Image via Karl Ferguson Jr
Jeff Weiss says it’s regular but it’s not normal.
In the summer of ’74, a new world bloomed from skeletal ruins and smoldering debris. This parallel universe expanded out of an incandescent string of innovations in the rec rooms and gymnasiums of the South Bronx. Psychedelic manipulations of wax, fluorescent subway car bombings, and 360-degree power moves on the blacktop. At first, it lacked a name. This was just the wild style spawned from dispossessed kids uptown, wholly unaware that they had accidentally invented the future.
The break offered the first foundational rupture, isolating drum beats in infinite space. Kool Herc, Love Bug Starski, Grandmaster Flash, and Grand Wizzard Theodore created the heavens and earth in a furnace of disco, funk, and nickel-plated soul. Whole genres sliced up by scientifically-precise samurai. A three-dimensional realm reinvented from familiar shapes.
Rapping was the final evolutionary adaptation. The Jamaican tradition of toasting and the griot prophecies of The Last Poets led to Coke La Rock, the first real master of ceremonies, who controlled the microphone at park jams and block parties. Syncopated improvisations rocking on and on until the break of dawn.
A skinny adolescent living in an apartment on Creston Avenue heard hip-hop before he ever experienced it. From boomboxes and gypsy cabs, cassette dubs blared loud enough to overwhelm the traffic and sirens outside his South Bronx window. The world later knew him as the pioneer, the Cold Crush Brother, Grandmaster Caz. But the adopted son of a single mother was originally christened Curtis Brown. Transfixed by the radio, he listened while Frankie Crocker and the WABC DJs spun everything from the Jacksons to the Osmonds, Al Green to Barry Manilow – at least until Herc came in and turned everything loose.
Acquiring a turntable, Curtis Brown renamed himself Casanova Fly. To get booked in the adult clubs, the kid played mostly disco and slow jams. The former taught him how to blend. Break beats taught him how to cut. He deejayed, tagged, and breakdanced, but eventually gravitated towards rapping. By his 18th birthday, Brown was already a nascent force in the South Bronx. A forerunner of the folkloric heroes who emerged from every hood a few generations later. The slick charmer with matinee idol charisma and the rollicking cadences of a master storyteller. He sported a flashy wardrobe and a vocal register as smooth as an Oldsmobile 98.
But as the ‘70s drew to a close, Caz and his group, The Mighty Force 5, were still mired on the small-time party circuit. Their chief competitors, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, procured professional representation who booked them all over the city. So one night at the Sparkle, Caz asked the nightclub’s doorman Hank Jackson if he’d consider managing the group. The ex-wrestling champ quickly agreed, even borrowing $2,000 from his parents to bolster the Force Five’s sound system. To pay his family back, Jackson got a job making pizzas at the Crispy Crust pizza in Englewood, New Jersey. To pass the time, he rapped along to Force 5 tapes.
What happened next is the most fabled betrayal in Hip-Hop’s old testament. After all, Eden may be a myth, but original sin is real. It’s better to hear the story from Caz below, but the abridged version is that Joey Robinson, son of Sugar Hill co-founder, Sylvia Robinson, had heard Jackson rhyming along to Caz’s lyrics at the pizza parlor. Seeking to cash in on the trend sweeping the city, the fledgling label auditioned the portly pie flipper, who declined to tell his future label that none of the lyrics actually belonged to him. He wasn’t even a rapper.
None of it mattered to the Robinson Family, who already had a reputation for financial chicanery. Rebranding himself Big Bank Hank, the former manager-bouncer went into the studio and swiped Caz’s old lyrics so brazenly that he starts “Rapper’s Delight” by spitting “Check it out, I’m the C-A-S-AN, the N-O-V-A, and the rest is F-L-Y.” In his second verse, he even alludes to the “Casanova myth.” Yet Caz never received a dime or official credit for writing one-third of rap’s first smash single.
Nonetheless, the original Italian lothario had nothing on Casanova Fly, who soon joined the Cold Crush Brothers and became Grandmaster Caz. As the Carter years came to an end, Cold Crush became the most formidable crew in New York. Everyone knew them at the Disco Fever, the Ecstasy Disco, and the T Connection in the Boogie Down. Live recordings of their performances rang out of every self-respecting OJ cab.
The most canonized old school performance belongs to Caz, Almighty Kay Gee, J.D.L.,and DJ Charlie Chase. On the 4th of July weekend, 1981, the Cold Crush battled the Fantastic Romantic Five at Harlem World for a $1,000 grand prize. With their reputations on the line, the groups swapped meticulously rehearsed routines, hyper-melodic post-disco harmonies, and move-the-crowd freestyles. If the Fantastic 5 technically won the competition, the Cold Crush won the war. The tape became a grail, memorized by teenagers across the five boroughs, and establishing how far the genre had evolved past the elementary styles of “Rapper’s Delight.”
At moments on the Harlem World tape, Caz delivers futuristic complex internal rhymes and polysyllabic fast raps that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in ’88. You can hear the rapid-fire gatling gun funk in Big Daddy Kane and Kool G Rap, who repeatedly cited the formative influence of Caz and the Cold Crush. The Wu-Tang Clan’s GZA never shied away from praising the Cold Crush and the tapes made at Harlem World. Jurassic 5 live shows consisted largely of modernized Cold Crush routines. While no less than the God MC, Rakim claimed that Caz “definitely put him on the track.”
The seismic reverberations of the Harlem World rumble led Charlie Ahearn to recreate it in 1982’s Wild Style. This first cinematic depiction of hip-hop and the subsequent tour of Japan introduced the world to the four elements – which alone would have ensured Caz’s place in the pantheon. But his contributions to the soundtrack rank among the greatest moments of the first years of recorded hip-hop. In particular, the “South Bronx Subway Rap” might be the first major example of inspirational rap – where Caz chronicles the same “living hell” that Melle Mel did on “The Message,” but refuses fatalism. Offering transcendence through self-empowerment and creativity, Caz conveys positivity and hope.
