Short Takes on Canadian Rap Songs

The Ex-Puritan’s interview section put a special focus on music in Issue 48: Summer 2018. Paul Barrett talks to Mark V. Campbell about Canadian hip hop in “Resisting the Singular Voice.” Meanwhile, Nehal El-Hadi talks to Alexander G. Weheliye about R&B in “Sounding that Precarious Existence.” We asked Mark and Nehal, who are joined by other fans of the genre, to reflect on Canadian songs that have stuck with them. Hip hop fans, enjoy. 

Mark V. Campbell, AKA DJ Grumps, is an Assistant Professor at Ryerson University’s RTA School of Media and the Founding Director of the Northside Hip Hop Archive. 

Maestro Fresh Wes, “Nothing At All”

I teach with this video, one of Maestro’s least celebrated songs and videos. Its depth and analysis are on point. One scene in the video shows a clip of the standoff at Oka, followed by a shot of golf clubs in chains. The scene speaks volumes to some of the precursors to the moment of the TRC. It demonstrates the potential of hip hop to not only be a vehicle to champion social justice but to be a relational force that can connect people and struggles. The shout outs at the end to numerous significant Black Canadians in the arts, sports, and politics, was important for me as teenager in 1991, providing a history lesson that I could not get in school. That ‘Rocket’ Ismail Argos jersey tho …Kardinal Offishall, “Kardi’s Corner” Although there is no official video for this song, I am glad to see it is posted on YouTube. Kardi produced this dub of Common’s “The Corner” and in classic hip hop fashion, provided a very scathing social critique of gun violence in Toronto and the kinds of media imperialism the United States has championed since the days of the Monroe Doctrine. Kardi doesn’t mince words, providing both ways forward and punishing commentary  on the lack of regard young shooters have, responding directly to the shooting on a TTC bus several years ago. As a way to unify the city, Kardi deploys the terminology invented by K4ce, “T-Dot,” to provide Toronto with its own hip hop identity. The direct contrasts between Canadian and American culture, though, remind me of the kinds of exceptionalism polite Canadians erect when talking about racism or slavery in Canada. 

Nehal El-Hadi is a journalist, writer, and researcher whose work explores the intersections between the body, technology, and space.

Big Black Lincoln “All of You”Heaven’s Caught on Fire, and there never was a second Big Black Lincoln album, so all I can do is be grateful for the only one. Big Black Lincoln—founded by Saukrates and comprising Agile, Ro Dolla, T.R.A.C.K.S., and Shakari Nyte—remains the most underrated Canadian music entity. Facts. Early 2000s, and ahead of their time in more than one way. This was back when we used to just get down for an incandescent ounce, before the impending legalisation. This producer super group (well-known in hip hop circles) brought together funk, R&B, hip-house, bass, and jazz.“All of You” was a certain kind of Toronto vibe in the early/mid ’00s represented sonically. Roxy Blu, Una Mas, Octopus, Alto Basso. It’s also a song that lyrically captures the awkwardness of the LTR accountability conversation: what are we doing now at this particular juncture of the relationship? All of a sudden you have nothing to say. BBL’s sense of humour comes through strong; notable on an album that’s quite honest about the lived Black experience in Canada in songs such as “In The Hood” and “Pimpin’ Life.” 

Paul Barrett is an Assistant Professor of English at Concordia University; his recent work considers conceptions of race in Canada and digital forms of representation.

Rumble, “Safe”

This was one of the songs of the summer in 1993 and combined so much of what, to my mind, constitutes Toronto hip hop of the ’90s. Heavy bass-driven sounds, the influence of reggae and dancehall, that catchy hook, and a little bit of consciousness in the lyrics. The bassline is meant for big club speakers or a serious system in your friend’s Civic. The sounds are so compelling you might not even recognize that the whole narrative of the video is underwritten by this ridiculous patriarchal narrative of the woman at home pining for her man at the club.MC Rumble was part of Rumble and Strong, an important Toronto hip hop act in the 1980s, but this was really Rumble’s biggest song. This track has the sense of diasporic linking and transnational connections that is at the core of Canadian hip hop: shifting from locations in Toronto to Brixton, locations sewn together by a shared interest in soundsystem and dance hall culture. Where other cities might not even think of this as a hip hop song, to me it is that right blend of West Indian and hip hop styles that defines so much Canadian hip hop. Even the way it starts in that storytelling mode: “Come follow me …” Plus the undeniably wicked “Booyaka! Booyaka” chorus, designed for shouting out at the club or, as it were, at the high school dance. Plus, Rumble’s red leather vest. Big chune.

