Words: Chris Nise
Hell hath no fury
like a rapper scorned. This is what the world learned this November
28th when the long overdue sophomore record dropped from the “what
happened to those guys? ” crew: the Clipse. In the world we
live in now, culture is all about the short attention span, the “what
have you done for me lately?” vibe. In some instances four
months of silence can be enough to end a career. Let’s talk
about four years…
The Clipse have been around for a minute, but the story as most of
us know it began in 2002 with their official introduction, “Lord Willin’”.
The record took more than a few people by surprise, as the falsetto-prone Pharrell
presented the world with some real real shit. “Lord Willin’” was
knee deep in Snow Business, rife with tales from the game, but it
was smart; the lyrics crafted carefully and delivered with an refreshing
amount of precision.
Unfortunately for the Clipse, a good majority of the major press
they’ve
gotten since that record has suffered from Snowblindness, unwilling to really
look beyond the cocaine content and talk about what a lyrical force these cats
really are. Go back to this record and give it another listen, and you’ll
see it: its Real Rap. We are talking Kool G Rap real: bravado and skill. Lyrically,
the Clipse worked hard at constructing their rhymes, making stories unfold with
strong punchlines, heartfelt delivery, impeccable breath control – all
while excising anything gimmicky or easy. This is the kind of shit that made
the 90s go ‘round.
Who knows why things happen the way they do, maybe it was timing,
or maybe the Neptune’s audiences being less able to relate to something that evokes
thoughts of Kane or G Rap – but whatever the reason, much of the critical
acclaim for the Clipse as lyricists was overshadowed by coke talk, and it’s
a damn shame. For those of us who heard what we heard, though, the
hope was that there would be a sophomore record to strengthen the
cause. In their vernacular: a re-up.
And yet that re-up never made it to the spot and those of us who
were fiending were left scratching our arms and necks, wondering “what happened?” The
lack of a follow-up to their first record has become the stuff of
hip-hop legend already, to be filed of course under the infamous
Industry Rule # 4080. The short version of the story is easy: The
Clipse got fucked.
The long version involves Arista records merging into Jive records, and contractual
issues keeping the Clipse on Jive, while Pharrell and the rest of the Star Trak
imprint moved to freedom at Interscope. Despite work on a follow-up record beginning
in 2003, the release of this new record moved further and further away as the
lawyers squabbled over bullshit. While the lawyers fought, the Clipse refused
to sit back and be silent and brought it back to the streets with a series of
already classic mixtapes.
Now the bullshit seems to be squashed and the sophomore record finally
dropped. “Hell
Hath No Fury” is a product of pain and suffering and anger,
and we all know that makes for good fucking music.
The Foundation Magazine got a chance to break bread with Malice and Pusha T,
to gain some insight on everything that has transpired over the last few years.
The brothers had a lot on their minds that they were ready to share with us and
their fans.
I got ahold of Malice on a rainy Monday afternoon, as he was relaxing
at home in Virginia, and the older of the two brothers was very eager
to discuss the mess with Jive as well as his excitement about the
new project.
In the haze of controversy, the Clipse have been loudly vocal about
how unhappy they are about their music being held prisoner. I ask
Malice if people at Jive have caught feelings related to the group’s
public criticism of the label for delaying their art for so long.
Audibly angry but still focused, he says “man listen, this
is not personal. There is nothing personal about this. No one cared
when we weren’t eating, that wasn’t considered ‘personal’.
We simply venting. Were we catching feelings when they’re preventing
us from eating?! Why wasn’t that considered personal?! Nah'
man this isn’t personal. The lawyers have to do their thing
and the only voice we have is to vent. But ain’t nothing personal.” In
a more melancholoy tone, he adds, “man come on, its all that
we have. I know why the caged bird sings, you feel me?”
His last comment is typical of his character; Malice is balanced
in all his thoughts about the Jive situation. He quotes some Jive
executives as agreeing with him that “the only ones getting
hurt here is the group.” His tone is that of someone who is
stressed and yet understanding of the reality that this is all part
of the hustle. The Clipse are not interested in complaining for the
sake of complaining, they simply want to make the music that defines
them. They aren’t interested in bad-mouthing Jive, they are
interested in having the freedom to make their music a reality.