Of course, this is America and inequitable economic realities prevailed. None of the first generation of rappers and DJs received remotely fair remuneration. As Jay-Z famously said, “I’m overcharging motherfuckers for what they did to the Cold Crush.” There were a few singles released on Tuff City, including “Punk Rock Rap,” which beat Run-DMC to the rock-rap fusion game by several years (an inspiration that DMC openly acknowledged). In 1992, Caz recorded a clutch of songs with Ced-Gee, the producer from Ultramagnetic, but Tuff City’s Aaron Fuchs reportedly felt they “weren’t commercial enough” (this unofficial anthology compiled by Unkut offers a taste of what Caz’s lone solo album, The Grandest of Them All, could have been).
In some sense, it’s a minor miracle that Caz is still here. During our conversation, he admits that he takes the most pride in his sheer perseverance. He weathered a decade of a drug dependency and many lean financial years. At one point, he supported himself doing hip-hop tours of the Bronx. According to reports, one of these excursions inspired Baz Luhrmann to create The Get Down for Netflix. No, Caz didn’t get paid for that either.
It’s the oldest story in music. The innovators get abandoned and the imitators reap the financial windfall. But in the last decade, Caz has experienced a substantial reversal of fortune. In 2015, he appeared on Macklemore’s platinum-single “Downtown,” which performed massively overseas and won the “Top Video” award at the MTV Europe Music Awards. He’s been working closely with the Hip-Hop Museum in the South Bronx and hosts a daily radio show with Sha-Rock of the Funky Four + 1 on SiriusXM’s Rock the Bells station. And after finally getting some long-standing passport issues resolved, Caz is heading overseas for the first time in over 30 years to perform with the Cold Crush Brothers.
But the most substantial recognition might arrive this weekend in Las Vegas. At the Aria Resort on Saturday night, Caz will be honored with a Grandmasters Award from the Paid in Full Foundation, which bestows him with a $100,000-a-year stipend for each of the next five years. Co-founded by Ben and Felicia Horowitz, the philanthropic organization includes Nas and Fab 5 Freddy on its advisory board and aims to “celebrate transformational hip-hop artists who have not received economic rewards proportional to their exceptional contributions to art and culture.”
For someone like Caz – who still lives in the public housing tenements of Soundview– this salary offers a long overdue reward for helping to create an art form and economic engine that has uplifted innumerable lives. It’s a slightly surreal experience to speak with him, even over Zoom. At 64, he looks at least a decade younger. This is someone who was not just there for the big bang, but who helped separate the light from the darkness. It’s as close as you can get to talking to WC Handy about the birth of the blues or Jelly Roll Morton about what it was like to play in the red light ragtime haunts of New Orleans. But this prelude has gone on long enough. Caz doesn’t really need an introduction; he is the introduction.
When you were a little kid, what did you dream of being?
Grandmaster Caz: Famous and respected.
What was in you that made that desire so clear at such a young age?
Grandmaster Caz: Maybe being kind of shy. And not being as outgoing. I needed a vehicle. At the youngest age that I can remember, I wanted to be able to walk down the street and have people acknowledge me.
“Yo”, hey”, “What’s up, man?”
I don’t know where it comes from. But since I was young, I wanted that.
Do you have any first memories hearing music at home?
Grandmaster Caz: There’s nothing like home, especially as a shorty – that’s when you’re most impressionable. Whatever came over the radio influenced me musically growing up. The music was diversified. There were no Black radio stations. You got it all on one station. The Jackson 5 on one song, then Three Dog Night. Paul Simon, Queen, all of those different influences I grew up listening to, adopting, and admiring. So by the time hip-hop came about, first as a hobby, then a genre, I attached all of that. All of those early musical influences went into hip-hop.
When you were first with Cold Crush, was there a reticence to sign with a label and release recorded music? It’s been said that many of the early rappers didn’t want to do that first because it was seen as a crass commercial thing.
Grandmaster Caz: Before ‘78, and 79, it wasn’t really available. The thought of making a record wasn’t really there. By late ‘78, there were some inklings. And people started asking questions. And by ’79, Enjoy Records had a roster [Grandmaster Flash & The Furious 5, Spoonie Gee & The Treacherous Three, The Fearless Four]. But we weren’t in a rush to get signed because we saw everybody running to get signed. And while they was doing that, we were conquering the streets. That was more important.
We were vying for the number one spot in performance and getting booked in clubs. That was our way to fame. Go in and tear shit up when you get on that stage. And you know the recording part of it changed the dynamic. After a while, it’s like, now you gotta have a record. We were one of the last groups without a hit record to still headline shows and have people with records open up for us. That’s how strong our show was. But at some point, even that wasn’t enough. It was like, you gotta have a hit song.
Do you remember the first person you ever saw rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I heard it before I saw it – on like a cassette tape. Maybe DJ Hollywood or something like that, because these are the guys that preceded rap. My entrance was as a DJ. I started as a DJ when nobody was rapping. Maybe you had somebody like Kool Herc bring out Coke La Rock, who was an MC in the master of ceremony sense. He would make the announcements. He’d have the smooth little jive talk, but he didn’t rap like the way we do –syncopated with the music and beat. He was more of a poet like Gil Scott-Heron.
Did the Last Poets influence you in any way?
Grandmaster Caz: I really didn’t see anybody rapping the way that we rapped. It just developed from embellishing announcements and adding on a little more to it – and then a little more to that. And then, we added to the landscape things like themes from TV shows and TV commercials and older songs. Hip-hop didn’t invent anything, alright; Hip-hop reinvented everything. Hip-hop grabbed stuff and said I can use that – let me just sort this and that, and turn it into this. There’s nothing new under the sun. We didn’t come up with nothing. We took from everything around us and shaped it into what we now call hip-hop.
In recent years, Kool Herc’s 1974 end of summer set at 1520 Sedgwick has been retroactively considered the birth of hip-hop. Was it a big deal at the time or was it just another party among many others?
Grandmaster Caz: It was not considered a big deal. There were tons of other house parties. That was a tradition before people went to venues and clubs. I started DJing at house parties with one record player and playing 45s – putting one on at a time. Herc’s party was basically like, you know, you going back to school, charge a few dollars to make some money for some school clothes, whatever. I think hip-hop would have happened regardless. But I do think Kool Herc was the catalyst that made it possible and made it cool. It made it look like this is something that I want to do.
For my area in the South Bronx, Herc was that first marquee DJ that played out parties. We related to that. That’s where the B-boys came from. That’s where the crowds came from. And it inspired other people to become DJs and leaders in their communities. It was a ripple effect. It didn’t start out to be what it ended up being.
