[Joey gets it in on his website Straight Bangin', a place where he deposits thoughts about basketball, sports culture, rap music, crappy television, law school, and anything else on his mind. He is also a somewhat regular writer for the truly excellent FreeDarko. He'll tweet at you if you follow him here.]
Ever since the internets got popular, people have spared no effort or hand muscle in an attempt to perfectly articulate and timelessly memorialize the obvious relationship between basketball and hip-hop that nonetheless challenges ready explanation. What you are reading is not the latest excursion into this crowded, esoteric space. No, rather, let us navigate away from an unconquerable quagmire and accept as an article of faith that the link is real and understood. Actually, let's accept that it's real and felt. It's not like anyone who is both a hoops head and a hip-hopper would object or tell you otherwise. Moreover, isn't it kind of fun to just pity those who don't conduct their business in this cultural nexus?
What you are reading also is not an attempt to catalogue the many rap songs which name check basketball players, employ a basketball metaphor, or pay for entry into the realm of the easily recalled by spending a currency of contrived basketball connection. Thus, no "What's Up Doc? (Can We Rock)."
Instead, that which follows is a suggested 48-minute rap score for an NBA playoff game. No playoff game is wholly predictable or truly the same, of course, so suspend your limited disbelief and indulge the notion of a generalized fantasy. P.S. The bonus track is only to be played when it's time for Gone Fishin'.
1) John Tesh, "Roundball Rock" - 2:41
Naturally, our rap tape starts with the least hip-hop song possible because, well, it shouldn't even have to be explained. No matter what a stripper, or an ABC executive, tells you, there is no NBA music other than the song which accompanied the golden age of the NBA on NBC. (And which, serendipitously, was playing at all times on NBC's special HD Olympic Basketball channel last summer.)
The Tesh masterpiece - perhaps among the most easily identified songs of the 90s, no joke - poses a chicken-or-egg question: does it perfectly capture the nervous, enthusiastic anxiety of tipoff because it opened so many broadcasts, or did it open so many broadcasts because it's sweeping melody and regal crescendos summon the feeling of a ceremonial initiation, like a jump ball? It's probably both: we know this song as the lead-in to a game because we saw it then, and it was commissioned to be the sort of song which could suitably serve as an anthemic opening. Regardless, it's the only possible way to start an NBA soundtrack.
Let's all take a moment to (once again) appreciate how the song was conceived:
On second thought, if that's not hip-hop, what is?
2) The Diplomats, "Push It" - 3:35
Playoff games are funny - as they are now executed, each has this low-level spectacle air surrounding it. Media tells us stories and constructs narratives to frame the action; advertising and the almost reflexive plugs from announcers turn a game into appointment television; and fans peer on as though a basketball contest were a palantir, connecting all who watch and offering glimpses of the outcomes which they concoct and project. An odd phenomenon of playoff basketball, then, is that opening quarters usually run on fumes. After the pyrotechnics and palpable emotion of the first few minutes, the circumstantial hype around the game instills the idea that exciting things should be happening, even if they're not. The game is supposed to be an upheaval, after all; that's how it's been described and promoted. Players probably experience this, too, as they engage in the proverbial "feeling out" process. It excuses a loose jumper, a confused defensive assignment, and using energy emptily, almost for its own sake, before an obvious direction toward which it should be applied emerges.
What better song, then, but a Dip Set appropriation of a cherished rap soundscape? A listener is immediately struck by two things: First, they actually made this song? Second, what are they even talking about? Loaded with inward-looking references and casually crazy wordplay set to a melody which is initially cool and then quickly pedestrian, this "Push It" has all of the flash and unfocused self-realization of the post-tip letdown.
3) Boogie Down Productions, "Criminal Minded" - 5:20
So we've messed around, our subs have come in, and suddenly, we're doing what we do. We're running our sets, the guys who need shots are getting them, and the game is taking shape. From game to game, the contours of what's happening are different, but usually, by this point, we're starting to understand how it's going to be for the night. We know the refs are keyed into what's happening because Coach has already gotten T'ed up and our star has been warned to play hard, but play cleanly. When you think about it, there is metronomic consistency to the process. It's one that almost invites calm given how utterly obvious and regular it is, regardless of its specifics. This is a part of the game that's reassuring: the angst is gone, we've got a sweat going, our sneakers feel right, our legs are a little looser, and we're going to ride out the first quarter far more smoothly after a herky-jerky opening bit.
4) Wu-Tang Clan, "7th Chamber, Pt. 2" - 6:10
Teams regroup in between quarters. They get with their coaches, assess the landscape which the first stanza and the referees sketched out, and sort through how they can "play their game" or whatever hackneyed sports platitude you'd prefer. Maybe they're going to throw the ball inside some more as they seek to create additional movement and generate open perimeter shots. Maybe they'll crash the boards harder and then sprint up the floor to turn the contest into a running game. Maybe they will opt to "KEEP DOING WHAT [THEY]'RE DOING" (picture Stan Van Gundy yelling that in his raspiest huddle voice) because it's worked. And - major stratagem - they might even choose to bring a second, weakside defender to help when LeBron gets the ball with his back to the basket. Or something.
