority of the origin stories about the founding of hip-hop music and culture name men as the providers and suppliers. That’s why it’s important that you know Cindy Campbell, DJ Kool Herc’s little sister, planned and promoted the very first hip-hop party, thrown in The Bronx on August 11, 1973.

Cindy had the vision to throw the party that is known today as the birthplace of hip-hop. In an interview with Rock The Bells, she talked about how the party came to be:

The whole thing about the Sedgwick Avenue party is, you want to go back to school with something nice, different, and fresh — and you're the only one that had it. Alexander’s was the department store. I put my money together. Then I thought, ‘How am I going to increase my money to turn it over, to make some more money? That's when I had the concept and the idea to do the Back to School Party. It wasn't a birthday party, it was back to school. You’ had to give it a good reason and a theme. I thought, ‘How am I going to promote this party? How am I going to make this happen?’ So we had the recreation room and it was $25 dollars to rent the room.

She charged 25 cents for girls, 50 cents for guys, and wrote the invites on index cards. When 9 p.m. on August 11, 1973 at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue came, a teenaged DJ Kool Herc would spin at the party that would change the course of hip-hop (or chart the course, for that matter). Their parents played the role of security guards, hanging in the lobby with other parents and monitoring the event while their kids enjoyed the party.

Cindy’s impact doesn’t end there. A party promoter and organizer, graffiti artist and b-girl, Cindy Campbell is a hip-hop pioneer and product of it through and through. She is also the founder of Hip-Hop Preserve Inc., a non-profit organization committed to preserving the roots of hip-hop. Over the years she’s also negotiated a movie role for her brother and helped coordinated his 2005 shoot with Vanity Fair.

The invitation to Cindy’s Back To School Jam, written on an index card

I love Cindy Campbell’s story because it’s a reminder of how women have been a part of hip-hop from the very beginning, literally. It’s also a reminder of how many hats we’ve worn and continue to wear. Shout out to Cindy Campbell for creating the space for hip-hop to flourish, and for a space like The Gumbo to exist.

On The Roots And Rhymes of Black Muslim Women In Hip-Hop

By Adama Juldeh Munu

“Can Muslim women be down with hip-hop?” is a question Anaya Murray asks in her 2008 paper of the same title. If you have ever heard of Muslim hip-hop artists Poetic Pilgrimage, Miss Undastood, Aint Afraid and Boshia Rae-Jean you might ask the same question, as these women are rarely mentioned in conversations on hip-hop. When you consider that Islam has been deemed the “iconic religion of hip-hop,” the absence of their names in larger conversations around the genre is worth examining. Moreover, there are many ways that Islam has shown up in hip-hop music: Lakim Shabazz’s “Black is Black” samples Malcolm X's fiery “The Black Revolution” speech, Lauryn Hill’s “Doo Wop” mentions ‘Suratul Mustaqeem’ (‘straight path’ in Arabic) from the Qur’an’s opening chapter Surah Al-Fatiha and rapper Eve’s “Double R What” uses the Arabic translation for God, Allah. The connection is there, and despite the lack of mainstream discussions around Black Muslim women rappers, an understanding of their musical contributions is essential to understanding the larger canon of hip-hop.

An understanding of this connection is made possible thanks to research from historians like Sylviane A. Diouf, who suggests that the blues-which heavily influenced rock ‘n’ roll and hip-hop-was rooted in the musicianship of enslaved Sahelian Muslim musicians. They used string and wind instruments compared to enslaved non-Muslims who relied heavily on drumming and group singing which were banned by the mid 18th century in the US. And that the blues shares similar musical properties with the Islamic call to prayer for instance. Therefore, Black Muslim rap is a continuation of the relationship between African-American music and its West African Islamic roots.

Miss Undastood (Tavasha Shannon) was the first Muslim woman I had ever heard rap on an album. She identifies as an Afro-Latina conscious rapper who isn’t afraid to speak from her experience as a single parent, a survivor of domestic violence and as a proponent of women’s empowerment. I initially heard her on the song “Tala ‘al Badru Alayna,” a rendition of the traditional Arabic nasheed with British Muslim hip-hop pioneers Mecca2Medina that appears on their 2005 album Proud to be a Muslim. The album is a collection of rap songs that uses traditional African instruments, hip-hop sounds and dancehall beats and deals with a myriad of topics, similar to those Miss Undastood raps about such as racism, brotherhood, Black pride and the Prophet Muhammad.  These themes also appear in her own songs like “What you know about love” and “Black Superwoman.” When asked about her career as a rapper and the inclusion of certain topics in her music, she says:

When I first started, there weren't any Black Muslim female artists at all doing what I did. I was the first, and I was doing ‘Islamic hip-hop’ which was like gospel rap. I spoke on gender and racial bias because as a Black woman what I was doing was being frowned upon while men, or Arab Muslims were enjoying music and art.

Black Muslim women’s participation in rap is in keeping with a concept within Islam known as “Al Amr wa Bil ma’ruf” or “enjoining the good,” which dictates that societal problems and issues should be called out and corrected by individuals and the community. That Black Muslim women choose to use this creative expression or art form to this end is a demonstration of how uniquely historical musical tradition and spiritual beliefs align uniquely for Black Muslim artists.

Sakinah and Zakiyyah Rahman of rap duo Aint Afraid build upon the same tradition as Miss Undastood, saying they aren’t afraid to speak to the “Jennah-ration” (Generation) and appeal to a new Muslim audience of Millenials and Generation Z. Born in Baltimore, Maryland and raised in Metro Detroit, Michigan, this duo has been singing since the age of two. They are known for their online viral hits like “LBP” and “Rover and Benz,” and producing songs for Muslim and non-Muslim audiences:

We're twin sisters that have shared a genuine love for singing and spoken & visual art since we could speak. We decided on the name Aint Afraid because it is a very fitting phrase for who we are and what we want people to know about us before we even speak. We also hope that through our music and journey others find how they too ‘Aint Afraid.’

Aint Afraid (Facebook)

The music video for their song “We Will Breathe” caught my eye. It was made in the wake of the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery and has been watched on YouTube more than 50,000 times. In the song, they draw on the rich traditions of sayings mostly associated with Civil Rights activists like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, and what’s described as the Black National Anthem "Lift Every Voice and Sing," a rallying cry for racial justice and resilience. Sakina and Zakiyyah both tell me:

 We have always been passionate about ourselves and others using the arts for good causes. Part of our mission is to spread good messages through our work as well as being vulnerable and real and show life that people can relate to. For years we have mentored and worked alongside young people to advocate through poetry, storytelling, rap, etc.

This movement that Aint Afraid is involved in is being echoed by their Black Muslim women counterparts in countries like Senegal, who are increasingly taking up rap music to address problems within their society. And while it is still taboo for Muslim women who cover to take up music publicly, Senegalese women rappers are taking up the mic to have their voices heard, inspired by other women rappers elsewhere in Africa and beyond. For example, an all-women hip-hip collective of 70 Senegalese women rappers, singers, DJs and graffiti artists known as “Genji Hip-Hop'' developed out of a Whatsapp group created in 2017 with a mission to provide transformative change. A civil society organization, they hold workshops for women and put on concerts to address issues such as domestic violence and equality.  