Even when I was young, I remember people still thinking that hip-hop was a fad that was going to die out.
Grandmaster Caz: That’s all we heard. ‘You ain’t never going to get nowhere doing that. Why are you wasting your time? Why are you scratching up my records? Why are you spinning around on the floor? Why are you vandalizing the neighborhood?’
Every element had someone saying that it wasn’t supposed to be. ‘What are you saying? That ain’t music? You ain’t singing, you just talking.’ And had we listened to all that, hip-hop would never have gone through its infancy stage—it would have died in its infancy. It would have been stillborn.
It might have been just like Disco.
Grandmaster Caz: No. The people of the disco era are still here too. They finally got off the cocaine and everything from their party era, but they remember that music. They remember that time and they still celebrate their music. You throw an “Eighties Disco Party Sunday” party? Come on. They come out because we all want to remember when things were good for us. The things that bring memories back, that girlfriend, that car, that friend, whatever it is. And there’s always some music that will take you back to that.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
What was in you that made that desire so clear at such a young age?
Grandmaster Caz: Maybe being kind of shy. And not being as outgoing. I needed a vehicle. At the youngest age that I can remember, I wanted to be able to walk down the street and have people acknowledge me.
“Yo”, hey”, “What’s up, man?”
I don’t know where it comes from. But since I was young, I wanted that.
Do you have any first memories hearing music at home?
Grandmaster Caz: There’s nothing like home, especially as a shorty – that’s when you’re most impressionable. Whatever came over the radio influenced me musically growing up. The music was diversified. There were no Black radio stations. You got it all on one station. The Jackson 5 on one song, then Three Dog Night. Paul Simon, Queen, all of those different influences I grew up listening to, adopting, and admiring. So by the time hip-hop came about, first as a hobby, then a genre, I attached all of that. All of those early musical influences went into hip-hop.
When you were first with Cold Crush, was there a reticence to sign with a label and release recorded music? It’s been said that many of the early rappers didn’t want to do that first because it was seen as a crass commercial thing.
Grandmaster Caz: Before ‘78, and 79, it wasn’t really available. The thought of making a record wasn’t really there. By late ‘78, there were some inklings. And people started asking questions. And by ’79, Enjoy Records had a roster [Grandmaster Flash & The Furious 5, Spoonie Gee & The Treacherous Three, The Fearless Four]. But we weren’t in a rush to get signed because we saw everybody running to get signed. And while they was doing that, we were conquering the streets. That was more important.
We were vying for the number one spot in performance and getting booked in clubs. That was our way to fame. Go in and tear shit up when you get on that stage. And you know the recording part of it changed the dynamic. After a while, it’s like, now you gotta have a record. We were one of the last groups without a hit record to still headline shows and have people with records open up for us. That’s how strong our show was. But at some point, even that wasn’t enough. It was like, you gotta have a hit song.
Do you remember the first person you ever saw rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I heard it before I saw it – on like a cassette tape. Maybe DJ Hollywood or something like that, because these are the guys that preceded rap. My entrance was as a DJ. I started as a DJ when nobody was rapping. Maybe you had somebody like Kool Herc bring out Coke La Rock, who was an MC in the master of ceremony sense. He would make the announcements. He’d have the smooth little jive talk, but he didn’t rap like the way we do –syncopated with the music and beat. He was more of a poet like Gil Scott-Heron.
Did the Last Poets influence you in any way?
Grandmaster Caz: I really didn’t see anybody rapping the way that we rapped. It just developed from embellishing announcements and adding on a little more to it – and then a little more to that. And then, we added to the landscape things like themes from TV shows and TV commercials and older songs. Hip-hop didn’t invent anything, alright; Hip-hop reinvented everything. Hip-hop grabbed stuff and said I can use that – let me just sort this and that, and turn it into this. There’s nothing new under the sun. We didn’t come up with nothing. We took from everything around us and shaped it into what we now call hip-hop.
In recent years, Kool Herc’s 1974 end of summer set at 1520 Sedgwick has been retroactively considered the birth of hip-hop. Was it a big deal at the time or was it just another party among many others?
Grandmaster Caz: It was not considered a big deal. There were tons of other house parties. That was a tradition before people went to venues and clubs. I started DJing at house parties with one record player and playing 45s – putting one on at a time. Herc’s party was basically like, you know, you going back to school, charge a few dollars to make some money for some school clothes, whatever. I think hip-hop would have happened regardless. But I do think Kool Herc was the catalyst that made it possible and made it cool. It made it look like this is something that I want to do.
For my area in the South Bronx, Herc was that first marquee DJ that played out parties. We related to that. That’s where the B-boys came from. That’s where the crowds came from. And it inspired other people to become DJs and leaders in their communities. It was a ripple effect. It didn’t start out to be what it ended up being.
Even when I was young, I remember people still thinking that hip-hop was a fad that was going to die out.
Grandmaster Caz: That’s all we heard. ‘You ain’t never going to get nowhere doing that. Why are you wasting your time? Why are you scratching up my records? Why are you spinning around on the floor? Why are you vandalizing the neighborhood?’
Every element had someone saying that it wasn’t supposed to be. ‘What are you saying? That ain’t music? You ain’t singing, you just talking.’ And had we listened to all that, hip-hop would never have gone through its infancy stage—it would have died in its infancy. It would have been stillborn.
It might have been just like Disco.
Grandmaster Caz: No. The people of the disco era are still here too. They finally got off the cocaine and everything from their party era, but they remember that music. They remember that time and they still celebrate their music. You throw an “Eighties Disco Party Sunday” party? Come on. They come out because we all want to remember when things were good for us. The things that bring memories back, that girlfriend, that car, that friend, whatever it is. And there’s always some music that will take you back to that.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
“Yo”, hey”, “What’s up, man?”
I don’t know where it comes from. But since I was young, I wanted that.
Do you have any first memories hearing music at home?
Grandmaster Caz: There’s nothing like home, especially as a shorty – that’s when you’re most impressionable. Whatever came over the radio influenced me musically growing up. The music was diversified. There were no Black radio stations. You got it all on one station. The Jackson 5 on one song, then Three Dog Night. Paul Simon, Queen, all of those different influences I grew up listening to, adopting, and admiring. So by the time hip-hop came about, first as a hobby, then a genre, I attached all of that. All of those early musical influences went into hip-hop.