Whatever they choose, teams are going to break their huddles with a specific focus, and they'll apply themselves with renewed fervor, emboldened by fresh tactics. It's the time of the game when a team will make a new sort of push, subtly exerting itself: defensive stances will be crisper, box outs will be pursued with greater commitment, free throws may be held a second longer as the shot is fully visualized, and a collision at the rim is one which the other guy's going to remember for the proper reasons. In other words, the PA announcer would be smart to throw on the second movement of "7th Chamber," as it perfectly sets the requisite mood for the planned siege.
Good morning to all you notty-headed dudes. A second dawn has broken, and it's draped in Champion gear.
5) J. Dilla, "Light My Fire" - 0:48
"Fire" begins with the shrill, intrusive sound of Africa wailing away as it revamps a Doors classic. Listen to them:
And just as suddenly as the song interrupts the mood, it sets a new one, the chorus melding with the looped melody, the crawling bassline, and even James Brown ad libs to suggest something active, coordinated, and strenuous. In just forty-eight seconds, Dilla stitches together a cohesive track of teamwork and accomplishment, perfect for the rhythm of a game which finds both teams actively struggling to seize control on their own respective terms.
6) Lee Bannon ft. Skyzoo, Sha Stimuli, and Donny Goines, "Volume" - 2:31
This is a song which invites being drafted into service for a basketball purpose, as it provides a glimpse at the cohesion needed to play well together. Each elegantly simple verse gives way to the next, with the MCs reveling in their opportunity to work with the others and contribute a distinct element necessary for the collective to resemble something greater than the value of its aggregated parts. By this point in a well-played game (and really, who would fantasize about sloppy ball?) the teams are likely to be operating with the kind of efficiency necessary for executing the seamless alley-oop off a back pick or in the secondary break which "Volume" suggests.
7) Nujabes ft. Cise Starr and Akin, "Feather" - 2:55
In a nod to Doug Collins, we ride out toward halftime with our rivals competing to finish strong and win the half. Appropriately, we throw on a song that gathers raw materials - the rhyming, the simple and steady hi-hat, the piano riff with its vacillating clarity - and constructs a triumphant sound that starts with a solitary forceful note progression and only grows as the repetition of the song's structure crystallizes. Just as a team deploys its multiple components to lay a foundation and then reinforce the basketball elements that key its success, so, too, does this weird song stumbled upon during a message-board-digging session build upward. Three-point shooting loosened up the paint, and more post touches brought a cavalcade of free throws; some early shot blocking kept the other team on the outside, and their reliance on the three allowed for stronger close outs that forced unintended drivers to the shot blockers. It was basketball construction, the team ascending toward its goal by building off of a strong foundation. Similarly, the softly spit verses serve as the cushioning mortar which is laid in between an ever growing tower of melodic bricks. And then, it all stops. You reach the top. The buzzer sounds and the last heave hits the rim.
It's halftime.
8) Snoop Dogg, "Not Like It Was" - 3:01
Since this is basketball fantasy, we'll ignore the sometimes underwhelming post-halftime hangover and instead envision both teams racing out of their respective locker rooms intent to beat the other into submission using a burst of intensity. It's like waking up from an afternoon nap: sometimes you are groggy and lethargic, if it's hot, maybe you feel sweaty and worn. But other times, you might snap up feeling refreshed and eager to do something new. Let's assume this game is the latter.
Snoop's overlooked "Not Like It Was" is third-quarter music for the motivated basketball professional. Lively but not frantic, gripping but not overwhelming, it's the sort of sound to which you might do good work. It's music to which you can slap the floor, again test a defender inside, or hit a jumper to announce that you'll need to be accounted for this half. Perfect.
9) G-Side "G-SIDER" - 3:13
Switching sports for a moment, the aphorism that Saturday is "moving day at Augusta" has always been a wonderfully evocative saying. Conjuring the images of golfers striding across the course with purpose, and a classic, old-style leaderboard transforming into a traffic exchange, with placards slid in and out, black numbers traded in for red, the expression endures as one of the few things that animates golf in the abstract. Basketball, of course, is far more active than golf: more participants move more often in more ways. On a given play, all ten athletes are doing various things. Honestly, it can be frantic. And dizzying. But playoff basketball stands as a testament to the sport and its best practitioners because rather than giving way to chaos, all of that motion is expressed in deliberate ways. The man without the ball runs from one side of the formation to the other because his path carves out space which another moving part may find sufficiently commodious at a precise time to accommodate a new movement. It's a cool idea.
