Raising Hell

by Ronin Ro

  “Niggas play rock ’n’ roll, too,” Larry quipped.

  Eddie arrived. They played him the rhythm track. They recorded one riff, rewound the tape, then had Eddie play along with it—multitracking his part. “He played the line, then played the harmony with himself, then played the solo,” Larry recalled. “It was three or four takes.”

  Run and D were shocked when they heard the song.

  “It was wack,” Run felt.

  D agreed: “We thought the record was fake at first. We didn’t mind the guitars coming in during the chorus, but me and Run were like, ‘Y’all letting the guitars play through the whole shit; that’s fake; that’s not b-boy; that’s not how it’s done on a tape.’”

  They essentially felt Russell was trying to ruin them. “The guitar line was fine,” said Run. “It was the screaming guitars over our vocals which made it crazy.”

  They tried to suggest changes to the record. “When we rhyme take the shit out,” D told their producers. “Every time there’s a break bring the guitars back in.”

  Run kept repeating, “Them guitars are louder than D’s voice. I can’t hear D.”

  Russell and Larry ignored them. The guitars went unchanged. “They were a little upset, but Russell and I had the final word,” Larry explained. “What could they say?”

  At Profile, Russell played “Rock Box” for Cory Robbins. “And it was so weird,” Robbins said. “It just took getting used to. Now it seems so normal, but the first time I heard it was like, ‘What is this,’ and not necessarily in a good way. I was confused. ‘What is this?’ And ‘Wow, will the R & B stations play this? I don’t know.’ Then I kept playing it over and over. You get used to it, and go, ‘Wow, this is pretty good.’

  “But it was so radical. I’m sure people can say that about Jimi Hendrix, too, the first time you heard him. But now you hear him on an oldies station and it sounds totally like part of your life. Or Led Zeppelin. At one point Led Zeppelin was the hardest of the hard, and now you can hear it as background music in a store. You get used to everything. But that’s how ‘Rock Box’ was. It was so different, so aggressive, and just so different from a rap record. Now you listen to it and it’s like, ‘Oh yeah, that’s “Rock Box.” ’ It’s like an oldie.” Pause. “It is an oldie and it sounds so sweet. There’s nothing radical about it now, but nobody made a record like that before they did.” Profile would release “Rock Box” as their next single.

  Chapter 10

  Taking the Throne

  In February 1984, “Hard Times” b/w “Jam Master Jay” was still on the black singles chart, so they were going on Soul Train. But instead of merely moving their lips while their records played, something the show’s producers had guests do because of union contracts, Run-D.M.C. entered a New York recording studio with a copy of their record and on it re-recorded a few crowd-rocking chants (“Throw your hands in the air!”) whenever an instrumental break began.

  On the Soul Train set in California, Run and D lipsynched for the camera, just like any other guest. But when the prerecorded chants came in, producers, who didn’t recognize these new lyrics, were shocked, wondering for a second if Run and D weren’t violating union contracts by performing live. When producers realized the group had recorded new vocals to fill their set with some spontaneity, they relaxed. After their performance, Run-D.M.C. took the obligatory stroll across the set to stand near Soul Train’s legendary deep-voiced host, Don Cornelius, for small talk. Cornelius, who wore a suit and had greasy jheri curls, said, “One of you is Russell’s brother. Uh… Can you guys come back and do another number for us?” They did, and felt great about being on the February 18, 1984, episode.

  Then after their debut record, “It’s Like That” and “Sucker MCs,” and their second single, “Hard Times” and “Jam Master Jay,” Profile Records released “Rock Box” as Run-D.M.C.’s third single in March 1984. “Going from the sound of ‘It’s Like That’ and ‘Hard Times’ to ‘Rock Box’ as the next record was such a departure,” said Cory Robbins. “But, man, it worked. We got that record played and it went crazy!”

  Run and D had worried that “Rock Box”’s metal guitar would alienate their black audience and that these rap fans—some of whom already resented the group for hailing from Queens—would begin to believe Run-D.M.C. was a sellout group, trying to cater to a white audience with minimal lyrics and heavy metal. But Profile released two versions of the song, and DJ Red Alert of influential New York radio station KISS-FM embraced the version with guitars on his high-rated program. And when black neighbors in Hollis started telling Run and D they loved the song, D said, “Me and Run looked at each other like ‘What the fuck is going on?’ We didn’t know.”