When you were first with Cold Crush, was there a reticence to sign with a label and release recorded music? It’s been said that many of the early rappers didn’t want to do that first because it was seen as a crass commercial thing.
Grandmaster Caz: Before ‘78, and 79, it wasn’t really available. The thought of making a record wasn’t really there. By late ‘78, there were some inklings. And people started asking questions. And by ’79, Enjoy Records had a roster [Grandmaster Flash & The Furious 5, Spoonie Gee & The Treacherous Three, The Fearless Four]. But we weren’t in a rush to get signed because we saw everybody running to get signed. And while they was doing that, we were conquering the streets. That was more important.
We were vying for the number one spot in performance and getting booked in clubs. That was our way to fame. Go in and tear shit up when you get on that stage. And you know the recording part of it changed the dynamic. After a while, it’s like, now you gotta have a record. We were one of the last groups without a hit record to still headline shows and have people with records open up for us. That’s how strong our show was. But at some point, even that wasn’t enough. It was like, you gotta have a hit song.
Do you remember the first person you ever saw rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I heard it before I saw it – on like a cassette tape. Maybe DJ Hollywood or something like that, because these are the guys that preceded rap. My entrance was as a DJ. I started as a DJ when nobody was rapping. Maybe you had somebody like Kool Herc bring out Coke La Rock, who was an MC in the master of ceremony sense. He would make the announcements. He’d have the smooth little jive talk, but he didn’t rap like the way we do –syncopated with the music and beat. He was more of a poet like Gil Scott-Heron.
Did the Last Poets influence you in any way?
Grandmaster Caz: I really didn’t see anybody rapping the way that we rapped. It just developed from embellishing announcements and adding on a little more to it – and then a little more to that. And then, we added to the landscape things like themes from TV shows and TV commercials and older songs. Hip-hop didn’t invent anything, alright; Hip-hop reinvented everything. Hip-hop grabbed stuff and said I can use that – let me just sort this and that, and turn it into this. There’s nothing new under the sun. We didn’t come up with nothing. We took from everything around us and shaped it into what we now call hip-hop.
In recent years, Kool Herc’s 1974 end of summer set at 1520 Sedgwick has been retroactively considered the birth of hip-hop. Was it a big deal at the time or was it just another party among many others?
Grandmaster Caz: It was not considered a big deal. There were tons of other house parties. That was a tradition before people went to venues and clubs. I started DJing at house parties with one record player and playing 45s – putting one on at a time. Herc’s party was basically like, you know, you going back to school, charge a few dollars to make some money for some school clothes, whatever. I think hip-hop would have happened regardless. But I do think Kool Herc was the catalyst that made it possible and made it cool. It made it look like this is something that I want to do.
For my area in the South Bronx, Herc was that first marquee DJ that played out parties. We related to that. That’s where the B-boys came from. That’s where the crowds came from. And it inspired other people to become DJs and leaders in their communities. It was a ripple effect. It didn’t start out to be what it ended up being.
Even when I was young, I remember people still thinking that hip-hop was a fad that was going to die out.
Grandmaster Caz: That’s all we heard. ‘You ain’t never going to get nowhere doing that. Why are you wasting your time? Why are you scratching up my records? Why are you spinning around on the floor? Why are you vandalizing the neighborhood?’
Every element had someone saying that it wasn’t supposed to be. ‘What are you saying? That ain’t music? You ain’t singing, you just talking.’ And had we listened to all that, hip-hop would never have gone through its infancy stage—it would have died in its infancy. It would have been stillborn.
It might have been just like Disco.
Grandmaster Caz: No. The people of the disco era are still here too. They finally got off the cocaine and everything from their party era, but they remember that music. They remember that time and they still celebrate their music. You throw an “Eighties Disco Party Sunday” party? Come on. They come out because we all want to remember when things were good for us. The things that bring memories back, that girlfriend, that car, that friend, whatever it is. And there’s always some music that will take you back to that.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
When you were first with Cold Crush, was there a reticence to sign with a label and release recorded music? It’s been said that many of the early rappers didn’t want to do that first because it was seen as a crass commercial thing.
Grandmaster Caz: Before ‘78, and 79, it wasn’t really available. The thought of making a record wasn’t really there. By late ‘78, there were some inklings. And people started asking questions. And by ’79, Enjoy Records had a roster [Grandmaster Flash & The Furious 5, Spoonie Gee & The Treacherous Three, The Fearless Four]. But we weren’t in a rush to get signed because we saw everybody running to get signed. And while they was doing that, we were conquering the streets. That was more important.
We were vying for the number one spot in performance and getting booked in clubs. That was our way to fame. Go in and tear shit up when you get on that stage. And you know the recording part of it changed the dynamic. After a while, it’s like, now you gotta have a record. We were one of the last groups without a hit record to still headline shows and have people with records open up for us. That’s how strong our show was. But at some point, even that wasn’t enough. It was like, you gotta have a hit song.
Do you remember the first person you ever saw rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I heard it before I saw it – on like a cassette tape. Maybe DJ Hollywood or something like that, because these are the guys that preceded rap. My entrance was as a DJ. I started as a DJ when nobody was rapping. Maybe you had somebody like Kool Herc bring out Coke La Rock, who was an MC in the master of ceremony sense. He would make the announcements. He’d have the smooth little jive talk, but he didn’t rap like the way we do –syncopated with the music and beat. He was more of a poet like Gil Scott-Heron.
Did the Last Poets influence you in any way?
Grandmaster Caz: I really didn’t see anybody rapping the way that we rapped. It just developed from embellishing announcements and adding on a little more to it – and then a little more to that. And then, we added to the landscape things like themes from TV shows and TV commercials and older songs. Hip-hop didn’t invent anything, alright; Hip-hop reinvented everything. Hip-hop grabbed stuff and said I can use that – let me just sort this and that, and turn it into this. There’s nothing new under the sun. We didn’t come up with nothing. We took from everything around us and shaped it into what we now call hip-hop.
In recent years, Kool Herc’s 1974 end of summer set at 1520 Sedgwick has been retroactively considered the birth of hip-hop. Was it a big deal at the time or was it just another party among many others?