"G-SIDER" is that kind of a dynamic song, bubbling with intentional motion. To consider basketball with the song on is to suddenly see a streaking cutter, or the ball moved around the edges while executing a play born on a clipboard. It's busy yet not frivolous; it's like "moving day at Augusta" converted to music. And it does, coincidentally, contain a bar which sounds like they've name checked Brad Miller, but they have not. They're just from Alabama.
10) King Tee, "Dippin'" - 4:16
The Third Quarter wears on, and one team takes control, however tenuous the grasp may be. It starts with a three. Then a stop. Then a dunk, a steal, and another run-out. After the and-one free throw, it's a ten-point lead. The game is back down to seven, but then, the lead reaches twelve after another three, a terrible shot at the other end, and a lob for a dunk. The outburst feels sudden, but really, it's been building; for more than thirty minutes, the teams have been doing to each other what they can, and each side uses a game plan which it hopes can expose and then exploit weakness. It took more than two quarters, but a frailty was exposed. And when you think about it like that, a song about everyday dippin' through the Compton streets, set to a confident, measured beat, is all too appropriate.
11) Black Sheep, "U Mean I'm Not" - 1:25
Doug time again: the losing team comes out of a timeout with one goal - win the final ninety seconds of the quarter and enter the Fourth down fewer than ten. To do that demands the sort of surge which smacks the opponent in the face and makes a fan simultaneously wonder how it happened and also appreciate just how badly both teams want to win and how ephemeral control can be during the playoffs.
12) DMX, "Freestyle (Give Up the Goods)" - 1:54
In, like, 1997, DMX could do no wrong. He'd helped to infuse New York rap music with a new, revivifying energy that was dynamic and exciting; the relationship among his music, Jay-Z's, and that made by their extended families was captivating. Earl tore up most tracks by combining a sinister voice, a gift for cadence, knowing insults, unapologetic gutter speak, and a menacing flow. Everything just seemed dire, and bleak, and gray. Even when he prayed. Or, perhaps, especially when he prayed. Frankly, he was pretty scary. This joint is the sort of song which should have been placed in a time capsule from that era, both for the sake of hip-hop's posterity and for that of his own. Few things are as gully, or as focused, as an assertive, brazen two minutes set to a hustler's postcard sent by Mobb Deep from the QB streets. It demands attention, and passion, and the urgent sense that the matter at hand is ultimately consequential.
Thus, we open the fourth quarter...
13) Slum Village, "Hoc N Pucky" - 1:37
The ominous notion that consequence looms ahead might inspire quiet focus, or disciplined precision, but it surely, at least in small part, also engenders a shapeless morass of anxious energy. You might commit an extra hard foul because of it. Or throw away an inbounds pass as the feeling swells inside and applies pressure that makes you think you'll explode. S. Villa always seems to have exploded with wild-out energy on this joint.
14) Freeway, "Crack Rap" - 5:11
Free has always been an MC of desperation. Even when flossing, his sharp voice and that strained quality in his sing-song vocals has suggested that at no time is he fully at ease. Always, something awful keeps him running away, from pain or perhaps just submission. His records remain raw sounding, as though the Roc let loose something it didn't fully understand. This mournful, dreary record is the sound for the darker side of a fourth quarter. Just as the final fourth is theater for glory, it also provides a vehicle for loss, the sort which can arise in twelve minutes and then linger far longer, afflicting its owner in a way that is always somehow resonant.
Announcers say that a game feels like "playoff basketball" when every possession appears to carry the outcome with it. Obviously, the convention is intended to demonstrate a certain gravity that suddenly pulls at everything. When an actual playoff games takes on that feel, the panic and the concern begins to feel suffocating. Desperation finds life in those kinds of closing moments, as players are forced to summon the full extent of their will power.
15) Cesar Comache ft. Big Pooh and Kenn Starr, "The Future" - 3:23
The final few minutes of the game find the teams closely matched. A handful of plays, big and small, will decide the outcome. In effect, this point of the game is not unlike its beginning, with so much uncertainty still ahead, and so broad a canvas on which a person might project all that he's feeling. As easily as we might fill the days between games with chatter about what might be, we can fully rehash so many conversations in the few, drawn-out moments that decide a close playoff game. The future, in effect, is decided; the large story we will tell is written in so small a place. And so, not only is the title of this track apt, but so, too, are the ambivalent aesthetic; the cutting which almost by definition overlays ambiguity and confusion (someone else's voice deployed on top of itself in purposely disorienting fashion); and the ruminative verses which capture the uncertainty, potential, excitement, and fear of the moment.
It's a (w)rap.
16) BONUS CUT: Big Pun, "I'm Not a Playa" - 3:41
The O.G. version, the true classic, the one with the O'Jays sample, was made for E.J., Kenny, and Charles. Lyrics and beat.
Like the tape? Download it here.
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