The use of samples by hip-hop producers is part of a much longer tradition that goes back to the roots of jazz.
A lot has been made of the fact that a large portion of early hip-hop was based on “taking” pre-existing songs and recordings, created decades before, and presenting them in a new, different light. This process was known as sampling, named for the sampler, which could literally record chunks of time as digital audio and allow users to manipulate it at will via keyboards or drum pads.
The best examples of these machines, which included the Akai MPC60 and Ensoniq ASR-10, allowed users to change the pitch, reverse, chop into pieces, sequence, alter dynamics, and much more. Aside from the technology that made all this possible, the intended usage, as defined by the designers, was not all that different to earlier instruments like the Mellotron. However, what hip-hop producers did with sampling technology and all those extra parameters, was wholly different.
Depending on who one asks, the age of sampling confirmed that hip-hop’s early producers were either truly lazy or geniuses. The lazy part is the most obvious and unimaginative take—they didn’t create the music they sampled, and in many cases, didn’t credit the original composer. The genius part requires a little more open-mindedness and understanding of what was actually occurring, both from a musical and cultural perspective.
Some have argued that, aside from playing traditional instruments at a very high level, there was actually very little difference between what hip-hop producers did and what jazz musicians had been doing for many decades before. Just like hip-hop producers, jazz musicians took existing music, created for one purpose, and manipulated it, transforming it into their vehicle, for another.
In the beginning, this transformation was mostly stylistic/rhythmic, leaving the original song clearly discernible to the listener. But by the time we get to John Coltrane, we were observing jazz musicians who improvised over earlier songs by other composers, which had been transformed to the point of being unrecognizable, even to the most sophisticated of ears. Take, for example, Coltrane’s “Fifth House” (1961), which was actually based on “What Is This Thing Called Love,” a well-known Cole Porter composition written for the 1929 musical Wake Up and Dream.
In the case of hip-hop, the goal was to create interesting vehicles for emcees to rap over. One of the earliest examples was “Rapper’s Delight” (1979), where the Sugarhill Gang literally looped an entire instrumental section of Chic’s “Good Times” (1979), transforming it into the perfect vehicle for 14 minutes and 37 seconds of nonstop rapping. Later on, hip-hop producers such as J Dilla contorted the samples used in their productions to the point where, even to this day, fans still argue over exactly where they came from. The most creative hip-hop producers have drawn from far and disparate sources to find the samples they use in their productions.“Hip-hop producers such as J Dilla contorted the samples used in their productions to the point where, even to this day, fans still argue over exactly where they came from.”
In my opinion, it cannot be refuted that both jazz and hip-hop musicians mastered this process by constantly pushing the envelope. All the while, they constantly used pre-existing art and transformed it to serve a completely different purpose, in aid of a completely different artistic statement. Theirs was a process of re-contextualization and this was central to both musics. Neither jazz nor hip-hop musicians were interested in simply “covering” popular songs, which audiences at the time already loved, in the way that a wedding band might. To go further, many of their transformations were so extreme that it would’ve probably just been easier for them to create completely new compositions. Many of them certainly possessed the ability to do so. So, why did they sample? I would argue that recontextualizing is not unique to literature, jazz, or even hip-hop. It is a fundamental technique employed by artists within many disciplines, and most likely has been for millennia.
The saying “There is nothing new under the sun” is apt. In reality, the actual nature of music is such that everything is based on something earlier. There are precious few artists who have actually created anything which could be considered completely new, and this is even more so the case post the establishment of the modern music industry. How many songs use exactly the same progression, or melody, or arrangements, or drum patterns, or bass lines? This is before we even consider lyrical content! There’s a reason why plagiarism within music is confined to a very narrow set of circumstances. Covering, reinterpreting, or recontextualizing earlier music is what most musicians have done for the vast majority of history.
Like jazz before it, hip-hop provided new leases on life for many long-forgotten songs. That also came with the additional benefit of more profit for publishers, but ironically, in the end, it was publishing that killed sampling. It just became too expensive, with some publishers asking so much for sample clearances that there was nothing left for anybody else. At first, producers tried to “recreate” samples with slight changes to get around this, but a few lawsuits later, it became clear that using samples was over.