Grandmaster Caz: It was not considered a big deal. There were tons of other house parties. That was a tradition before people went to venues and clubs. I started DJing at house parties with one record player and playing 45s – putting one on at a time. Herc’s party was basically like, you know, you going back to school, charge a few dollars to make some money for some school clothes, whatever. I think hip-hop would have happened regardless. But I do think Kool Herc was the catalyst that made it possible and made it cool. It made it look like this is something that I want to do.
For my area in the South Bronx, Herc was that first marquee DJ that played out parties. We related to that. That’s where the B-boys came from. That’s where the crowds came from. And it inspired other people to become DJs and leaders in their communities. It was a ripple effect. It didn’t start out to be what it ended up being.
Even when I was young, I remember people still thinking that hip-hop was a fad that was going to die out.
Grandmaster Caz: That’s all we heard. ‘You ain’t never going to get nowhere doing that. Why are you wasting your time? Why are you scratching up my records? Why are you spinning around on the floor? Why are you vandalizing the neighborhood?’
Every element had someone saying that it wasn’t supposed to be. ‘What are you saying? That ain’t music? You ain’t singing, you just talking.’ And had we listened to all that, hip-hop would never have gone through its infancy stage—it would have died in its infancy. It would have been stillborn.
It might have been just like Disco.
Grandmaster Caz: No. The people of the disco era are still here too. They finally got off the cocaine and everything from their party era, but they remember that music. They remember that time and they still celebrate their music. You throw an “Eighties Disco Party Sunday” party? Come on. They come out because we all want to remember when things were good for us. The things that bring memories back, that girlfriend, that car, that friend, whatever it is. And there’s always some music that will take you back to that.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
We were vying for the number one spot in performance and getting booked in clubs. That was our way to fame. Go in and tear shit up when you get on that stage. And you know the recording part of it changed the dynamic. After a while, it’s like, now you gotta have a record. We were one of the last groups without a hit record to still headline shows and have people with records open up for us. That’s how strong our show was. But at some point, even that wasn’t enough. It was like, you gotta have a hit song.
Do you remember the first person you ever saw rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I heard it before I saw it – on like a cassette tape. Maybe DJ Hollywood or something like that, because these are the guys that preceded rap. My entrance was as a DJ. I started as a DJ when nobody was rapping. Maybe you had somebody like Kool Herc bring out Coke La Rock, who was an MC in the master of ceremony sense. He would make the announcements. He’d have the smooth little jive talk, but he didn’t rap like the way we do –syncopated with the music and beat. He was more of a poet like Gil Scott-Heron.
Did the Last Poets influence you in any way?
Grandmaster Caz: I really didn’t see anybody rapping the way that we rapped. It just developed from embellishing announcements and adding on a little more to it – and then a little more to that. And then, we added to the landscape things like themes from TV shows and TV commercials and older songs. Hip-hop didn’t invent anything, alright; Hip-hop reinvented everything. Hip-hop grabbed stuff and said I can use that – let me just sort this and that, and turn it into this. There’s nothing new under the sun. We didn’t come up with nothing. We took from everything around us and shaped it into what we now call hip-hop.
In recent years, Kool Herc’s 1974 end of summer set at 1520 Sedgwick has been retroactively considered the birth of hip-hop. Was it a big deal at the time or was it just another party among many others?
Grandmaster Caz: It was not considered a big deal. There were tons of other house parties. That was a tradition before people went to venues and clubs. I started DJing at house parties with one record player and playing 45s – putting one on at a time. Herc’s party was basically like, you know, you going back to school, charge a few dollars to make some money for some school clothes, whatever. I think hip-hop would have happened regardless. But I do think Kool Herc was the catalyst that made it possible and made it cool. It made it look like this is something that I want to do.
For my area in the South Bronx, Herc was that first marquee DJ that played out parties. We related to that. That’s where the B-boys came from. That’s where the crowds came from. And it inspired other people to become DJs and leaders in their communities. It was a ripple effect. It didn’t start out to be what it ended up being.
Even when I was young, I remember people still thinking that hip-hop was a fad that was going to die out.
Grandmaster Caz: That’s all we heard. ‘You ain’t never going to get nowhere doing that. Why are you wasting your time? Why are you scratching up my records? Why are you spinning around on the floor? Why are you vandalizing the neighborhood?’
Every element had someone saying that it wasn’t supposed to be. ‘What are you saying? That ain’t music? You ain’t singing, you just talking.’ And had we listened to all that, hip-hop would never have gone through its infancy stage—it would have died in its infancy. It would have been stillborn.
It might have been just like Disco.
Grandmaster Caz: No. The people of the disco era are still here too. They finally got off the cocaine and everything from their party era, but they remember that music. They remember that time and they still celebrate their music. You throw an “Eighties Disco Party Sunday” party? Come on. They come out because we all want to remember when things were good for us. The things that bring memories back, that girlfriend, that car, that friend, whatever it is. And there’s always some music that will take you back to that.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
Did the Last Poets influence you in any way?
Grandmaster Caz: I really didn’t see anybody rapping the way that we rapped. It just developed from embellishing announcements and adding on a little more to it – and then a little more to that. And then, we added to the landscape things like themes from TV shows and TV commercials and older songs. Hip-hop didn’t invent anything, alright; Hip-hop reinvented everything. Hip-hop grabbed stuff and said I can use that – let me just sort this and that, and turn it into this. There’s nothing new under the sun. We didn’t come up with nothing. We took from everything around us and shaped it into what we now call hip-hop.
In recent years, Kool Herc’s 1974 end of summer set at 1520 Sedgwick has been retroactively considered the birth of hip-hop. Was it a big deal at the time or was it just another party among many others?
Grandmaster Caz: It was not considered a big deal. There were tons of other house parties. That was a tradition before people went to venues and clubs. I started DJing at house parties with one record player and playing 45s – putting one on at a time. Herc’s party was basically like, you know, you going back to school, charge a few dollars to make some money for some school clothes, whatever. I think hip-hop would have happened regardless. But I do think Kool Herc was the catalyst that made it possible and made it cool. It made it look like this is something that I want to do.
For my area in the South Bronx, Herc was that first marquee DJ that played out parties. We related to that. That’s where the B-boys came from. That’s where the crowds came from. And it inspired other people to become DJs and leaders in their communities. It was a ripple effect. It didn’t start out to be what it ended up being.