  With “Rock Box” climbing the black singles chart, Russell decided it was time to film a video.

  He had Run, D, and Jam Master Jay travel to their mixed-crowd hangout Danceteria. Director Steve Kahn filmed comedian Irwin Corey, known for long-winded, polysyllabic expositions, in a black suit and matching string tie, lecturing about rap’s purported similarity to classical music. Midway through his talk, however, Corey noticed Run-D.M.C. behind him, in gleaming black leather, matching turtlenecks, and hats. Run waved his hand dismissively, as if Corey were foolish. Then the music began. Larry’s Cadillac arrived out front, the passenger door opened, and an improbable number of friends exited the vehicle. Run and D, in the nightclub, hollered lyrics in Irwin Corey’s befuddled face: “To all you Sucker MCs perpetrating the fraud! Your rhymes are cold-wack, keep the crowd cold-bored!”

  As the video continued, white girls danced near b-boys in a crowd as Run and D held microphones onstage. A towheaded white boy in a denim jacket (“for white people to identify with,” Russell later explained) shoved his way to the front. White girls in short skirts danced on a giant turntable. Irwin Corey partied with young people. The group gave the white boy—now wearing a black hat— brotherly high-fives before Jay winked at the camera and they walked away.

  With the exception of Michael Jackson—whose Thriller sold over 20 million copies—MTV didn’t air many videos by black artists. “MTV had this belief that all they could play was rock ’n’ roll and they forgot that the black community created rock ’n’ roll,” Russell said. “What they meant by ‘only rock ’n’ roll’ was there were no black people.”

  Michael Jackson was in heavy rotation, but Jackson—high-water pants, leather jackets, dancing shoes, and shimmering glove—was more of a crossover artist. Still, Russell submitted “Rock Box” to MTV for consideration, and felt he had all the right elements: a song people liked, a group with a strong image, a guitar that comfortably fit the network’s rock format, a well-known comedian, an endearing little white boy, and the city’s most up-to-the-minute nightclub, Danceteria. “It wasn’t like MTV stood up and said, ‘Oh my God it’s Run-D.M.C.! Let’s give them everything in the world!’” said Russell’s then client East Coast DJ Doctor Dre (not the West Coast producer who uses the same stage name but spells it “Dr. Dre”). “Russell and them worked their asses off.”

  To Russell’s delight, MTV liked the song and started playing their “Rock Box” video, making Run-D.M.C. even more famous. “Just in terms of masculinity and assertiveness there was a level of redefinition,” said Bill Stephney, who hosted a show at radio station WBAU at the time. “At that time, we’re talking about Prince, Michael Jackson, Eddie Murphy with a curl and leather, Cameo with codpieces, Luther Vandross, Freddie Jackson, and Lilo Thomas. Then all of a sudden you have these young brothers with regular around-the-way haircuts, Caesars, shell-toe Adidas, leather blazers, and pants with the Godfather hats you could buy in the Jamaica Mall. D.M.C. had the sort of Cazal-like glasses. They looked like brothers around the way and made the everyday the look of stardom.”

  Run and D were sharing a bill with the Fearless Four for an early 1984 show at a club in New Jersey. Backstage Run-D.M.C. saw the Fearless Four with braided hair, attired in leather suits and white boots, and heard one member compl
ain, “Man, y’all come just like y’all come off the street!”

  Run answered, “That’s how we coming, boy! That’s how we living! Going out like b-boys, troopin’; not like the rest of you soft-assed rockers.”

  Kurtis Blow, who was producing the Fearless Four, attended another of Run-D.M.C.’s concerts during this period. Blow was still in demand—his asking price to produce a record had risen to $10,000, and he asked for and received $30,000 for an album—but Run-D.M.C.’s version of “Hard Times” was on its way to becoming number 11 on the black singles chart while Kurt’s original had gone no further than number 75.

  Backstage, Run stood near his jheri-curled former mentor while Jam Master Jay scratched on turntables in front of the audience.

  “Look at this, Kurt,” Run said before D stepped onstage.

  Jay scratched part of “Jam Master Jay.” “D.M.C…. D.M.C…. D.M.C….”

  D stepped into view and the crowd roared.

  Backstage, Run yelled, “Look, look, look! He called D out.”

  “Wow, that’s how we used to do it, Joey.”

  “Watch this though!”