Pusha, on the other hand, operates on a less even keel and talks
about having much less patience than his brother. “Fuck these
lawyers!” he shouts to me on the phone from his hotel in New
York City, where I caught up with him before a trip to MTV for TRL. “Malice,
he was like ‘I'm still fucking with these lawyers’ in
the beginning, trying to get it fixed. Me man, I was just like ‘fuck
these lawyers’, yahmean?” Pusha’s gut feeling
as he described it was that this had come down to an issue of “art
versus politics. I was trying to make music, man.”
Although he makes sure to add that his brother was simply less impatient
than him, in the end it was Pusha T’s impatience with the suits
that created the breakthrough that has defined the Clipse during
the intervening years: Mixtapes.
Fed up with the legal mess, Pusha made the move to create We Got
It 4 Cheap Vol. 1. Although it was ostensibly an end-run around the
chokehold Jive had on their record, Pusha also makes sure to clarify
that it was also “a form of release for the Clipse. One day,
I woke up, I've been talking to lawyers constantly, and music was
getting behind me.” He sighs heavy, then spits out “I
was like YO, lets do a mixtape, at least start hearing music we love
again.” You can hear the spark in his voice through the phone.
“We wanted to take people back. Reminding people a great period
of hip-hop - not to the old school, but the 90s. “ His voice
gets louder on the phone, shaking with excitement, as he starts spewing
out names: “Man, there was a time when you could cop a tape
and hear Jay-Z, Nas, Biggie, Foxy, Nature, Mobb Deep, the fucking
Lox!!“
It feels refreshing to hear Pusha’s enthusiasm for the era
that shaped the standards that most of the critical hip-hop audience
was shaped by. He gets it. Malice gets it. They make music that bangs
without needing to be pigeonholed as either pop or underground because
they remember when there was rap that was lyrical AND for everyone
at the same time.
“Shit was about the spirit of competition,“ he adds, “and
we wanted to bring that back. Lyrically driven hip-hop, man, we was
trying to bring that back!” And sure enough, they did. The
Vol. 1 tape is laden with angry and raw lyrics poured out over classic
records. “We wanted to reprogram people’s ears, “ Pusha
explains, “take them back to that time period with the beats.” The
beats included “Who Shot Ya?” and Lil’ Kim’s “Queen
Bitch”, as well as some nods to EPMD and other lyrical monsters
of yore. It was an all out tour de force of lyrics, and introduced
us to both Ab Liva and Sandman, who, along with Malice and Pusha,
comprise their new super group, the Re-Up Gang.
Unfortunately, their first foray into the mixtape game was missing
a significant presence from Malice. “I didn’t wanna
do it” Malice explains. “I was bitter, like, ‘forget
a mixtape’. I just wasn’t enthused. Ab-Liva and Sandman
came down and repped, so I caught slack for being on only 6 songs.” When
the tape created a huge positive critical response, it motivated
the missing team member.
Malice gets candid about the first tape, saying in a hushed tone, “man,
to be honest, it felt good that I was missed. “ He was finally
convinced that the mixtape was the way to go for now. He adds, laughing, “man
it was real ironic, before we got our first record out, we couldn’t
find much love on the New York tapes. We realized, being out of that
NYC loop, we had to do like Outkast, you know, stand alone.” Hence,
the idea of putting out the stand-alone product that Pusha pushed
for.
“We basically had a finished product,” says Malice, “and
we had heard that Mixunit.com was really running this shit, so we
got connected to Clinton Sparks.” Asked about how much input
Sparks had on the projects, Malice chuckles a little and says “man
we came to him with a finished product, all he really had to do was
drop some “get familiar!’s on there!” He laughs,
but makes sure to add they have nothing but love for Clinton.
As a 90s mixtape junkie myself, I couldn’t resist probing further
into the minds of these guys and seeing where they were coming from
in terms of their roots as hip-hop fans. One of my favorite memories
of classic 90s mixtapes was “the hunt”. Before the days
of downloading or even burning CDs, there was a flow of music that
originated in NYC and trickled down the coast to everyone hungry
for that shit. Growing up in Philly, I would jump of the train at
52nd street, and bypass the incense, oils and fake Nikes to seek
out that folding card table covered with badly color-copied mix tapes.