Even when I was young, I remember people still thinking that hip-hop was a fad that was going to die out.
Grandmaster Caz: That’s all we heard. ‘You ain’t never going to get nowhere doing that. Why are you wasting your time? Why are you scratching up my records? Why are you spinning around on the floor? Why are you vandalizing the neighborhood?’
Every element had someone saying that it wasn’t supposed to be. ‘What are you saying? That ain’t music? You ain’t singing, you just talking.’ And had we listened to all that, hip-hop would never have gone through its infancy stage—it would have died in its infancy. It would have been stillborn.
It might have been just like Disco.
Grandmaster Caz: No. The people of the disco era are still here too. They finally got off the cocaine and everything from their party era, but they remember that music. They remember that time and they still celebrate their music. You throw an “Eighties Disco Party Sunday” party? Come on. They come out because we all want to remember when things were good for us. The things that bring memories back, that girlfriend, that car, that friend, whatever it is. And there’s always some music that will take you back to that.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
In recent years, Kool Herc’s 1974 end of summer set at 1520 Sedgwick has been retroactively considered the birth of hip-hop. Was it a big deal at the time or was it just another party among many others?
Grandmaster Caz: It was not considered a big deal. There were tons of other house parties. That was a tradition before people went to venues and clubs. I started DJing at house parties with one record player and playing 45s – putting one on at a time. Herc’s party was basically like, you know, you going back to school, charge a few dollars to make some money for some school clothes, whatever. I think hip-hop would have happened regardless. But I do think Kool Herc was the catalyst that made it possible and made it cool. It made it look like this is something that I want to do.
For my area in the South Bronx, Herc was that first marquee DJ that played out parties. We related to that. That’s where the B-boys came from. That’s where the crowds came from. And it inspired other people to become DJs and leaders in their communities. It was a ripple effect. It didn’t start out to be what it ended up being.
Even when I was young, I remember people still thinking that hip-hop was a fad that was going to die out.
Grandmaster Caz: That’s all we heard. ‘You ain’t never going to get nowhere doing that. Why are you wasting your time? Why are you scratching up my records? Why are you spinning around on the floor? Why are you vandalizing the neighborhood?’
Every element had someone saying that it wasn’t supposed to be. ‘What are you saying? That ain’t music? You ain’t singing, you just talking.’ And had we listened to all that, hip-hop would never have gone through its infancy stage—it would have died in its infancy. It would have been stillborn.
It might have been just like Disco.
Grandmaster Caz: No. The people of the disco era are still here too. They finally got off the cocaine and everything from their party era, but they remember that music. They remember that time and they still celebrate their music. You throw an “Eighties Disco Party Sunday” party? Come on. They come out because we all want to remember when things were good for us. The things that bring memories back, that girlfriend, that car, that friend, whatever it is. And there’s always some music that will take you back to that.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
For my area in the South Bronx, Herc was that first marquee DJ that played out parties. We related to that. That’s where the B-boys came from. That’s where the crowds came from. And it inspired other people to become DJs and leaders in their communities. It was a ripple effect. It didn’t start out to be what it ended up being.
Even when I was young, I remember people still thinking that hip-hop was a fad that was going to die out.
Grandmaster Caz: That’s all we heard. ‘You ain’t never going to get nowhere doing that. Why are you wasting your time? Why are you scratching up my records? Why are you spinning around on the floor? Why are you vandalizing the neighborhood?’
Every element had someone saying that it wasn’t supposed to be. ‘What are you saying? That ain’t music? You ain’t singing, you just talking.’ And had we listened to all that, hip-hop would never have gone through its infancy stage—it would have died in its infancy. It would have been stillborn.
It might have been just like Disco.
Grandmaster Caz: No. The people of the disco era are still here too. They finally got off the cocaine and everything from their party era, but they remember that music. They remember that time and they still celebrate their music. You throw an “Eighties Disco Party Sunday” party? Come on. They come out because we all want to remember when things were good for us. The things that bring memories back, that girlfriend, that car, that friend, whatever it is. And there’s always some music that will take you back to that.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
Every element had someone saying that it wasn’t supposed to be. ‘What are you saying? That ain’t music? You ain’t singing, you just talking.’ And had we listened to all that, hip-hop would never have gone through its infancy stage—it would have died in its infancy. It would have been stillborn.
It might have been just like Disco.
Grandmaster Caz: No. The people of the disco era are still here too. They finally got off the cocaine and everything from their party era, but they remember that music. They remember that time and they still celebrate their music. You throw an “Eighties Disco Party Sunday” party? Come on. They come out because we all want to remember when things were good for us. The things that bring memories back, that girlfriend, that car, that friend, whatever it is. And there’s always some music that will take you back to that.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
Was there a first rapper that you saw live? Who was the equivalent of Kool Herc, where you were like, okay, I want to be like that?
Grandmaster Caz: If I had to say a rapper/DJ, that would be Love Bug Starski. He was the bridge between those old disco guys and us. He’s the first person whose rhymes I recited that I didn’t write. Everybody was saying, “I’m the LOVE BUG!!!” I thought it was just a phrase at first. But when I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, ‘oh, shit!’ And that’s where ‘I’m the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from.” Because I didn’t want to be saying nobody else’s shit.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
As far as MC’s are concerned – strictly an MC – Melle Mel is the only MC I felt like I had to be competitive with.
How much of a role would you say that James Brown played in the formation of actual rapping?
Grandmaster Caz: I think his impact was more in dance than rap, because of the samples and the break beats and the songs that were anthems. “Give it Up, Turn it Loose.” The live version is—it’s got to be a top three of all time. And then the other ones that we would use to just rap on. Come on. “Payback.” “Funky President.”
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
James Brown is a constant as far as hip-hop is concerned. I mean, he’s the most sampled fucking artist of all-time. And he did a couple of rap joints with slow talking joints that probably inspired some rapping as well.
Your first DJ crew was called Mighty Force?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, it was me, Casanova Fly and my partner, Disco Wiz. I started out independently and I recruited Wiz, my buddy from high school who used to box. We rocked out for a while, and then he got knocked for something.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
Then I just went on a merry-go-round of trying to get a crew, putting guys on who were down with me. We had some trying times to say the least, but I basically gravitated towards my friends and people who were close to me. Prince Whipper Whip went to the same school with me. We all lived in the same proximity. Played basketball in the park….that kind of thing. That’s where my first crew came from.