Rascalz, “Dreaded Fist”

Rascalz were excellent for a number of reasons. DJ Kemo reminds me so much of Cypress Hill’s DJ Muggs with his spacy, weed-influenced beats. The group included two b-boy dancers, Zebroc and Dedos, and the interplay between the two MCs, Red1 and Misfit, brought everything together.While Rascalz are mostly known for their popular hits of the late ’90s, this is undoubtedly one of their best tracks. This song is the rare combination of head nodding, smoked out beat accompanied by smart sophisticated lyrics (in the style of Redman) in a way that put VanCity on the map. Red1’s lyric, “Clear cutting MCs like MacMillan Bloedel,” is my favourite Canadian hip hop line of all time: so distinctly west coast and such a smart transformation of local concerns into universally-accessible hip hop posturing.The opening of the second verse from Misfit is so unique in hip hop:

A way with words is chosen, right to explainPoetry in my motion, coastin’, in and out of rangeTo maintain I switch up the timingKeep surprising line by line.

This song contains so many curious time changes in cadence, clever puns, and slant rhymes. it merits serious further study. 

Peter Pesic is a lifelong music enthusiast and TO hip hop head. Through his studio/DAW DJ mixes he has been attempting push the boundaries of communicating ideas and themes. His latest mix, [F]Authority, can be found here: https://www.mixcloud.com/PDP2600/fauthority/. Find him on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PDP2600

IRS, “T-Dot Anthem”

Of all Toronto’s hip hop anthems, IRS’s "T-Dot Anthem" has always resonated the most for me. It's an example of what heights the city's self-sufficient hip hop scene reached, despite being ignored by major labels. This track was also atypical for the underground; not only did the 12" make the rounds on hip hop college radio (the main way sounds on artist's self-financed vinyl releases were heard), but with its play on commercial radio and on Much Music, the call of "I'm from the T-dot-O-dot" became familiar across the city, beyond the underground scene. “T-dot Anthem” is all about celebrating the city and its hip-hop scene:

Crowds are hard to pleaseLoud and hard to easeReady to moveIf you underestimateThe people here ...

With lyrics like these, IRS painted an accurate picture of difficult-to-impress crowds and talented artists who were often marginalized. The song captures how it felt to be around the city's hip hop scene at the time; underdog artists creating and performing ill music, despite the challenges and lack of industry support. Whether it was going to dope underground shows, to listening to Master Plan, collecting hard-to-find vinyl, or going to events showcasing other elements of hip hop, this song brings all of that to life. Before Toronto was the Six, this was the sound of the T-Dot. 

E Martin Nolan is a poet, essayist and editor. He edits interviews at The Ex-Puritan. His first book of poems, Still Point, was published with Invisible Publishing in Fall, 2017. Learn more at emartinnolan.com.

K’Naan, “Voices in my Head”

As a transplant to Canada, I don’t have any formative experience with Canadian rap. But I arrived here right around the height of K’Naan’s fame, and this track has stuck with me. “Voices in my Head” does not need a music video. Its visual parallels are in your head already from the news. Even if we’re lucky not to be one, we live in a refugee world now, and more so as the planet becomes increasingly hostile—ecologically, economically, and politically—to peaceful human habitation. If art can be used, as I’ve argued here before, to create “different ways of seeing,” there may be few better examples than this song. Everything is propelled forward desperately as if the voice, the lyrics, and the instruments are being chased by ICE (“they say, ‘who met us and let us in?’”). Fear and paranoia are pervasive. Dense repetition creates extreme tension—“These demons inside me they got me, they stop me from sleepin’ / And eatin’ and keepin’ it even, and even my reason for breathin’ this season”—especially when delivered with an uneven ebb and flow of urgency paired with a sharp groove leaning ever on the upbeat, like it too is on the run. The song makes you lean in to hear it, bobbing your head quickly to find the beat, assuming a position of worry. Because there is a monster and it’s reproduced and reinforced in the speaker’s head. In so many heads. Too many.