Once they were everywhere. High-spirited rappers roamed free across the earth, bringing joy into the lives of others through their ability to bust a rhyme. But almost without warning they were gone. Whether they were wiped out by an asteroid or a sudden change in temperature, I couldn’t say. One day, they dominated the airwaves with pulsating beats and exhilarating lyrics. The next they were silenced by a chronic infestation of boy bands and Celine Dion. It was no longer enough for a rapper to be funny – you had to be shocking in order to drag attention away from all the pre-fabricated pop artists who rolled off the assembly line. The era of the friendly rap artist was over.
Once they were everywhere. High-spirited rappers roamed free across the earth, bringing joy into the lives of others through their ability to bust a rhyme. But almost without warning they were gone. Whether they were wiped out by an asteroid or a sudden change in temperature, I couldn’t say. One day, they dominated the airwaves with pulsating beats and exhilarating lyrics. The next they were silenced by a chronic infestation of boy bands and Celine Dion. It was no longer enough for a rapper to be funny – you had to be shocking in order to drag attention away from all the pre-fabricated pop artists who rolled off the assembly line. The era of the friendly rap artist was over.
I love rap music, particularly the early stuff. It was welcome reprieve from the airbrushed arena rock of the era. Back in the eighties, rock music mostly meant men with long hair and make up who dressed like the world’s ugliest gymnastics team. Both the musicians and the music were airbrushed past the point of recognition. Rap music, however, was raw and untamed. It hadn’t yet fallen into the clutches of the multinationals that treat music like any other commodity; as something to be packaged, traded and ultimately consumed.
Back then, rap music felt genuine. Not only did it lack the machinery associated with the music business, it lacked instruments too; relying instead on drum machines and samples taken from other people’s records. Forget fifteen-minute drum solos and song cycles. Such extravagances are surplus to requirements in the world of hip-hop. Forget, too, dazzling costumes and rhinestone-encrusted jumpsuits. Rappers didn’t dress like gymnasts. They dressed like regular folks who just stepped off the street. Albeit regular folks with a lot of gold jewelry and very nice sneakers. Except, of course, for Kris Kross.
Chris Kelly and Chris Smith were better known as Mac Daddy and Daddy Mac respectively. Discovered whilst rapping in a shopping mall in Atlanta in 1991, they released their debut single the following year. Sampling the Jacksons Five, the Ohio Players and the Honey Drippers, ‘Jump’ is three delightful minutes packed full of exuberant, dexterous rhyming that topped the charts in countries across the world including Australia. They were just twelve and thirteen years old.
There was more to Kris Kross than their music. They also made a distinctive mark on the fashion world by wearing their clothes back to front. Sadly, this failed to catch on more broadly, except for my nephew Noah who, when he was five, preferred his jeans the wrong way round because he considered the pockets at the back to be of superior quality and wanted them to ride up front. As for me, though, I simply lacked the courage to go backwards.
I can’t say exactly what I was doing at twelve, but I certainly wasn’t producing a world-straddling pop colossus like the boys of Kris Kross. Most likely I was spending my time trying to master the art of the necktie (it was part of the high school uniform) and pulling the perfect mono on my dragster. In retrospect, I should have been rocking the microphone with my clothes on back to front.
The song clocked in at just three minutes and seventeen seconds and their time at fame’s apex lasted only slightly longer. They sold millions of copies of the single and truckloads of the accompanying album, Totally Krossed Out, but it was all downhill from there. Isaac Newton’s Law of Diminishing Returns took effect and subsequent releases did not fare so well. Just as when the Village People gave up their kooky costumes and turned all arty and serious or the tragic day when KISS removed the makeup and the world was confronted with exactly how plug-ugly they were, a lot of the fun vanished when the duo began to wear their clothes the right way round. After a couple more albums, they broke up in 1996.
Fame is a curious thing. It’s as elusive as lightning and just as dangerous. To have achieved it so early in life must be a very strange thing. Most of us live our lives hopeful that our best days lie ahead. That’s hard to do when you achieve your first and only number one hit at the age of twelve. Sadly, Chris Kelly – or ‘Mac Daddy’ to his fans – passed away earlier this year. He was just thirty-four years of age. Pop music has always devoured its young; from Frankie Lymon onwards. But despite whatever personal tragedy might befall those who taste fame too young, there is always the music to remind of that brief, glittering moment when the world was theirs.
Recently, I celebrated ‘rap music appreciation week’. I prepared a playlist stuffed full of songs by The Sugarhill Gang, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, RUN-DMC and the exquisite Kurtis Blow. There was House of Pain and Young MC too. And, of course, Kris Kross. As a small tribute, next week I will wear my clothes backwards. A fitting compliment to a true pioneer of hip-hop.