Mina La Voilée (Facebook)

"One of Genji hip-hop’s rising stars is Aminata Gaye, whose rap name, Mina La Voilée, is French for 'Mina the Veiled One.' In her song “Girl Power,” she highlights the importance of women owning their lives and fighting against misogyny. She often uses the Wolof word “mun” to refer to women who allow men to dictate their lives and touches on how women should always speak out collectively. She initially received backlash because being a 'veiled woman rapping' wasn’t seen as appropriate, but she says that’s not stopping her."

In this area, as in so many others, women are not well represented or at least are subject to discrimination, to some form of violence. It is up to us to bring about a change and I share the view that the empowerment of women leads to gender equality but also to the eradication of poverty.

However Black Muslim women rappers have not always been well received. In 2020, for example, Black Saudi Arabian rapper Ayasel Slay was the subject of racist and sexist abuse online over her video for “Bint Mecca” (daughter of Mecca in Arabic). She was also threatened with arrest. As Dr Su’ad Abdul Khabeer states in her book “Muslim Cool: Race, Religion, and Hip-Hop In The United States,” Black Muslims are not always able to full participate and benefit from their cultures within the wider communities to which they belong because “the Black Muslim performing body is a tool that is appropriated for non-Black ends and through this…Black Muslim men (and women) are flattened into essential Black subjects.”

Despite this, Miss Undastood thinks the game has changed for Black Muslim women rappers compared to when she first started in the early 2000s:

Muslim women in rap still have a long way to go. Brace Yourself! More of my Black Muslim sisters are becoming more visible, appearing on BET and other platforms, and opening up/ performing with some of the legends. Representation matters so it's a good look for us. I thought when I made it to Netflix that I made it, but I came to the realization that it takes a lot to really get far in this ‘rap game.’ 

Black Muslim women’s voices within hip-hop have existed without much research being done on their contributions to the culture. This is in spite of the influence that Islam has had previously on earlier inceptions of rap music and the link between hip-hop and Black mainstream artists, both men and women. The rich tradition connecting Black Muslim women to the artform is clearly seen in common themes of social commentary, activism and women’s rights and identity.

A Conversation with KenTheMan

Photo Credit/Cameron Perry

There’s a lot to love about KenTheMan. For starters, the Houston native is cool as hell-the kind of cool that allowed for us to share laughs about which astrological signs to avoid dating within the first 10 minutes of the interview. She’s also charismatic, with a charm and talent that is bound to inspire anyone who crosses her path or follows her socials. And on her new EP What’s My Name, the rapper is both earnest and intentional, using her lyrics to shift from songs about self-love to the undeniable anthem that is “Rose Gold Stripper Pole” with ease.

KenTheMan has been writing since she was a kid, taking home a school prize for poetry in the third grade. She would continue writing as she got older, penning her 2019 hit “He Be Like” in the car while working as a food delivery driver. The following year she independently released her debut EP 4 Da 304's, a 10-track offering that she asserted was “strictly for the hoes.” The project built upon the legacies of Black women rappers before her who wrapped about their right to sexual pleasure and body autonomy, as well as hit No. 9 on the Apple hip-hop charts and generated more than three million streams within its first 24 hours. It was on from there. with co-sign from artists like Snoop Dogg and Cardi B and a feature on Spotify's renowned Rap Caviar playlist only further cementing that KenTheMan would be here to stay.

Her new EP What’s My Name was released last Friday (October 15) on Asylum Records, making it her first label release and what she describes as her “first listen to a bigger platform.” With that in mind, Ken says she was intentional about the project’s content and wanted to show how diverse she can be in her music: “I’m big on introductions and I felt like with [Asylum] I wanted to shut down any negativity so people can have open ears. I created it to show diversity [in my [lyrics] and give myself that fair opportunity.”

We hopped on Zoom with KenTheMan to talk about What’s My Name, grinding to achieve your dreams, self-care, and more.

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by Nadirah Simmons

I saw your tweet about the horns in New York City and how it is very much hectic and very loud! How are you enjoying your time here?
I come here often so I already know what to expect but [people] are so angry here [laughs]! I’m from Texas and we’re known for Southern hospitality. 

Yes! How did Texas influence you and your artistry?
I’m not really a fast rapper…I’m more like a groovy [rapper]. I rap hard but it’s not too fast. If anything the pace of my sound would be Southern, Houston native.

Let’s get into this new EP. I love all of the songs, and what really got me is how you set the tone for the project with “Love Yourself.” Talk to me about to motivation behind this track.
I didn’t make this purposely, but it was an undeniable intro. I couldn’t see it fitting it in any other place [on the EP]. I wanted to shut down the conversation of bitches rapping a certain way. Because 4 da Hoes, 4 Da 304’s, the project I released last year was for the hoes, that’s why it’s named [that]. With this one I wanted to give a more cocky, arrogant, feel. I just feel like it was no better time than now to show the many sides of KenTheMan. 

Is this the Gemini in you because you said something about two sides and I saw you tweet about it right before we hopped on here! Are you into astrology?
No I just use it to pay attention to who I’m dating [laughs]! But I did just find out my moon and my ascendant! And I was not happy with what mine were because I feel like they are not me!

Whew, and you gotta watch that stuff because when you share that on the internet people try to clock you and read you. The astrology world [online] can be very interesting.
I don’t even have my birthday date on my Twitter. I don’t even post on my Instagram when it’s my actual birthday. I’m the most open/private person you’ll ever meet!

Is that a conscious decision on your part to be that open/private person? Because you’ll see that a lot in the industry, especially with Black women, that a certain level of fame kind of encourages them to pull back [on what they share online]. 
This era is so strange and people are so weird. They find the smallest things to try to stab you and hurt you for some reason…And it’s stuff that’s not real and not the truth. But  somehow it hurts…We don’t want to hear that in our happiness. 

Absolutely, and the internet is very much weird.
And it’s recent, I feel like it was never this negative!

Do you feel like what people say on their influences when you decide to put out music or what to rap about?
I feel like nobody influences my music. If anybody does, I just ask my supporters what they like. I listen to supporters because they’re the people who are buying my music, I don’t listen to strangers.

But you’re selling music to people, and if you ignore them how are you going to get paid? 

What was your creative process like for What’s My Name versus For Da 304’s?
I feel like it was the same. I feel like my creative process is me going into the studio knowing I wanted to create a project. I feel like people don’t know this about me, but I literally don’t create a lot of music. I hate that about myself, but when I get into project mode, that’s when I create the most music. I’m getting better at that because I want to, I don’t want to be jumbling my projects together when it’s time.

But it works for me. I’m the only artist who doesn’t have 50,000 stashed on their hard drive. If I’m making a song and that shit trash, I’m like “ugh, out of here. This shit trash.” With the process of creating EPs, I stay in [the studio] until I’m done.