Was The Notorious Two the next phase in your evolution?
Grandmaster Caz: That was after a few different revelations. It was me, Casanova Fly, Disco Wiz, and then it was Mighty Force, then it was the Force 4, and then it was the Mighty Force 5, and then it was The Notorious Two. That was just me and JDL. Then we joined the Cold Crush Brothers.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
Was The Cold Crush already pretty big at that point before you joined?
Grandmaster Caz: No, they were players. But I wouldn’t say big. I think they got big when we joined. It was originally built around Charlie Chase, a Puerto Rican DJ who played break beats. That was a rarity back then. You didn’t see Puerto Rican DJs cutting like that.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
I know you’ve been asked this a thousand times and I feel stupid for asking, so please forgive me. But… what was the real story with Big Bank Hank stealing the lyrics to “Rapper’s Delight?”
Grandmaster Caz: I knew that was coming [laughs]. I’m the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop. I get it! I get it! [more laughter]
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
So basically right before that Notorious Two era, I was trying to find somebody to help me fortify our sound system. Because at the time hip-hop was still very much about crews and your sound system. If there was five DJs, there was five systems in there.
Like in the Jamaican tradition.
Grandmaster Caz: Right, the sound clashes. Everybody had their own shit. My equipment was never up to par with the bigger guys. I had enough to play locally, but I never had a big set up. So I met Hank before the Sugar Hill Gang, when he was just Hank Jackson, the doorman/bouncer at the Sparkle. And when we weren’t performing, I would just chill at the door and kick it. We got cool. He’d always let me in, let my people in, whatever. And so I asked Hank. “Yo, Hank, why don’t you help manage my group?” Because Flash had a manager, Ray Chandler and Black Door Productions. And these guys were booked all over. I’m figuring, if I got somebody that had a little stature to go talk to people for me instead of me doing it, it would look better. So Hank was like, “Bet.”
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
The first thing we needed was to reinforce our sound system to be able to go out there and compete. So Hank took out a loan from his parents for $2,000 and used the money to get us bigger speakers, amplifiers, all that. So when we go out—boom. The pay back on the loan would come from us doing shows, but that was gonna happen over an amount of time. And we ain’t really making no money yet. We’re still doing $3 parties.
So Hank got a job in a pizza shop in New Jersey to help pay back mom and pop. He used to take cassette tapes of me and the group and just hip-hop, period, bringing a little boombox in to work. Hank would be in the shop making pizzas and the tape would be playing hip-hop. And so people coming in and out of the pizza shop would see him in there, and he’s, you know, a jolly fat dude making pizzas and rapping along to the tapes.
You figure, ‘yo, this fat dude making pizzas can rap!’ And they don’t even know about rap ’cause it’s early, it’s ‘79. So it catches the attention of Sylvia Robinson at Sugar Hill Records who was planning on making a rap song and putting together a group of guys. She was inspired by Love Bug Starski and DJ Hollywood. There were two guys from Jersey already, Wonder Mike and Master Gee, who were part of a group called Sound on Sound. They were a DJ group who did parties, but they were MCs, too. And so they all went and sought out Hank at the pizza shop. Now, Hank didn’t tell them people, “I don’t rap, but I manage Casanova Fly. I manage the guy that’s on that tape.” Instead, he just repeated my rhymes from the tape and they loved it.
They was like, “all right. You in. You part of the Sugar Hill Gang.” I don’t remember how soon after it was that he went into the studio to record it, but eventually, he was like “yo, I did this record!”
When I first heard that, I’m like, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ ‘Cause nobody had made no records. So why would I think that Hank is gonna go – of all people? Yeah right. So I was like, ‘yeah, go ahead and make the record.’ Then, he came back with two copies of “Rappers Delight” about a month later. I was like, ‘Oh, shit!’ So I played it, and I wasn’t really impressed with it. It was old school stuff. You know what I mean? Kind of that, “Hollywood and this and that,” which we had passed by now.
But it had that “Good Times” track. I didn’t really pay it a lot of mind. And then it came out. And when it came out, it came out. I mean, it was everywhere. Every radio station was playing it. Every car that went by in the street was playing it, and people’s calling me on the phone, people stopping me in the street. ‘Okay, you got a record! You made a record!’
I was like, ‘I didn’t make no record. What are you talking about?’
‘Yeah, yes, you did. I heard it. it’s on the radio, and it got your name in it and your rhyme that you say about Superman and Louis Lane.’
I was like, ‘Oh, okay, I know what you’re talking about. That ain’t me. That’s Hank.’
They was like, ‘Hank? Hank don’t rhyme!’
You know, it went from there. Needless to say, I was never compensated or recognized as a writer on “Rappers Delight.” I never received a dime. I never received any acknowledgement from Sugar Hill Records or from Hank or from anybody else regarding the song. And it is what it is.
The story always went that you gave him your notebook. That wasn’t true? He just took it from the tape?
Grandmaster Caz: I didn’t give him my notebook. He just knew all my stuff because he listened to it all the time. So it’s not like he had the book of rhymes or nothing like that. You know how the story gets split, from person to person to person. They said that he was managing the Cold Crush. He never managed the Cold Crush. He managed the Force 5.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
When did you start really writing?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve been writing since at least ‘77, I was in the park battling when the blackout happened. So I had rhymes for that event during the day of the blackout. And that was what, July ’77?
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
You were in the middle of performing when the blackout hit?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, I was. I was just getting ready to start DJing, and I had just put on my first record. And that shit said, “*brrrr*”.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
Were you guys taking electricity from the light posts?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, and then all the light posts went out. We thought we had fucked up the power somehow by plugging in, but then everything went out. And when people realized it was a blackout, everybody was like, “Hit the Stores!” Everybody rushed out of the park to hit the bodegas and all the main thoroughfares. It just went crazy for the next 72 hours.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
What’s your memory of the blackout?
Grandmaster Caz: First of all, I’m not the run out into a sea of violence type of dude. I’ll get into a little mischief, but all that danger and shit – that’s not me. So what happened is when everybody started running out of the park, everybody realized that they were gonna start going into the stores.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
What I realized is that the store that I had bought this fucking equipment out of was right around the corner. A lot of our guys stayed with our equipment, because at first, we had to ward off anybody coming toward the equipment. ‘Don’t think you’re gonna’ carry any of this out of here!’