  Jay let more of the record play: “D.M.C. and Jam Master Jayyyy…”

  D pointed at his belt buckle to dramatically indicate that he was D.M.C., then at Jay on the turns.

  Kurt cried, “Oh my God! He’s cutting the name! That means who’s out onstage!”

  Run tapped him, screaming, “Watch this!”

  D stood near the front of the stage, arms crossed over his chest. Jay turned off the music. Audience members clapped their hands in rhythm.

  “Now watch this,” Run repeated.

  Jay scratched: “Run Run-Run-Run Run…”

  Kurt screamed, “Oh my—!”

  “I’m not going yet,” Run said. “I stand here. He does it until the crowd is frantic.”

  Jay kept scratching the word until the crowd started yelling Run’s name. He finally stepped into view and strolled toward the mike. Halfway there, he turned and faced Kurt, who was watching him. Run thought, “Now watch this.” Grabbing the mike, leaning back like Led Zeppelin’s lead singer, Robert Plant, he screamed, “Now it’s about that time, for us to say that we’re—”

  Jay let the record go: “Run-D.M.C. and Jam Master Jayyyy!”

  “And we’d be standing there in a triangle-type pose,” Run explained. “This thing went from ‘Kurtis Blow’ to calling three guys out.”

  The old school realized their days at the top were numbered, and Melle Mel—lead rapper on the Furious Five’s string of hit singles for Jersey-based Sugar Hill Records—had come a long way from his days as king of rap. Heartfelt lyrics like “Superappin’” and “The Message” had given way to flamboyant leather costumes, knee-high boots, shoelaces tied around his calves, big sunglasses, and braids. Mel was also recording dance music songs like “White Lines” without Flash and other members of the Furious Five.

  D and Jay, who still went to the Fever to see Cold Crush and other groups perform, started hearing Mel didn’t like them. “We would hear ‘He said this, they said that,’” D remembered. “They were a little mad at us. Here are these guys from Queens blowing the fuck up. They were big on tapes and with shows and on flyers but we were blowing up.”

  Mel, they heard, viewed their tag-team style as derivative of how the Furious Five rapped on their singles. Mel also didn’t appreciate lyrics to “Jam Master Jay” lumping him in with the old school. “He was mad at what we were doing,” D learned. “We’d act like we owned the shit. We weren’t giving them any love. We were taking his shit. Like ‘Fuck y’all, y’all fake!’ The fucked-up shit was that we were emulating them. Everything Run-D.M.C. did was inspired by Flash, Bambaataa, Cold Crush, and Fearless Four.”

  At the Fun House, during a concert hosted by WBLS’s Mr. Magic, Mel didn’t seem too friendly. During their performance, they were later told, Mel stood in the audience frowning at them. “They were always hating,” said Runny Ray. “Grandmaster Flash and all them niggas. And Kurtis Blow, too! ’Cause Joe and them would always headline and niggas used to be like, ‘Well why they got to headline? I wanted to headline. Well I’m not going on.’”

  Run didn’t know exactly why Mel was angry with them and figured D’s theory—the old school resented a new group for achieving success in a genre that older performers had pioneered—explained Mel’s anger. At the Fun House, he and D watched Flash mix records and the Furious Five come out in their costumes. “We were trying to emulate the rock R & B groups, ’cause they were dressing up,” said Flash. But D felt his former idols looked and sounded terrible, and if Run-D.M.C. was more successful, these old-timers could blame no one but themselves. “’Cause when they made their records they were buggin’ the fuck out,” said D. “They weren’t doing what they did on the tapes.” But Run-D.M.C. couldn’t help feeling there was more to Mel’s anger.

  One night Run decided to join D.M.C. and Jam Master Jay at the Fever. “We went to the Fever a million times,” D explained. “Run probably went about four times. We were sitting there, getting high, smoking weed, sniffing coke, doing what we did back then.” Melle Mel—muscle-bound from working out—stepped to Joe “and just let it all out,” said D.

  According to D, Mel said, “We were mad at y’all. It wasn’t just ’cause y’all were from Queens. I was mad at the way y’all rapped. Y’all were folding your arms. Y’all were just so determined. And when I listened to the lyrics on ‘Sucker MCs,’ I thought y’all were talking about me!”