Photo Credit/Cameron Perry

You used to DoorDash and Uber! Talk to me a little bit about trying to achieve your dreams and while also making sure you pay the bills?
I was just about to say that. A lot of people try to pursue music and quit their job. But how are you going to pay to create the music? How are you going to pay for your beats? How are you going to pay for studio time? How are you going to pay for your videos? How are you going to pay for your clothes, your makeup, and your hair?

I was a waitress before I did DoorDash and UberEats and I got fired from there because I spoke my mind too much [laughs]! That was the first job that I ever called and tried to kind of beg [to get back]. And I was like “fuck y’all I’m going to be famous anyway.” So I started DoorDashing and UberEatsing, and it benefitted me because I was able to write while I drove. 

When I first started rapping, every track that I wrote was written in the car, every time. I was back in my element of comfort and that’s when I wrote “He Be Like,” because I feel like I wrote the best music in the car.

I was in a rich ass neighborhood while I was dropping off food and I was like, “man what the fuck am I doing? I want these houses.” I want to be to rich. I got a child to feed. I got a family I want to be able to see the finer things. That’s what woke me up and I went on BeatStars, I heard that beat [for “He Be Like”], and it just stood out to me. 

How do you balance motherhood with your career as an entertainer?
Girl I be buying V Books on one phone, responding back to other stuff on the computer. It’s not as challenging for me as it may be for other people because I have a really big support system with my dad and my brother. [My child] is there right now with my dad and my brother.  My dad has been a supporter from day one.

Yes dad!
Yes girl he used to sell my CDs at work! He’s so proud of me girl I’m all over his Facebook.  So it’s easy for me to be a mother and a rapper because my dad believes in me and helps take off that extra [load].

Speaking of your support system, I know you were in school for psychology and you originally wanted to be a therapist! Do you still want to do that and what interested you in psychology?
I’ve always felt like I was so in tune with people’s emotions and thoughts. I felt like I was the best advice giver, I’m so positive, I know how to get people out of slumps so easily…But in my career it’s crazy because people say I make them feel better all the time. So I’m doing both of the things I want to do at the same time!

And I’m about to open up my advice column soon because I want to give out advice as a rapper too. The personal stuff too, like a rapper who gives advice. I want to give out that free therapy to my supporters.

Wow yes, I love that. What do you as your own form of self-care?
Laying in my bed watching TV girl! Fuck massages and facials and foot rubs, I like to watch Netflix and know I ain’t got shit to do. I love it. 

Listen to What’s My Name here. And stay tuned to The Gumbo this week for her answers to your #AskKenTheMan questions!

Shara McHayle On Working At PNB Nation, Entrepreneurship, And Knowing When To Rest

Photo by Kahdeem Prosper.

by Nadirah Simmons

When Shara McHayle hopped onto our Google Meet call, I knew we were going to have a great discussion. Our glasses matched, our manicures matched, and we began chatting about the weather, fashion, the green PNB Nation jacket and “Please No Bacon” shirt my dad had, and a bunch of other things that were not lined up on my list of questions. To be quite honest, it felt like I was catching up with a friend I hadn’t spoken to in a while. That’s not surprising though. While researching Ms. McHayle in preparation for the interview I came across quotes, photos, and interviews that spoke to her welcoming spirit and prioritization of community. And it’s been clear from the beginning of her career.

PNB Nation, the streetwear conceived of in 1987 by Roger "Brue" McHayle, James "Bluster" Alicea, Sung Choi, Isaac "West" Rubinstein, "Zulu" Williams, took the "Post No Bills" abbreviation-often seen on New York City buildings and construction sites forbidding the posting of advertisements or any type of signs-and flipped it into phrases like "Proud Nubian Brothers.” As one of the original streetwear brands, PNB Nation’s clothing featured bold imagery and politically conscious messaging. The clothing was a statement, literally. It was here that Shara McHayle planted her roots on the marketing team and rose in the ranks. It was the beginning of a journey.

I chatted with McHayle about her work at PNB Nation, how her Brooklyn upbringing influenced her love for Hip-Hop, fashion, and community, launching Hoop88Dreams, and more.

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Talk to me a little bit about when you knew you wanted to work in the fashion industry.
I didn’t know until I was introduced to a t-shirt. A specific t-shirt. And the name of the t-shirt at the time was titled “Three Names,” and then it turned into “Hello My Name Is.” [On the shirt were the names of] three people of color killed by the New York City Police. It just struck a chord, and that was 1991. It was then that I knew I wanted to be involved in the brand PNB Nation and that I knew fashion would be the gateway to the conversation [and social commentary].

What I love in reading about your work as well as that of PNB Nation is that there is this prioritization of community and integrity. What were your early days there like?
My primarily responsibility was sales and marketing. And because the brand was so small and was founded by five graffiti artists, the design process, the merchandising process, the conversation around the direction of the collection, I was there. I was involved. I didn’t develop it, but I would have an opinion that they wanted. In terms of my responsibility, my job was to get that message out to the gatekeepers, editors, stylists, and trade magazines. And on the sales side, how are our people going to show up and access this brand and this message, and feel empowered?

How would you describe the relationship between Hip-Hop and fashion [in the 90s]?
The music 100% laid down the foundation. The music influenced the fashion. We were trying to dress those stories, we were trying to create-[actually], we weren’t even really trying! It’s just like, this is how we wear [this], this is how we do it. So we created with that.

And how would you describe it today?
There’s a lot of capitalism going on. A lot of money, it’s been proven. In the 90s we woke up white America, and they were like “Hold up, we losing some dollars here!”

[Laughs] Yes, losing some bread!
Yes! And that “hold up” had them jump into our business model, into our culture. They inserted themselves and started taking some equity in it…People who have no proximity to the culture and don’t tie it back, they’re telling the history through their eyes when they have no idea! They don’t look for the people because the ego is involved, and the money is so important…

April Walker says [this] all the time and it’s true.

I love April!
I love her too! [She says] they repackage our shit and sell it right back to us. And I’m like (smacks lips), this tastes the same. Not even asking, taking. And they have the resources. They have the budget. They have the power.

Whew. What advice would you give to someone who wants to create and build their own brand knowing there are people out here who might copy you, steal from you, and not credit you without a care in the world?
Don’t be fearful. The fear is going to stop everything. Then you can’t create because you’re so nervous! And having the idea in your head that someone is going to steal from you, it’s hard to start from that place…Pivot your thinking into the power of strength, place yourself in a position of power, execute in the creation, and strategize in the release. [And] stay in your lane. Stay authentic. Tell the story. Salute who you need to salute that has impacted you, who is also telling the story-maybe do a different platform. And find your community.

To that point on community, your father is Jamaican and your mother is Chinese, and you were raised in Brooklyn. How did your upbringing and multiethnic background shape the way you looked at the world and looked at fashion during this time?
I was a walking contradiction. I owe a lot to Hip-Hop culture because it grounded me. I felt like I belonged somewhere…It embraced me.