Once we got that established, everybody started running towards this place called The Sound Room. I followed them and they pulled the gate down and busted the window and went in there and started grabbing shit.
I’ve read that a lot of people started doing hip-hop with equipment that they acquired during the black out. Is that true?
Grandmaster Caz: Yeah, but here’s my thing. And I think I may be the person responsible for putting out that narrative. Yes, a lot of people got equipment because of the availability of it during the blackout But it was only the people who already really wanted to DJ. Granted, maybe there were a couple of people who got lucky enough to find that shit and decided, “Hey, fuck it! I’m gonna become a DJ.”
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
But I wouldn’t say that’s why hip-hop expanded on a large level or scale. They just ran with that narrative. I jokingly said that there was a new wealth among the people the next day.
How did you wind up being cast in Wild Style?
Grandmaster Caz: Busy Bee brought Charlie Ahearn around us. He had been originally like, ‘I’m checking out the Funky 4 uptown.’ And Busy Bee was like ‘Yo, a whole lot of dudes do this.’ He eventually met us and the Fantastic 5 and the Furious 5 – who were in the first filming of the finale of Wild Style, but that filming didn’t make the cut and had to be re-filmed.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
I felt a sense of validation from the film itself. Not just for me personally, but for Hip-Hop. It was a stamp of approval. An outside entity thinks this shit is cool enough to document.
What do you think defines a great MC?
Grandmaster Caz: Knowledge. The ability to paint a vivid picture with words. To deliver in a live performance that same feeling that you get when you hear that song. When you see that artist do a song live, you should get that to the second or third power. And I think influence – the sort of influence that makes other people want to be great.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
You can see the artists that have a passion for the culture or at least that particular skill set. If you have a passion for rap, you research it, you live it, you stay around like-minded people, you cypher, you do all of those things.
What do you feel like hip-hop lost when it became a global phenomenon?
Grandmaster Caz: The community. And I say that as far as the industry is concerned.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
You have collaborations, but it’s kind of clique-ish. I think we were more independently minded, and on our own. Well, I’m going down this route. I’m over here. That crew is over there. They cool, but I’m over here.
I think there are more forces separating us and keeping generations from collaborating with each other and commiserating with each other. I don’t think they’d like the older influence on younger artists because we’ve seen a lot of the pitfalls and things that are still prevalent in the music industry that we might hip them to. So they’re like ‘stay away from them older artists.’ You know that kind of thing. But I think the community is missing the common bond – the place where we all meet, and everybody’s the same.
Are there any contemporary rappers that you believe carry on the tradition?
Grandmaster Caz: Kendrick Lamar. That would be the first. I mean as far as the traditions of being an MC. He sounds like one of the real dudes who are like, ‘I’ll do this shit regardless.’ You know what I mean?
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
There’s a there’s a few people, of course. The older artists, you know. Common is still spitting. Black Thought is doing his fucking thing. Rakim got a new album. You could never discount the Wu Tang Clan. Redman is still burning it down. Those are the artists that I gravitate to. Now and then there’s a hot song out and I’ll dig that song. But nothing has made me want to go into this particular artist’s whole catalog.
What did you think of the Kendrick and Drake beef?
Grandmaster Caz: I thought it was great for hip-hop! I thought it was cool until it got outside of the artists themselves. I think when the entourages, the followers, and your city gets involved in the beef, and it becomes physical, I think that’s not a good look for the culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
But the battle itself – as long as it is lyrical – pitting two titans of hip-hop against each other? I think it was cool to see. Go at it.
What do you think about the importance or lack of importance of gatekeeping in hip-hop?
Grandmaster Caz: I did not create the parameters for hip-hop. Unfortunately, there were none from the beginning. No one ever closed that gate. Which is why anybody and everybody can exploit hip-hop on whatever level that they want to – with no consequences – because there’s nobody to answer to.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
But it’s always good when somebody brings hip-hop back home to the ground floor. The second generation of hip-hop did that for us. You know, we were wearing leather suits and feathers and chains and shit, and the next generation was like, ‘hold on, let’s bring this back to the ground floor.’ Then Run-DMC came out with the Lee jeans and the Adidas. That’s what hip-hop has to do it every now and before it gets too far away from what it’s supposed to be in the first place.
So we gotta experience those extremes where we see hip-hop going all the way over here or all the way over here. But hip-hop is like a roller coaster. It always winds up back on its wheels before it takes another trip.
What do you feel like people misunderstand about those early days?
Grandmaster Caz: I don’t think they understand what it took for us to sustain. I don’t think we need a plaque or anything like that, but we should be acknowledged for the work. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The heart and soul and passion that went into keeping this culture alive for it to be here for you to make millions of dollars – or to just go in your room and flip on your computer screen and get on a microphone with a beat and have a career.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
Other than that, I mean, you can look it up. You know what we did. We all started this culture on ground floor. A lot of us were before our time.
How do you feel about being honored by Paid in Full?
Grandmaster Caz: I am most honored. The new thing is people getting their flowers. And I appreciate the flowers, but if you give me some seeds, I could grow my own garden. And that’s what I feel like the Paid in Full foundation is doing. They’re not only acknowledging my accomplishments and my contributions to the culture, they’re giving me some seeds so I can continue to move forward and cultivate more things. This is one of the ones that I’m most proud of.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
What else are you most proud of?
Grandmaster Caz: I’m most proud of being here today. Where I am and doing what I’m doing: getting my flowers, being acknowledged, being recognized, being a whole person. That’s cool. That’s great. Because for a while I wasn’t.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
What do you think changed?
Grandmaster Caz: I changed.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
What helped you change to become who you are now?
Grandmaster Caz: I’ve always been this person, but you know I had a drug dependency for 10 years. That took me away from being a whole person, and the road back from that is what I’m most proud of.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
How would you like to be remembered?
Grandmaster Caz: Constantly. [laughs]
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.
As one of the fathers of this culture. One of the Mount Rushmore figures on Mount Hip-Hop! Call it what you want. I want to be acknowledged that way. I want to be remembered as one of the cornerstones of this culture.