  On that song, Run had rapped: “biting all your life, cheating on your wife, walking ’round town like a hoodlum with a knife,” and D recalled, “Mel told Run, ‘I was runnin’ around cheating on my girl…. Yo, I used to carry a knife with me, I thought I was somebody.’ He really thought this record was about him.”

  D continued, “He thought he was the ‘Sucker MC.’ Remember, Mel and Kool Moe Dee of the Treacherous Three were competing for the crown, but Mel was really the king. He was the man.”

  As Mel spoke, Run listened intently. “Melle Mel was the deffest rapper that would ever touch the mike,” Run said. “I was impressed. He didn’t beat me up. He just said it. I wasn’t scared.”

  Next came the Treacherous Three.

  Run had just gotten home from a show. He kissed his wife and played with his daughter Vanessa awhile before hitting the sack. He was exhausted. “You leave from Boston, you get home, your eyes are hurting,” he explained. “They wake you up three in the afternoon, ‘You’re scheduled, you got to go do this TV show Graffiti Rock.’” Graffiti Rock was a pilot episode for a dance music series patterned after Soul Train that the show’s producers hoped to sell to syndicated television stations nationwide. It was also a good forum for Run-D.M.C. to finally let their fans, and a new television audience, see the group perform their popular B-side “Sucker MCs.” Run yawned, got up, showered, and got back into his black leather suit. During the ride into the city, he, D, and Jam Master Jay smoked some marijuana, and at the venue they saw kids cheer their arrival.

  Jay led the way, sporting a black leather blazer and pants, lace-less Adidas, a hat, and a gold chain. Run and D followed, in the same outfit, except D wore bulky glasses, and a red feather on his hat. “We got there, fresh and happy,” Run explained.

  For months the streets had demanded a battle between Run-D.M.C. and the Treacherous 3. Now they saw Kool Moe Dee facing them. Jay approached the battle rapper, who wore a zipper-covered blue and white leather jacket, blue leather pants, white boots, and a white golf cap. Moe kept his eyes hidden behind large sunglasses and calmly said to Jay, “What’s up? How you doing?”

  Jay, a creator, but also a fan of the music, blurted, “Oh, my God! Kool Moe Dee! Oh, man! Kool Moe Dee!”

  Run was nowhere near as impressed. He thought, “Kool Moe Dee’s the best rapper around. I’m gonna figure out how to beat him.”

  Jay leaned in. “Yo, man,” he told Moe, “I just want to tell you: shit you did to Busy Bee was cr
azy.” Moe had upstaged Busy Bee in front of a crowd in a nightclub. “I know how you get down. I know you do your battle thing but, uh, this is for TV, man. This is gonna leave an impression on people. So, don’t do what you do. All right? I’m just asking you not to do what you do, ’cause we not doing it like that.”

  Moe nodded.

  “You know my group and you know how my group is,” Jay added. “We not in it for that. We just doing this for the TV thing.”

  Moe shook Jay’s hand. “All right, cool.” He would lighten up and not turn the Graffiti Rock episode into a battle. But then he saw Run’s facial expression. “And the look on Run’s face is like, ‘I can’t believe Jay doesn’t have confidence in us and is giving this guy the one-upmanship,’” Moe recalled. “Run really didn’t like that too much.”

  Deyed the set: a gray floor with white starbursts painted on it; dancers in corny break-dance outfits on elevated white metal platforms; a big old-fashioned bubble-letter tag on the wall that faced the camera—a green, red, yellow, and orange version of the famous Soul Train logo that read “Graffiti Rock.” “That shit looked crazy,” he said.

  The creative staff also seemed a bit old-school-heavy: Bambaataa was music consultant, and the Treacherous Three would perform the theme song, cohost, rap before each commercial break, and perform their latest Sugar Hill single. As the only people from Queens on the set, Hurricane recalled, Run-D.M.C. “definitely stood out from everybody else. Queens still didn’t get mad respect from the Bronx.”

  “We were like this: we representing Hollis, motherfucker. We went in there with some attitude.”

  The show’s producer and host, Michael Holman, was light-skinned with a short Afro. His black jacket had leather pads on the shoulders. His jeans and shoes were beige, and he wore Cazals. “We thought it was kind of corny ’cause they wanted to talk about hip-hop,” said D.M.C. After the Treacherous Three performed their opening, they watched members of the studio audience in front of the camera talk like characters from blaxploitation movies. “How you rock your hat, man?” one said.