Shara McHayle during her PNB Nation days. Photo by Barron Clairborne.

I want to switch gears a little bit. Behind you I see the painting of the bamboo earrings and you’ve got some on. Talk to me about creating Hoop88Dreams.
At my core I’m an entrepreneur. My husband [Pete Rock] is a hip-hop music producer and I had gotten behind him and supported his career post-PNB. We had a family, and that was a service of love. And we can talk about women and love and relationships and sitting down on your career and how that may not be a good idea, that’s just the reality.

That happened and I was like I don’t like doing this. I love the culture and there was a whole part of me that was missing, and I wanted to reengage that woman again to create space. I had a person who would service me with gold hoop earrings and he found his partner and moved to Paris! When I started looking and couldn’t find a resource, I was like “this is it! I’m going to do this!” So I turned to my daughter and asked her if she wanted to do this with me…She was down, and [co-founded it with me] and I wore her out [laughs].

How did you come up with the name, where did the 88 come from?
It’s my favorite year! MC Lyte, Biz, Big Daddy Kane, it goes on! Album after album after album after album. That’s the year you also have Boogie Down Productions and Juice Crew, it was so exciting. I get goosebumps thinking about it because I was teenage mom and that time was a coming of age.

And when you talk about my ethnic mix, the “8” is a lucky number.

Photo by Nicole Acosta.

Wow. I love that.
Hoop88Dreams is very much about seeing a void in the market and being able to tell the story of my influence in that void. I want to service women of color. And if white women want to buy in, they buy in. But I’m taking the approach of POLO and Timberland: I’m not marketing to you. I’m not speaking to you. But if you want honor this and get a piece of this, no problem. This is the story. Honor the story.

What are some of your proudest moments, both in and out of your career thus far?
For me, because I’m a teenage mom, that puts a whole different layer onto that. But, it was that I was able to raise my kids. Working with my daughter [on Hoop88Dreams], my oldest, and having that bond. My children are everything to me.

And career wise, because I was so young I was always in this space of “I gotta prove them wrong!” So add that to the layer of being a women of color, coming from a particular socioeconomic background, to being a teenage mom and saying: “I can create, don’t count me out!”

Listen, when I worked with Lauryn for The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, that was a big deal to be contacted…She saw our work. And that same jacket that your dad had was featured in The Source Magazine, along with other pieces. The Miseducation collegiate jacket. We [also] made some iconic pieces that she wore for SNL and dressed the whole band and she paid for it.

[Also] being the only woman at PNB among five men and working really hard to be seen as a contributor, coming in as an intern, coming out first year as marketing director, [in the] second year taking the brand from $150,000 to $2.1 million as the marketing and sales director, and then being offered partnership by the founders. [Also], we were able to secure a licensing deal with Perry Ellis. They offered me a partnership, equal equity. That was a milestone. And the people knew.

All of those milestones are so amazing. I feel like a lot of time the milestones people my age are expected to desire have a lot to die with your first million or capitalism. The way you’ve spoken about community and activism, and before we got into the interview, about rest, it’s really inspiring.
As women of color, there are so many things we just don’t know and don’t talk about candidly because we have to be so strong all the time. Even in this conversation if you got out of this that you need to rest or refresh so you can be in your best fit…taking care of yourself and grounding yourself [is important].

Inspiration and Motivation: How The OMG Girlz Influenced My Style

by Nadia Simmons

Being a part of Gen-Z, I spend the majority of my screen time scrolling through TikTok. If you aren’t familiar with the social media platform let me explain it to you-after I’m done looking at you suspiciously because you’re lying, of course. Short clips that are no more than three minutes long are presented in rapid succession, introducing new catchphrases, spurring hit records, and sparking trends. One of these trends is the “POV” video, where content creators take viewers back to a specific time in their lives. I revel in them, because the app is dominated by my peers and I can relate to many of the videos under the trend. There is one particular group of videos, however, that have stood out to me the most: “POV: You’re a Black girl growing up in the 2010s”.

The 2010s were some of the best years I’ve had so far in my short life. I was making Rainbow Loom bracelets, sharing TBH (to be honest) posts on Instagram, and connecting with all of my friends on Kik. I also began to develop my own sense of style, music taste, and interests in this time. For me, finding myself did not happen without the influence of some role models. And who were the role models for me, you ask? Enter, the OMG Girlz.

A conglomerate of colorful hair, rapping and singing, and flamboyant outfits, they were IT for me. Beauty, Star, and Babydoll, as they were nicknamed, released “Gucci This (Gucci That)” and its accompanying music video in February 2012, and their follow up single “Where The Boys At?” four months later. 

My whole world changed. My sister, best friend, and I began to choreograph routines to their music, and I was on Tumblr and Polyvore (does anyone remember Polyvore?!) looking up outfits inspired by them religiously. All that 11 year old me wanted was colorful hair, tie dye leggings, a pink moto jacket, and a studded snapback. And my parents bought me each item because I begged for them. Whatever the OMG Girlz were doing I was too.

Their aesthetic was big, colorful, and unique. They were a reflection of their music: young, bright, and brash. As their sound matured, so did their style. Tutus were traded in for crop tops and their brightly colored hair was now dyed muted tones of pink, purple, and blue. Yet, they were consistent; the mature OMG Girlz were still the OMG Girlz. When the music video for “Baddie” came out, one can note their bedazzled bra tops and two finger rings. 

Everything about them was unapologetic and authentic. They looked like me. They celebrated Black girl friend groups, like the one I had. And they made music that was representative of both African American culture and the zeitgeist of the 2010s. As a preteen I didn’t understand how important representation like that was, but twenty year old me is thankful for the OMG Girlz. 

Now that the “Gucci This (Gucci That)” music video is almost ten years old, and we have moved on from the saturated pictures, wedge sneakers, and crackle nail polish of the “swag” era, I look back with some nostalgia for the OMG Girlz, who no longer release music together. They were fun, they were beautiful, they were unique! I must sincerely thank them for the confidence that I found in middle school, which was one of the most awkward times of my life. They inspired me to wear whatever outfit I was feeling, to style my hair how I wanted, and to even do well in school.  I think every young Black girl needs to see someone who represents them, inspires them, and motivates them. In the OMG Girlz, I found three. 

On "Consciousness" and Conversations: Celebrating Seldom Discussed Looks by Women in Hip-Hop

By Ramona Roberts

We know how impactful hip-hop music is. From lyrics to movies to film and fashion, hip-hop has played a major role in shaping the world’s culture. And when you consider the fact that Black women have been at the forefront when it comes to encouraging much-needed conversations on misogynoir, racism, and social change with society-at-large and within our own communities, it’s no surprise that some of the looks in hip-hop would become a direct reflection of these conversations.

When we talk about women's roles in hip-hop through the lens of fashion, the conversation often centers commercialized looks and our standard fan favorites. We have to be careful to include the full scope of history though, and recognize that there was an entire wave of women donning less commonly-worn styles and making their own rules in hip-hop fashion. This was displayed through women in the industry described in the 1980s as “conscious,” because their music and style was reflective of what has been deemed the politically charged sub-genre of Hip-Hop.

