In part two of our interview with writers Ben Pedroche and David Kane on their respective new hip-hop books, Independent As F***: Underground Hip-Hop From 1995-2005 and What Do You Call It? From Grassroots to the Golden Era of UK Rap, this time Ben answers David’s questions.
What was the catalyst for writing the book? And what were the stepping stones to take it from an idea into a physical thing?
I’ve been writing about hip-hop for a long, long time, first as a contributor to Hip-hop Connection and other magazines, and later on my own blog, Grown Up Rap. Parallel to this, I have published three books about another of my passions, London history. I had been trying to find the right lens through which to write my first hip-hop book, and being such a huge fan of the underground era from 1995-2005, this felt like the perfect way to share my passion. Once the initial idea solidified in my head, it started coming together nicely.
You mentioned record shop snobbery at Mr Bongos, a classic example of gatekeeping in music. Yet there’s been a bit of backlash on this recently, with people arguing that gatekeeping can be a good thing when it comes to quality control now it is easier than ever to make and release music. What’s your take?
I’m basically a music snob myself nowadays to be honest, usually turning my nose up at anything I assume I won’t like. This is not a good trait, as I’m undoubtedly missing out on a lot of good music. I do think gatekeeping can be a good thing, but the problem now is that, alongside it being easier than ever to make and release music, it’s also easier than ever to be a so-called gatekeeper. What I do know for sure is that despite there being so much music coming out all the time, the good stuff still filters through in the end.
Relatedly, do subcultures still exist, or have they been replaced with aesthetics?
They certainly no longer exist in the classic sense, but they do in certain corners of the internet. I still feel like I am part of a secret club when I discover a new artist and become part of the community of like-minded fans.
In your book, you write about Cold Chillin’ and Jive, labels that begin life as independents (or at least the appearance of an indy) but inevitably go into business with a major label. Why does this rarely end well?
Money. A major label needs a return on their investment, and this means that inevitably, a small label is going to need to bend to a more commercial and accessible sound if they want to maintain the lucrative backing of a major, leading to less experimentation and innovation. That label’s fans don’t want the sound they loved to be compromised, and so they stop caring.
How important were the rap scenes outside of the coasts—e.g. Houston, Atlanta, etc.—in developing an underground rap sound?
Very much so in the sense that they opened hip-hop up to a wider audience, and shone a light on a wealth of talent outside of the traditional centres of rap music, namely New York and Los Angeles. Hip-hop, especially underground rap, is a story about resilience and making the most of what is available, and you definitely had to be resilient and resourceful if you wanted to become a rapper in a state like Maine, where the hip-hop scene was basically non-existent.
I enjoyed your wrestling and hip-hop analogy. What rapper do you think would make a good wrestler from the period covered, if not necessarily in physical size but persona? (for the sake of posterity, my or possibly the answer is Kool Keith and his many personas).
Kool Keith for sure, and MF DOOM, both masters of multiple personalities. I can picture them turning face and heel many times over long careers in the ring, and switching personas, Mick Foley style.
When I’ve interviewed MCs from that era, they’ve often shied away from the ‘underground’ label, DOOM straight up told me “I think the distinction is kind of blurry but there was no such term as ‘underground’ back then. We never used that term.” what do you think that resistance is down to?
For some artists from that era, being considered ‘underground’ was a badge of honour, tied with an overall sense that you had to be authentic and ‘real’, and that the only way to do this was to be anti-commercial and different from anything ‘overground’. For others, however, terms like ‘underground’, and especially ‘backpacker’ and ‘alternative hip-hop’ were seen as unnecessary labels, and were later even looked upon as corny. Some artists therefore tried to distance themselves from such tags. My feeling is that DOOM was likely in this camp.
MF DOOM is a red thread character throughout the book (understandably). He could have been very selective with who he collaborates with, yet he worked with MCs as disparate as Paul Barman and Ghostface. Would you speculate on his thought process?
As much as we all quite rightly worship DOOM, it’s also obvious that he enjoyed making money, and to a certain extent he more than likely was happy to work with whoever was willing to pay. And you can’t be mad at him for this at all. That said, he also had integrity and a desire to preserve his legacy. Like DOOM himself, MC Paul Barman and GFK are both unique artists and far from your average rapper, and DOOM seemed to gravitate towards this kind of kindred-spirit artist for sure.
One of my favourite things about reading books, and music books in particular, are the ‘I didn’t know X’ moments. For example, I didn’t know Del The Funky Homosapien is Ice Cube’s cousin till I read your book. Did you have any of those moments while reading my book?
Something that really stuck out was how many grime and drill artists say they don’t even listen to regular hip-hop. It reminds me of my university days when I had dreams of being a film director. I’d volunteer to help shoot student movies, and get shocked when the director wasn’t as obsessed with 90’s indie movies as I was!
How important was the blog era in documenting underground hip-hop? And how do you see rap journalism in 2025?
The blog era was definitely something that opened up indie rap for a wider audience, and made it very easy for people to discover new music. I actually feel good about rap journalism right now. There are plenty of people writing long-form articles about the culture, and excellent books come out at a steady clip. Hip-hop has never been given the same respect as other forms of art, but as long as creative and passionate writers continue to document and celebrate it, I genuinely feel like we’ll continue to be in a decent place.
From the period you cover, 95-05 in particular seems to incite a lot of misty eyed nostalgia among underground hip-hop fans. Why do you think that is?
A big part of what people loved about the era was how the music was made in defiance of how bad commercial rap music had become, especially in the ‘shiny suit’ era. That being said, there’s definitely some misty-eyed nostalgia in that it’s tempting to look back and think everything about indie rap was perfect. In reality, some of the records I loved back then don’t feel as good anymore, and a lot of the themes and subject matter have not aged well.
Finally, what’s your favourite record from the period you cover in the book?
It’s an obvious answer, but I have to say Company Flow’s Funcrusher Plus. The era produced many important records, but this one represents everything that was so brilliant about that time.
