It's a remix of hip-hop history

By Lisa Heyamoto
Seattle Times staff reporter

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There are two kinds of people who will watch VH1's "And You Don't Stop: 30 Years of Hip Hop," a five-part series beginning Monday at 10 p.m. that chronicles hip-hop from the streets of the Bronx to the top of the charts.

Die-hard fans will consider it a belated step in hip-hop's evolution — a chance for the mainstream to understand what is possibly the most important cultural movement of a generation. (Though they won't be able to believe the producers didn't interview A Tribe Called Quest or Wu-Tang Clan, and somebody really should have asked them.) The rest will happily catch the show on one of its inevitable VH1 reruns.

Produced by Def Jam's Russell Simmons — of course — and featuring interviews with top hip-hop artists, this is classic VH1, but with a little bit more to offer. It's the TV equivalent of a Tootsie Pop — candy-coated, but with a little something to chew on when you're done.

The first two of the five parts were provided for review, and it begins with Monday's show, "Back in the Day." Our first glimpse is of the Bronx in the late '70s, mired in poverty and drugs, broken like the smashed windows of its tenements. But in the desolation, here's a bunch of guys at block parties finding something to go crazy about with a couple of 12-inch records, a mike and a dance floor.

A viewer's first impression is how far things have come, and you wish yourself into those crowds, feeling that brand-new, palpable energy coursing through the room.

But Simmons interlaces the energy with stark reminders of the challenges. While we see Kool Herc and Afrika Bambaataa sowing seeds of party songs and positivity, we also see what gave rise to the socially conscious rap of Public Enemy.

Part 2, "Bring the Noise," is a tour of the groundbreaking rise of Def Jam and Run DMC and the emergence of hip-hop on the main stage. It moves from the Bronx to Queens to Brooklyn and to a new fan base — downtown white kids.

Hear Ad Roc call a young LL Cool J "weird," and watch DMC recall his initial impression of Aerosmith's "Walk This Way" lyrics as "hillbilly gibberish."

Here's where hip-hop starts to mature. Yet still there were setbacks that come from a cottage industry outgrowing the cottage, and some folks regret what they see as a loss of authenticity.

In later installments, we'll be introduced to Snoop, Biggie, Tupac, Dre and Eminem and all the other catalysts in an increasingly evolving genre.
 
Knowledgeable fans will surely feel more obscure groups were slighted in favor of the big names. In fact, we learn early on that the Sugarhill Gang ripped off the ubiquitous "Rapper's Delight" from the lesser-known Cold Crush Brothers, but the beef was kinda, sorta set aside in the interest of spreading the word on hip-hop. It's these almost-contradictions that mark much of what Simmons is trying to say: that hip-hop succeeds in spite of, and because of, conflict, and tells a story of urban, black America — like it or not.

Lisa Heyamoto: 206-464-2149 or lheyamoto@seattletimes.com