A Philly jam session with the Roots crew helped bring performing musicians into the fold.
Hip-hop officially turned 50 this year. And since its entire history is a book’s worth, I’ll just talk about what hip-hop did for live music, based on my own experience.
Though not many people know it nowadays, some of the finest and most important moments in hip-hop history actually occurred in Philadelphia during the turn of this century, at a jam session called the Black Lily. I was there, so take my word for it: None of us realized how important this would become in the future, or what it would do to transform live hip-hop. Photo by Mika Väisänen
When it comes to music and culture—and certainly Black American music and culture—it’s exceedingly difficult/near impossible to say when a particular sound “began.” New sounds and genres emerge organically over time; there is always something that came before, which transforms into the next thing. The idea that one person started this or that sound is usually inaccurate. Still, the Black Lily began in the late ’90s when the Roots, up-and-comers at the time and under the guidance of their manager, Richard Nichols, decided to begin a movement. What they started actually had as much to do with the Sun Ra model, as it did with anything hip-hop related.
The Black Lily was built upon a long tradition of Philly jam sessions. But the thing that made it different from the outset was that it was actually made for and run by women artists. Tracey Moore and Mercedes Martinez, collectively known as the Jazzyfatnastees, grew sick and tired of having to fight to get on stage at jam sessions, so they pitched the idea to Rich to create their own.
This live hip-hop jam session began in Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson’s basement. At the time, nobody could afford to rent a venue, and the basement gave us a chance to see what this could be. Within a week or two, the event had grown so rapidly that Ahmir and his neighbors were complaining about how many people were attending, and the event moved to the Five Spot, a two-story nightclub in the Old City neighborhood.
At this time, live hip-hop was not common, or something that emcees even wanted to be involved in. Producers like DJ Premier were sampling classics by artists such as Nina Simone, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Thelonoius Monk, and this eventually paved the way for the crazy idea to have a live drummer playing behind an emcee instead of a DJ.
At the same time, hip-hop production had changed out of necessity, so it was now almost impossible to hear which songs a particular producer sampled to create a track. However, this still didn’t prevent publishers from trying to take everything on the few occasions where they figured it out. As a result, producers began to use less samples and more live musicians, who could sound like samples, which brought bands like the Roots, the Fugees, and the Black Eyed Peas (the first incarnation) into the light. All of this laid a foundation for live-music events like the Black Lily to come into existence.
The Black Lily soon became one of the main weekly scene-building events in Philly, and musicians on all kinds of instruments started playing to hip-hop audiences, with an authentic hip-hop sensibility. Every Tuesday beginning at 9 p.m. for around eight years, this event redefined the idea of a hip-hop show. Picture an audience of 250 hip-hop heads watching emcees and vocalists trade on stage with live drums, bass, guitar, Fender Rhodes, a tuba, maybe a vibraphone—all in the pocket, sounding like something that J Dilla just whipped up. If that wasn’t enough, Jill Scott, Common, or Amy Winehouse might also jump up. There was never a dull moment, and none of what took place was planned. People just got on stage and did their thing. And this would often happen while the Roots were on the other side of the world spreading the gospel of live hip-hop by dominating some stage in Paris.
Eventually, having 10 to 15 audience members flying in from Paris, Tokyo, or Rome on a Tuesday just to experience this event became the norm. More than 40 artists, who later went on to sign major record deals, were first discovered at the Black Lily. Lots of musicians, who are now musical directors for the biggest names out here, got their start at the Black Lily. Most importantly, entire approaches to playing hip-hop with a live band were refined there.
Like jazz, hip-hop is actually a massive universe, covering everything from Black dance to literature. There were so many regions and people involved over the years, but for me, the Black Lily was a special and transformative period within the history of hip-hop that everybody should learn about.