Queen Latifah, for example, reinforced the content of her music (and her rap name) with her fashions. Coming from the socially aware group Native Tongues, the queen MC complimented the political views in her music with her style. Through songs like “Ladies First” and “Fly Girl,” Latifah affirmed the power of women while rocking kente fabrics, African pendants, and embracing her name “Queen” with tall stylish crowns and kofias. During a 1989 episode of Yo! MTV Raps, she explained to Fab 5 Freddy, "By wearing African clothes, African accessories, not only am I supporting my African brothers and sisters who have these businesses, but it brings me closer to my ancestors...I just feel inner power." For Latifah, both her lyrics and her clothing made a political statement.

The same can be said of Ms. Lauryn Hill, whose style influenced many and reflected the conversations she had both in and outside of her music. In hip-hop feminist and scholar Joan Morgan’s She Begat This: 20 Years of the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, Morgan notes the way Hill “signaled multiple spaces of Blackness in her style.” She sported locs and tams (crocheted hats usually worn by Rastafarians), and also challenged the notion of what she “should wear” by seamlessly shifting traditionally feminine looks and tomboy outfits. During an interview with Essence, Hill spoke on her relationship with fashion and the need to protect her “creative birthright” from exploitation. “Fashion is something I breathe, for example. It’s something I did very naturally, but I’ve seen my style, my look, everywhere. I wasn’t really trying to share my style, I was just trying to be me and exist.”

And from stylish head wraps and colorful long spaghetti strapped dresses to grillz and fedora hats, Erykah Badu’s fashion evolution has represented the themes in her music as well. In 2003 she released her third studio album ‘Worldwide Underground,’ incorporating hip-hop and funk elements into her neo-soul style to create a project that addressed racism, police violence, a man with a “complex occupation,” and more. At that year’s Essence Awards she rocked a lime green military-inspired suit, in line with the content on her album. In a 2020 interview with Essence, she spoke on the pressure of actualizing the perceptions that come with the box of neo-soul, even with her look. “As much as I appreciated it, it kind of made me feel trapped a little bit. I became the incense [and] candles poster child...[The headwraps] just got heavy, physically and a little bit mentally.” Today she continues to never limit herself with fashion and continues to steal the show with her bold style choices, such as her most recent 2021 Met gala look. "I have a good understanding of my own personal style...[I know] what looks good on my body, what colors look good on my skin. I'm not afraid to take risks. I mean, it's all creativity,” she shared during an interview with Instyle. 

That’s just it, fashion is all about creativity and personal style. Clothes reflect who you are, what you think, the world around you, and the conversations you are having in it. Check out some of the looks we seldom discuss that we want to celebrate below!

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Queen Latifah at the MTV Video Music Awards in Los Angeles, California. 1999.

Queen Latifah, circa 1990. Photo by Al Pereira/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Ms. Lauryn Hill on stage in New York City. 1999.

Ms. Lauryn Hill at the Billboard Music Awards. 1999.

Erykah Badu at the Academy Awards. 2000.

Erykah Badu at the Soul Train Awards. 2017.

Reflections From a Fashion Journalist

by Ameera Steward

Elena Romero is an assistant professor in the Advertising, Marketing, Communications Department at the Fashion Institute of Technology as well as a TV correspondent for a show called LATiNAS on CUNY TV. But before she took on these roles, Romero was a fashion journalist covering the rise of Hip-Hop fashion for the Daily News Record from 1996 until 2002, and Women’s Wear Daily from 2000 until 2002. 

Below are some of Romero’s reflections from that impactful time.

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The Gumbo (TG): When recalling growing up in Brooklyn during the early days of Hip-Hop, Romero said discovering the brand Cross Colours in college was a critical moment for her, in terms of fully identifying with Hip-Hop style. She then explained why the brand caught her attention.

Elana Romero (ER): For me I think it was really the idea of solidarity, of unity, [and] of culture...It was the message that really connected me to Hip-Hop. The idea of having a connection to not only culture but [it] also addressed fit and function. So up until then many of the aspirational brands that many young people were looking at were, let’s say the luxury brands, or the preppy brands. But those brands were not created or designed to fit all body shapes and types. So, one of the things that brands like Cross Colours did was really promote and push a different silhouette and the guys from Cross Colours picked that up on a trip to New York. They were based in California [but] they would [visit] the subway in New York City and see how young people were wearing [their clothes]. And naturally, because young people couldn’t find the appropriate fit to adjust to their silhouettes, they would buy the clothes a size bigger or wider. And so that was something that they naturally incorporated. What you found with Cross Colours was that they might have had a true waistline but then it was a much broader silhouette when it came to the hips and the seat area for example, to give you that true oversized fit. It was fit, it was comfortable, it was style, it was the message. 

When Cross Colours hit, it really became an overnight sensation and that was for many reasons. We had not seen a brand [specifically] market culture, Afrocentricity, to that level. You had support from politicians to celebrities, [and] they had runway shows in Paris — this was not a small production and it showed. Between 1990 and 1994 the brand did zero to one hundred million in sales, [and] it was distributed in chains that no longer exist like Merry Go Round and Chess King, those were major retailers. It was really the first time that we had a brand that spoke to our generation and it crossed racial boundaries. So, although it was centered around the idea of Afrocentricity and Black culture, it was something that every person of whatever background or culture could resonate [with] because it also spoke to the Generation X and that musical connection was definitely rampant within their marketing and promotion. 

[It] was an automatic feeling of pride, of satisfaction that finally someone was addressing my standards of beauty, my culture, my roots and that was the beginning to many things that would come later, other brands that would follow suit up until today. 

TG: What was your mission as a journalist from the Hip-Hop standpoint?

ER: I felt a personal responsibility indebted in gratitude. My journalistic career grew parallel to the market that I covered so I felt that I had a responsibility, as someone that is part of the culture who also helped document the culture through a journalistic lens, to continue to do so in an accurate way. And almost to some degree naming myself among the many guardians of that. 

That’s where preservation comes in and working in conjunction with the university I work at, The Fashion Institute of Technology, to permanently have a collection of urban fashion houses within our museum. And then later to be able to do an exhibition to pay homage to 50 years of Hip-Hop style (in 2023, which will be the fiftieth anniversary of Hip-Hop). My goal is to also have an accompanied book to go along with it.

[This will] show the world that we are much more than just baggy jeans and tees, that we have influenced the world. And really showcase our designers, our people, our superstars, [and] our contributions to society in terms of style and fit, culture, and everyday normal life. 

Young Romero wearing a Cross Colours hat, a Cross Colours T-shirt, Girbaud overalls, and Nike Air Huarache sneakers in 1992

Young Romero dressed in Marithe + Francois Girbaud jeans, and leather wallabees

TG: Walk me through the industry during the 80s and 90s, especially when it came to Hip-Hop.

