loosie: words: Rock Steady's 25th Anniversary

Rock Steady's 25th Anniversary

NYC's hiphop lovefest.

by B.D. | 2002.10.18

Hiphop's racial preservationists certainly have a lot of ammunition. With Eminem racking up SoundScan numbers, Japanese youth knotting up cornrows and the underground scene bristling with Jansport-laden suburbanites, it is easy to see why some people believe hiphop's emergence as a cross-cultural force is an affront to the genre's forefathers. As the annals of history are littered with examples of minority artists who have been left penniless while their creations have gone on to feed the families of Caucasian opportunists, warnings of hiphop's wholesale co-option are probably in order.

Unfortunately, most advocates of cultural xenophobia will never see an event like the Rock Steady Crew's 25th Anniversary celebration. Even the most jaded protectionist would be hard-pressed to remain cynical in the face of the multi-racial hiphop lovefest that took place in New York City on the final weekend of July.

Kicking off with Friday's MC battle and B-boy showdown, the Rock Steady weekend is a yearly event held in homage to the legendary South Bronx break-dancing conglomerate. While making their name in the early '80's by performing in the Lincoln Center Outdoors Program and dancing at the Ritz, it's doubtful that Crazy Legs and his BX brethren anticipated their craft would become a global phenomenon. A quick example of how far the movement has traveled: of the final three contestants in the MC battle, one was from New Zealand and one was from Polynesia. And, as usual, after the customary repeated requests for fellatio, the combatants embraced like longtime chums.

The B-boy contest brought together a wildly diverse group of Blacks, whites, Latinos, Asians, males and females. Although the crowded ballroom at the Manhattan Center started out as a clusterfuck of gyrating bodies and mini-ciphers, the first official battle drew the audience into a tight circle around the dance-floor. B-boys and B-girls of every shade and hue plopped down on the carpet Indian-style in some sort of harmonious powwow, drawn together by nothing more than a love of break-dancing.

Before we twist the peace-pipe metaphor off into stylistic schmaltz, let's be completely earnest for a second. To see so many individuals from different walks of life unified in unabashed camaraderie was, well, in a word, inspiring. Such hand-wringing "we are the world" descriptions may be nothing more than wobbly rope-ladders over vast sociological chasms, but the uniqueness of the moment was something that seems to be lacking in our often-fragmented society. Perhaps the majority of these young bulls will slowly diverge into the middle-aged isolationism their once-liberal baby-boomer parents now find so reassuring. But on Friday, it was just a damn beautiful thing.

Saturday's free concert at Pier 54 was more ethnic gumbo. Not only was the crowd a mixed bag of flyer-pushers and homemade CD peddlers, the performers were also equally diverse. Demi-underground favorites all, Non Phixion, The Arsonists, Dilated Peoples, Skillz and the Beatnuts each knocked out a crisp set. GZA and M.O.P., the advertised headliners, were nowhere to be found, but screw it; a free show is a free show.

Although the overcast skies threatened rain, a healthy multitude was undeterred. Among the notables who made appearances in the crowd were Heltah Skeltah's Ruck, Fab Five Freddy and Cormega. A few B-boys danced on the side, but the majority of the crowd concentrated on the music.

The best performance of the day belonged to Skillz ("he ain't Mad no more"). His veteran status may have corresponded with the softening of his once slender frame, but he tore through his somewhat-limited catalogue with youthful exuberance. In his finest moment, the Virginia native added in the deleted names from "Ghostwriter" and effectively incriminated such Billboard favorites as Puff, Foxy and Will Smith as recipients of phantom-penned verses. Although Skillz doesn't have a mile-long discography, his energy and humorous subject matter made his set a crowd favorite.

As could be expected, it was the long-neglected old school artists who were reluctant to give up the mic. It's hard to knock the old-timers for making the most of their rare opportunity to hold a crowd hostage, but Grandmaster Caz's lengthy unveiling of new-fangled material was only made palatable by his comical announcement of a forthcoming "new single in a few months". Granted, the Rat Pack guys deserve more than a once-a-year slap on the shoulders - in the name of respect, we'll just pretend that they're senile relatives and give them a few nods and smiles as they gum their applesauce.

The corporate commodification of hiphop is another crime on the long laundry list of infractions committed against the culture of the African Diaspora. As such, an analytical eye must be used to monitor the proliferation of this South Bronx ironweed. But all sappy fawning aside, the 25th Rock Steady weekend demonstrated, if nothing else, the power of hiphop as a unifying force.