When so many cultures converge, creativity is bound to flourish.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise to any that some of the most groundbreaking styles of music have emerged from unique metropolises where people, cultures, and ideas collide and intermingle. There’s nothing groundbreaking in this. It’s exactly what we humans have done ever since we became human, or perhaps even before. Thus, every culture, person, and music on Earth is actually a remix of something much earlier. As the saying goes, there is nothing new under the sun, but some things are certainly unique: the balti gosht (curry) from India, the guaguancó (dance) from Cuba, and epics of the Sahel from West Africa. There have always been regions known for attracting peoples from all over, and without fail these “melting pots” became perfect environments for new and exciting sounds.
I was born and raised in such a place—London. Even in terms of melting pots, it is somewhat special. The U.K. has been a major player in a number of transformative musical movements, particularly throughout the 20th century. The thing that makes it special is the way that this place has transformed whatever arrived at its shores. In every case, from reggae to drum and bass, rock ’n’ roll to prog rock, and hip-hop to grime, cities like London have smashed together the disparate sounds of their constituent parts in some of the most unpredictable ways.
The London that I grew up in was a place where one could find a little of every place that the British colonized. Ironically, the thing that made the U.K. such a great place for culture is that for around 500 years the British tried their very best to dominate and homogenize everywhere else, annexing peoples where possible and displacing where not. Inevitably, just like the capital of the Roman Empire, London ended up becoming a metropolis where people from throughout the empire came together. The Brits achieved the exact opposite of homogenization.
From reggae to drum and bass, rock ’n’ roll to prog rock, and hip-hop to grime, cities like London have smashed together the disparate sounds of their constituent parts in some of the most unpredictable ways.
Thus, my East London community featured traditions from England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Nigeria, Cameroon, South Africa, Bangladesh, Pakistan, India, Afghanistan, Jamaica, St. Lucia, Barbados … and that was just my street! (My home was one of three Trinidadian households on that street.) This is all to give you some idea of the level of integration. If you imagine growing up with so many cultures co-existing together, then you can understand why re-mixing became so second nature. What do you get when you cross Chicago house, Kingston dub, New York hip-hop, and Indian bhangra? Jungle aka drum and bass!
A typical Friday night for 25-year-old me might have included going to hear some music at the Blue Note, packed with an audience that was beyond excited to check out the “Jungle Beat” set, featuring Talvin Singh, a young Indian tabla genius educated in the Indian Carnatic tradition; Squarepusher, a young bass virtuoso who sounds a bit like Jaco, but also chops up James Brown’s “Funky Drummer” into microscopic pieces, rearranged on the fly into densely configured 180-plus-bpm drum patterns, which seem to go on forever and never really repeat; and a young, quirky Icelandic vocal gymnast who was somewhat unknown at the time named Björk.
On a Saturday night, I may have gone out to see the Jazz Warriors, a 20-piece big band that featured some of the hottest names in British jazz, such as saxophonist Steve Williamson, drummer Mark Mondesir, bassist Gary Crosby, pianist Julian Joseph, marimba player Orphy Robinson, and singer Cleveland Watkis. The Jazz Warriors were a collective of world-class, young, Black British jazz musicians, who came up with their own unique mix by blending bebop, reggae, funk, Afrobeat, and more.
Sunday night I may have spent onstage at the Jazz Cafe with my own band, Quite Sane, which featured members from South Africa, Mauritius, Jamaica, Zimbabwe, St. Kitts, and, of course, Trinidad and Tobago. Though this band was influenced by jazz, and in particular the M-Base I heard coming out of New York while growing up, we were also very influenced by hip-hop (Public Enemy, Mobb Deep, A Tribe Called Quest, etc.), as well as by Parliament-Funkadelic, Chaka Khan, Cecil Taylor, Miriam Makeba, Beenie Man, Fela Kuti, the Jazz Warriors, and even Igor Stravinsky! Want to know what this crazy mix sounded like? Check out our 2002 release, The Child of Troubled Times.
The thriving U.K. scene still continues to churn out a dizzying number of sub-genres (grime, AB-groove, broken beat, acid jazz, nu-jazz), and artists (Sons of Kemet, Soweto Kinch, Sona Jobarteh, James Blake, Lion Babe, Stormzy), who are the product of combined elements from all over. Who knows what will come next?