ER: So, I’ll walk you even a little further back. I covered a market called Young Men’s and that was the label or category given to fashion that spoke specifically to male youth. Prior to the 90s, those fashion trends, and youth fashion in general flip flopped from East to West coast. So, in the 80s the young men’s fashion was primarily driven by the west coast – California [and] Seattle; we’re looking at more of a surf, beach-like style. With the entry of Hip-Hop into mainstream the fashion pendulum for youth fashion moved from the west coast to the east coast, and in part that was because we now saw the Hip-Hop persona move from local television to national television with the advent of MTV. 

When Hip-Hop went mainstream, it gave Black entrepreneurs the platform to break into the business. They now were the voice speaking to that generation. We didn’t have brands that did that. We had aspirational brands that were inspired by Hip-Hop but not necessarily coming from the creators or the trendsetters. For example a young LL Cool J would wear a brand like Troop. Troop had inspirations of Hip-Hop, but it wasn’t necessarily created by people of the culture. What we then started seeing was designers like April Walker, Karl Kani [and] Maurice Malone who were a part of the Hip-Hop generation creating for [the] Hip-Hop generation – that’s the main difference of what we saw happening in the 90s.

The brands did very well and were showing at a trade show called Magic in Las Vegas, that at the time was the show to be at. It would happen twice a year and these early brands would have small booths and were starting to check at retail. Retailers were going to Vegas and writing million-dollar orders – that had been unheard of up until that point. It came to a point where in the mid-90s what was [labeled] an urban brand at the time was making 5, 10, 15 million dollars at Magic. That was obviously a sign of the tide turning as far as where the direction to trend, and where the volley sales were; and it was evident that it was male youth of color that were now dictating the trends at retail. The trends were predominantly independent and regional specialty store based. Later we see department stores picking up on it and then it becomes mainstream, and it was that case up until the mid-2000s. 

TG: When reminiscing on her favorite brands, Romero found herself explaining what women-led brands really meant for Hip-Hop. 

ER: Each brand spoke to me differently, each brand had a different story. [For example], April Walker’s personal story of being one of the few women in the Hip-Hop space, making it in the men’s business, and finally addressing the needs of women in a very feminine style. Early on with Hip-Hop, women’s sexuality, and femininity didn’t really come into play until much later. Many times, we had to dress unisex, and in part women have always had to kind of prove themselves to the boys. And so yeah, we might have worn our baby hairs out on the sides of our ponytails slicked back and we wore our jewelry—those were our feminine accents — but originally when we wore Hip-Hop, we rocked it like dudes. 

That came later where we could have our own space, our own lane and that’s why for me it was interesting to see how many of the brands in Hip-Hop spoke to men, they didn’t speak to [women]. We were always in solidarity with our men when it came to style and music. But then finally we broke off and created our own. At first the female styles came from the men, so those brands did OK, but they were being created from a male point of view. It wasn’t until later—Kimora with Baby Phat, April Walker with Dimes—that we started finally hearing our voice. The men realized ‘We better hire some female designers to create the women’s line and a great example of that [is] KiKi Peterson. [She] was the female in the male group designing at FUBU. Eventually she would head off the FUBU ladies where she finally gives women a platform to be able to dress sexy, provocative, and still have that same urban flare but now catered specifically for us with the same message.

Romero's brass buckle name belt, which she will be donating to the Museum of FIT to be apart of its permanent collection on Hip-Hop style.

TG: Do you think that was the biggest change you’ve seen in Hip-Hop fashion?

ER: There have been so many changes, I mean from a female perspective yeah. Our own brands, our own silhouettes, that’s big. It’s hard to really speak in general terms because there’s so much to talk about when we talk about Hip-Hop style – hair is its own lane, jewelry is its own lane, footwear is its own lane, apparel is its own lane. So, it just depends on what we’re talking about. I think there’s always been a fallacy of people trying to pinpoint Hip-Hop as just being casual sportswear and it’s always been more than that. Hip-Hop has early roots in dressing formal and casual sportswear came later. It’s been hard to convince, I think, the fashion industry [of] how intricate the style and influences are to the culture. I think they predominantly have tried to pigeonhole [Hip-Hop] to be baggy jeans, t-shirts, baseball caps, sneakers and oversized logos and it’s way more than that. The influences come from both the casual, sportswear side and the more formal, [dressy] side. Think about the early days of Rakim—silk shirts and sharp suits and dress shoes were always a part of the style. So, I think the industry [was] kind of stuck in a particular time period and never tried to move back. And you see it now in our celebrities, they’re not only dressing in jeans and tees, they’re wearing all kinds of clothes and that is cognizant of what the fashion style or trend really speaks to. We’ve always been influenced by a variety of musical styles and genres; we just remix it and make it our own.

TG: What was your favorite piece of clothing, shoes, jewelry from the early Hip-Hop era?

ER: I think of custom pieces because I think they’re so nostalgic. The only thing that I kept from my childhood [was] my memento of my brass buckle name belt. For me that had such historical significance, it’s like being able to capture something from a time capsule. And even though it’s a brass buckle name belt, it speaks specifically to that time of customization. I remember going to this little mom and pop shop to get that created and that was the same mom and pop shop where I would get my sweatshirt and I would have them put the felt iron Playboy Bunny on it with my name. Those were my early memories of me creating my own personalized Hip-Hop style. 

Anything custom always speaks to me because [they’re] unique and they [speak] not only about a particular time period but there’s so much history just in a custom item. It really speaks to an individual’s personal style. This is why someone like a Dapper Dan has withstood the test of time, because he created these one of a kind looks. Whether it’s my name ring, or my name plate jewelry – all of those things to me withstand the test of time and they’ve even come back. I have a 14-year-old daughter who, when she turned 13, asked for [a name chain]. [It’s] like a rite of passage.

For more information on Elena Romero visit http://elena-romero.com/

Hip-Hop, Fashion, and A Whole Lot of Hard Work: A Conversation With Stylist And Designer Toni Scott Grant

by Nadirah Simmons

Toni Scott Grant’s career in fashion knows no bounds. Her first “real” gig-her words-was to outfit the VA-bred Hip-Hop legend Timbaland, and her most recent most jobs include styling on the set of Wu-Tang: An American Saga on Hulu and the Super Bowl LIV halftime show. A woman of Houston, Texas and a student of both FIT and some of the biggest names in the industry, she sits on a long list of Black women designers and stylists who have contributed to the fashions of some of our favorite moments in music.

She got her start as a kid redesigning the clothes on her Barbie dolls before making her first move to NYC. There she studied at FIT, and a chance meeting on a Geto Boys shoot kickstarted years of work in the industry. Then, after years of shopping as a stylist and not seeing items that reflected how she looked or thought as a Black woman, she launched her line Haus of Swag, with the mission to “create distinctly curated images of self-expression and empowerment for women of color.”

