Could It Be That It Was All So Simple Then?
I am Hip Hop.
I have been since I was 8 years old and first heard Lady B’s Street Beat on Power 99 FM. It started with Roxanne Roxanne (and all of the records that followed,) continued through the Juice Crews loss to BDP; Moe D’s loss to LL; the falling off of Big Daddy Kane and the falling off and reintroduction and subsequent falling off of LL; the introduction of a fat kid from Brooklyn who changed the game; some cats in L.A. who said, “Fuck the police”; the improbable rise of a West Coast Pimp turned rapper turned actor; the rise and falls of media empires out of Harlem, Uptown-by-way-of Harlem, Compton, Beverly Hills, and of all places New Orleans; and the ascension of the greatest rapper, co-CEO-and entrepreneur of all time from peddling ounces along the I95 corridor to minority ownership of the New Jersey Nets. Suffice it to say, I have seen it all.
So it is with great sadness that I lament the passing of the first magazine that I ever bought consistently; the source.
The Source is still in publication. It is still a media empire in and of itself, (though how long is a subject of debate.) But it is dead. Ironically murdered by its own fathers, David Mays and Raymond Scott, like some bad Greek tragedy.
For those that don’t know, Mays, a Harvard graduate and Scott, a graduate of the school of hard knocks, helped create the world’s first national publication devoted to Hip Hop. Though Scott’s role in the magazine’s early days is subject to conjecture, for the sake of argument I will buy his explanation that he was right there in the forefront. Though in the early years, the magazine had a diverse staff that covered Hip Hop with zeal and integrity. And we, the faithful, bought issues monthly.
While Mays was leading this journalistic revolution, Scott was trying to get out of the streets by making beats. (Look Ma, I’m a rapper). Mays, the head of a music journal, for all intents and purposes, was also Scott’s manager. An obvious no-no. Even those who don’t know the story know where this is heading. Mays wrote puff pieces on the group -- editors walked out. Rinse and repeat. Soon, Mays’ partners were either bought out, or asked to leave. Again, conjecture. But the fact is that when the dust settled, Mays and Scott stood alone on the top of the heap.
I knew we had big trouble on the horizon when the Source, known for its ‘beefs’ with Vibe and XXL, decided to ‘beef’ with rappers. Competition is competition. The law of the jungle is survival of the fittest, so journalistic tête-à-tête with other magazines is forgivable, if not expected in Hip Hop. It is a competitive art form. But beefs with the artists you cover? That is not journalism. That is street dudes bringing the street into the board room. That, dear reader, is Raymond Scott.
I can bash Ray Scott all I want. But, I really can’t blame him. He is a gangster. To his credit, he found a good hustle, and like all gangsters he is going to bleed it dry. Ever see Goodfellas? “Fuck you, pay me.” It’s not a quote, it’s a mantra.
The Source, you will be missed. You will be replaced, much like a pair of favored shell toes that are no longer crisp, but you will be missed. Though perhaps these are merely the ramblings of a man who woke up one day and found that his favorite magazine is no longer in his demographic. Like the day that G.I. Joe was no longer cool, or the day when I realized that I really didn’t care who the WWF Champion was. Perhaps I don’t lament the Source’s passing, I lament my own advancing age. Perhaps.
Pro Hip Hop has a series of links to great articles on this tragedy here.
You can hit the Source directly, here. Although, for the record they have been trying to get their site together for years. Their next issue asks the pressing question, “Did C-Murder get a fair trial?” Need I lament more?
That’s it. I’m spent.
I have been since I was 8 years old and first heard Lady B’s Street Beat on Power 99 FM. It started with Roxanne Roxanne (and all of the records that followed,) continued through the Juice Crews loss to BDP; Moe D’s loss to LL; the falling off of Big Daddy Kane and the falling off and reintroduction and subsequent falling off of LL; the introduction of a fat kid from Brooklyn who changed the game; some cats in L.A. who said, “Fuck the police”; the improbable rise of a West Coast Pimp turned rapper turned actor; the rise and falls of media empires out of Harlem, Uptown-by-way-of Harlem, Compton, Beverly Hills, and of all places New Orleans; and the ascension of the greatest rapper, co-CEO-and entrepreneur of all time from peddling ounces along the I95 corridor to minority ownership of the New Jersey Nets. Suffice it to say, I have seen it all.
So it is with great sadness that I lament the passing of the first magazine that I ever bought consistently; the source.
The Source is still in publication. It is still a media empire in and of itself, (though how long is a subject of debate.) But it is dead. Ironically murdered by its own fathers, David Mays and Raymond Scott, like some bad Greek tragedy.
For those that don’t know, Mays, a Harvard graduate and Scott, a graduate of the school of hard knocks, helped create the world’s first national publication devoted to Hip Hop. Though Scott’s role in the magazine’s early days is subject to conjecture, for the sake of argument I will buy his explanation that he was right there in the forefront. Though in the early years, the magazine had a diverse staff that covered Hip Hop with zeal and integrity. And we, the faithful, bought issues monthly.
While Mays was leading this journalistic revolution, Scott was trying to get out of the streets by making beats. (Look Ma, I’m a rapper). Mays, the head of a music journal, for all intents and purposes, was also Scott’s manager. An obvious no-no. Even those who don’t know the story know where this is heading. Mays wrote puff pieces on the group -- editors walked out. Rinse and repeat. Soon, Mays’ partners were either bought out, or asked to leave. Again, conjecture. But the fact is that when the dust settled, Mays and Scott stood alone on the top of the heap.
I knew we had big trouble on the horizon when the Source, known for its ‘beefs’ with Vibe and XXL, decided to ‘beef’ with rappers. Competition is competition. The law of the jungle is survival of the fittest, so journalistic tête-à-tête with other magazines is forgivable, if not expected in Hip Hop. It is a competitive art form. But beefs with the artists you cover? That is not journalism. That is street dudes bringing the street into the board room. That, dear reader, is Raymond Scott.
I can bash Ray Scott all I want. But, I really can’t blame him. He is a gangster. To his credit, he found a good hustle, and like all gangsters he is going to bleed it dry. Ever see Goodfellas? “Fuck you, pay me.” It’s not a quote, it’s a mantra.
The Source, you will be missed. You will be replaced, much like a pair of favored shell toes that are no longer crisp, but you will be missed. Though perhaps these are merely the ramblings of a man who woke up one day and found that his favorite magazine is no longer in his demographic. Like the day that G.I. Joe was no longer cool, or the day when I realized that I really didn’t care who the WWF Champion was. Perhaps I don’t lament the Source’s passing, I lament my own advancing age. Perhaps.
Pro Hip Hop has a series of links to great articles on this tragedy here.
You can hit the Source directly, here. Although, for the record they have been trying to get their site together for years. Their next issue asks the pressing question, “Did C-Murder get a fair trial?” Need I lament more?
That’s it. I’m spent.
posted by Sonnyredd at 11:32 AM
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