DJ S&S, Ron G, Buckwild.
Awash in mixtape memory bliss, I probed the Clipse for their story,
as I knew it was out there. I asked Pusha where, living in Virginia
Beach, was his “52nd street.”
“Yo straight up, Norfolk State,” he blurts out without
pausing, “there was dude – hold up, do you remember the
early Clue tapes? When he steadily talked about killing this one
bootlegger, Clifford McDoo?!” I’m as hyped as he is,
remembering the same tapes, laughing like “yeah, yeah!” “Yo
man THAT’S the dude we bought tapes off of back in the day!
He would come down to Norfolk State and have all the latest tapes.
Clue wanted to kill this dude!” We both laugh about it, and
I realize that the shared memory of this one bootlegger is what unites
a lot of the real hip-hop audience, and underlines why the Clipse
are really a group to be checking for.
Everything is confirmed on We Got It For Cheap Vol. 2 when, towards
the end, I hear the Showbiz beat from “Next Level” drop
and the Re-Up posse begins ripping over it. Anyone can reference
Biggie, or Nas, and convey a generalized feeling of 90s nostalgia.
It’s easy. But we are talking about Showbiz & AG here.
This isn’t your typical cookie-cutter homage to the greats,
this is really about the love of real rap. Who amongst us doesn’t
immediately respond to that famous AG verse: “All I see is
blinking lights/track boards/and fat mics//950’s/SP12’s/MP60’s…”
That’s the type of rappers the Clipse are. They exist in era
of the trap, snap music, crunk, and yet they were lyrically forged
in the era that defined real raw lyricism. I ask Pusha about the
Show & AG beat and he reacts from his gut, “fuck yeah my
man, that’s our ode to Show & AG. This shit was our ode
to The Lox. I’m talking about when you would hear The Lox on
every tape, yo –“. He interrupts his own thought and
just starts spitting classic early Jadakiss verses off the top, the
phone crackling with the volume of his intensity. “That shit,
man, that shit was the greatest era. DooWop tapes, the Clue tape
with The Lox on the intro…” his voice trails off, but
the point is made.
The Clipse mixtapes were a solution to problem, a way to keep their
art breathing, but at the same time allowed them to pay homage to
their roots, and send a message to all the fans waiting for that
next record that not only were they still here, but they were still
focused on the real crack: amazing hip-hop.
Which brings us back to the present. The legal bullshit is finally
settled, and Hell Hath No Fury has finally dropped. “Mr. Me
Too” sent shockwaves through the fan base, as the first taste
of the Clipse to see the mainstream light in close to four years.
The track is sparse; the anger, palpable: “These are the days
of our lives/ and I’m sorry to the fans but them crackers weren’t
playing fair/JIVE…”
Its immediately apparent that everything about this record will be
driven by the anger of being caged for the last few years. I ask
Malice to expound on this, and he says “I am hurt. Part of
me wanted to have fun and be flossy, but I had shit on my heart.
I felt like I was gonna die.” The mood gets serious as I can
hear the strength of Malice’s conviction. “One song
brought me to tears man, that’s how real this has been.” It’s
so clear in his voice and his honesty that this shit is their heart,
In a roundabout way, the anger produced by Jive’s antics has
been distilled into a potent fuel that feeds the flames of an amazing
record. Pusha agrees and tries to frame the record for me: “Look
man, the critical acclaim is already there, we can’t ask for
much more. We are realists. We are in the best place possible right
now. We put out the best album we could create. We are setting ourselves
up for greatness.”
I ask Pusha if there is any anxiety about this record, given Jive’s
track record so far, but assures me there is none. “I mean,
it’s Jive,” he says with a short laugh, “so you
know they ain’t spending no money. But again, we did our part.
We made a great record. The acclaim is there. The rest is not up
to us.”
The key, as Malice puts it, is the freedom to create the music they
love. “Bottom line, yo, we are workers. If you can work, life
is what you make it. All we’ve ever wanted is the freedom to
work as hard as we want to. I don’t really care about numbers.
I care about getting this music out.” He pauses for a long
time, seeming to think about his next thought carefully. “We
can deal with whatever life throws our way. We’ve been through
the fire. If we can’t put out records, we’ll put out
mixtapes.”
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