Grant doesn’t really like the word “unsung”-”it feels like a diss,” she says. But she says that there are a lot of Black people within the fashion industry, more specifically within Hip-Hop, who are not celebrated or praised in the way they should be. Especially when Black people and Hip-Hop alone and together drive the culture. She’s one of those people.

We sat down with Grant to talk about her start styling artists for music videos, the work that goes into creating your own brand, the importance of lifting as you climb, and more.

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Well let’s get into it! When did you know you wanted to work in the fashion industry?
I know everyone always says “ever since I was a little girl” but basically it is true. I was always redressing dolls, it started at about 8 or 9 as far as what I didn’t know would be styling. Redressing, reimaging, reimagining ideas for people, but it can in the form of dolls when I was very small. I would always hand sew little clothes on dolls because I never liked what Barbie sent, so I’d remix it!

And then looking at movies or film I always had the curiosity: “who dressed them? Where did they get the stuff? And when they build out costumes how does that work?” And that started around 12 or 13. And then Mo’ Better Blues changed my image forever as far as the color and what Ruth was able to do with those costumes, and I think I was in high school then. That movie and seeing [Black people], us, sparked [something].

I love that you mentioned Mo’ Better Blues because I’ve never really thought deeply about the fashion in that movie! 
You gotta watch it again and look at the style! But that’s why I was so curious, the color. It was a lot of red, it was dreamy to me!

Now I know Houston is your home.
Yessss, H-Town!

Talk to me about a little about the characteristics of the style there.
I’ll jump and then I go back! Coming here [to NYC], whenever I would say I’m from Houston people thought “country.” But a lot of what I was hearing was “I got friends in Carolina, I got friends in Virginia, my family is from the South!” But that style, when you think about it, we were very colorful. I remember my aunties, when they went out you were going to see them because they were going to have on some glitter, they were going to have some sparkle! I think about the Pointer Sisters, even though they weren’t from that town, when I like at my mom and my aunties it was their style. And I don’t think the Pointer Sisters get enough credit, but back to Houston. Always color, always glamorous, always beautiful, we made something out of nothing when we didn’t have much. It influenced me and my life for sure.

And then you moved to NYC from Houston, with relatively no friends or family in the town. 
Coming from Houston, I had met a girl on a Geto Boys video shoot. So talk about Hip-Hop, talk about style. And funny story, Beyoncé and Destiny’s Child make an appearance in that video. And my hairdresser, she was picked to do the hair on that video and she knew I wanted to be a stylist. She was like, “You gotta come just play like you’re my assistant.”

And Chris Robinson who is a famed video director, who’s directed so many videos and also did an episode of Wu-Tang-which we’ll jump to, his assistant and I, we clicked! She lived in Brooklyn and she was like, “you should come.” I was fearful but I wasn’t, because I was like whatever New York has to offer me I should check it out. So I linked up with Chris’ assistant, she was already living in New York, and she had a few connects and that’s how it got started. 

I also went to FIT during that time because I was also like, I wanted to get the business side of fashion too.

I love that you mentioned FIT because it comes up a lot when I talk to my friends in fashion. What did you get from these sets versus the experience you get at FIT.
FIT is a great experience for anyone. I always say black and white is always good. You kind of want to know business side of fashion, and I know in many ways it has helped me on my journey as an entrepreneur. And I wouldn’t take anything for granted even though I didn’t finish because I had gotten so busy with style work. It wasn’t one of things where: “Oh my god I’m making so much money I should leave school.” Because that’s where I learned my principle because my study was design. 

I don’t know how it is now, but back in the day you had to go up against a committee if you were studying design…You go up to a committee, bring your sketchbook of what your designs are and you show them and it’s a yay or nay, and it was a “no” for me. My feelings were crushed. But every dark story has a brighter story. One of the counselors saw how hurt I was so she asked if I ever thought about merchandise and management. Never heard of it, FMM, fashion merchandise and management, and she thought it would be a great fit for me…I learned so much about textiles, fabrics, buying, international, global, so many things now that people don’t take the time to read. Even an online boutique or whatever, you want to have some book knowledge!

And I know while in NYC for the first time you met The Fashion King, Groovey Lew, who’s styled Diddy, Biggie, Lil Wayne, Lauryn Hill, and Nipsey. What was this meeting like?
Ah my brother. The Lox were having a listening party and I was asking around, “who’s the dopest stylist that’s a male” and “who’s the dopest stylist that’s a female?”  Who hits the block in New York? And just making a point for the kids, you don’t have to have a celebrity behind you or a lot of work. If you have a passion and a fearless energy in you that this is something you know you need to be doing, you just figure out who’s a player in that movement. So people are saying “Groovey Lew, Groovey Lew.” And at this listening party my girl points him out as the guy with the head wrap. So literally, with my country self, I walked over to him, confidence abound and I told him: “you need me.” I told him I just wanted to assist and I had previous work with Timbaland and Geto Boys and I really love Hip-Hop. And that if he ever had any work I would love to help, and he asked me if I could work that weekend!

He gave me his number and I called and the next thing you know I was flying to Los Angeles within a week to style Snoop Dogg, Jagged Edge, Jermaine Dupri. It was a video for Harlem World, Mase’s group. And Loon was in that group!

Oh my god, this is making me so excited!
This was my intro to Hip-Hop styling beyond Timbaland. And I would be remiss to not mention that Timbaland gave me my first start before Groovey Lew. 

But the next week I’m in Los Angeles. And Mase has a twin sister, her name is Baby Stase. She was the person I was appointed to assist and style, and we get to the shoot and she doesn’t like anything that we brought. So I’ve got go to the Beverly Center, and Groovey Lew was kind of like “you know what to do.” He gave me the opportunity, [basically saying] “this is your chance.” So I brought back a few things and she loved it. Also funny story, we were in an area and I can’t remember what area if it was, Bloods or Crips. But we had to pack up and move to another location. So all of that was happening, and I was a newbie!

I love that you mentioned Timbaland because that was going to be my next question! You called that your first “real gig.” Were there any other style moments outside of that, the Geto Boys, and Snoop that stand out for you?
Shout out to Snoop. I’m very introverted. So, I didn’t really know that once you dress everyone you can come off the trailer. Snoop comes on the trailer, I’ve got his stuff ready for the Harlem World shoot and he’s like, “Why you on this trailer ma?” 

I told him I had to wash the clothes and he’s like: “No. You come off this trailer and if anyone says anything to you tell them to say holler at me…You need to see the action, you need to what’s going on, you need to come off this trailer.”

It was a very good moment because he saw me. And every time since then, I worked the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame where Tupac was being honored and Snoop was there. I hadn’t seen him in many years and he said, “What’s up H-Town Love?” He gave me that nickname on set.

But I think, one of my biggest moments was J Lo’s Super Bowl. And even though it was in an assisting capacity, what do you say to that? And even though I was still Kaepernick all the way, just to be in that moment with a Fly Girl from the Bronx who’s done so many great things. It hit me on field day rehearsals, it was mind blowing. And shout out to Shawn Beezy for that opportunity. 

I like to give credence to people because a lot of people who work behind the scenes, we don’t get the credit we deserve. And I will say a lot us who do work behind the scenes, we don’t care for the shine or the spotlight. But when it’s time to inspire and motivate another Brown or Black queen, we gotta do that. 

And even through my research on you and the ways that you’ve shouted out April Walker, Dawn Haynes, Misa Hylton, Sybil Pennix and June Ambrose-I find that so inspiring and important. Tell me a little bit about the camaraderie amongst Black women stylists in music and more specifically in Hip-Hop.

What can I say about April Walker? A queen and someone who lifts as she climbs…You know, we didn’t have a blueprint. Everything was from scratch and we built. And you weren’t afraid to listen to the elders. So to answer your question, for people like April Walker and Dawn Haynes and Sybil Pennix, they are people that people should know regardless of whether they want their shine people should do their research on.

The blueprint certainly didn’t start with me. I learned from watching these other young Black women do the thing. I mean Misa, what do you say about Misa?

They had a retrospective of her work at an event a few days ago and I was invited by April.  And I literally have a card from Misa that she gave me 22 years ago in a ladies restroom. I was at Bad Boy Christmas party I think, she didn’t know me, and I walked up to her and introduced myself, told her I assisted Groovey Lew a lot, and said if she ever needed help I was here. 

My grandmother has this saying: “The smile don’t meet the eyes.” So when I’m talking to people I always look at the eyes and she was so kind and so regal. And she didn’t look through me, she looked at me, and told me to give her a call. And she hugged me and she was so grateful…And I was so grateful to say to her that she didn’t turn this young queen away. So kudos to those women. Shout out to those women. 

Well I want to switch gears a little bit and talk about ‘Haus of Swag,’ founded in 2011. Talk to me about the inspiration behind launching this line and the work that went into it. 
I created this line to be of service to Black women. The way the story goes, I was shopping for t-shirts because obviously as a stylist I’m always running through stores doing wardrobing and costuming. But I was looking for a t-shirt that spoke to me or my homegirls, and there was not one shirt that had a Black woman or a woman of color that I could relate to. And out frustration I had this idea that I put in the back of my mind.

I had a physical boutique in Houston called Scott Free, a play on my maiden name Scott. The 2009 boom came and I had to shut that boutique down, and then I had a car accident that put me on my ass and I was laid up, woke up from a dream, and in that dream Lauryn Hill was in that dream, Billie Holliday, just fly women from Jazz and Hip-Hop. And I was like, I need to put that on a t-shirt. And that’s how Haus of Swag was born.

Then the business side, if I had to give pointers or say the difficulties: trademark, trademark, trademark. A lot of people come up to me saying they have ideas for a t-shirt brand or a handbag or accessories. Trademark your work. If you feel that work is very important and it’s going to be important to culture, trademark your work because we are in a copy and paste environment. Originality doesn’t get credited and mediocrity rises to the top. 

I know that you’ve also done work in television! Talk to me about your work in that industry.
Doing a lot of the videos back in the day was a great start. And then that film in the Hamptons that I quit my job for…But I really didn’t hit my stride until my second move back [to NYC]. So I’ve got to say one of my greatest moments is working on Wu-Tang, the Hulu series. I mean hello! Shout out to Marcy Rodgers, costume designer. Just having that experience and not fangirling looking at RZA everyday on set, telling that Hip-Hop story, and seeing April Walker from Walker Wear, and seeing her wardrobe be brought onto the truck and placed on Dave East, who plays Method Man. Just watching all of those things and the characters come alive, It’s just one of my best fangirl experiences.

And you did the key costuming on the Bad Boy documentary too?
I sure did! And that was here in Brooklyn and that was a tester, they were going to see if that would make a good run for the turn. Kind of like how a show does a pilot. It wasn’t a tour at first, that was their test run.

That experience, omg. Seeing Black Rob and being able to [establish looks for him]. Groovey Lew was there with Diddy and seeing him and catching up with him was great. DMX, god rest, he was there. One of the girls from Total had a wardrobe malfunction and I had to run onstage while to show was going on to help pin her costume. Those moments, I don’t trade them. I’m so grateful for those moments.

We’ve talked about so many things today, and one thing that’s been a constant in all of these industries is the presence of Hip-Hop. How would you describe the relationship between fashion and Hip-Hop today?
It’s a needle mover, there’s no movement without us. So many of those pioneers, April Walker, Misa Hylton, they didn’t know Hip-Hop would be what it was. They did it for the love. And all of us in Hip-Hop, we love fashion. You can’t have one without the other and you see the influence everyday. 

If you think about a lot of these brands, I see Burberry very logo’d out, Versace very logo’d out, it’s cool. Sneakers and all of that. But a lot of [these] things they would not have done prior [to Hip-Hop]. These brands had to recognize who we were, and I don’t think we needed them. They needed us. They still need us. 

Rico Nasty Gets Vulnerable On "Grow Up"

by Brooklyn White-Grier

We know Rico Nasty for raging against machines—AKA bubblegum synths and hi hats that tip-toe, unless you were ahead of the curve and remember her more fresh faced work from 2014. Regardless, she’s since become rap’s ordained punk supreme, constantly being recognized for her nearly hoarse boasts and too-cool-for-you demeanor. She’s dropped off a few yearly projects, most recently her debut album Nightmare Vacation and mixtapes Anger Management and Nasty, giving peers into her daily orbit and general life philosophies. Transparency isn’t avoided, but isn’t regularly laid as plainly as it is on her new loose track, “Grow Up.” 

Maybe she’s feeling the slump that’s hit us all like a ton of bricks. The COVID-19 pandemic continues to devastate, the Texas government has found a way to meander around Roe v. Wade, climate change has escalated already-dangerous natural disasters and we’re expected to work, be parents (Rico has a young son) and maintain the grossly inauthentic “good vibes only” front for strangers online. It’s a crushing dance, especially when you’re just nestling into your mid-20s and millions of eyes that are strained from increased screen time are on you. So we find Rico fearlessly submitting to reality. 

“I don’t wanna grow up, I’m so scared of losing, I’m afraid of failure, I don’t check my emails,” Rico croons on the chorus. We’ve come to expect distinct ways of being from the artists who fill our playlists, which is not always the case. They’re complicated like all of us and every day isn’t the same—some come with missed alarms, insecurities and shifted hair habits (all of which Rico raps about here), which is life when your routine is mangled beyond recognition. Mask removal is cathartic. 

Maturing is a delicate process when it wants to be, while other times, it’s unrelenting. Anyone who says differently is a liar, or maybe one of those who constantly embraces tension and makes themselves think they love it. Maybe they actually do, I don’t know. I do know that confrontation with yourself can be like sandpaper to the skin and your memory can lose its fire for containing everything that’s ever happened to you. They say it gets better, (whatever “it” is) and while I believe it does, I understand their experiences aren’t quite this. But hey, everyone is self-watering to the best of their ability, stretching and leaning towards the midday sun—sages, everyday Gen Z-ers and celebrities alike.