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Def Jam's Still Fresh

Photo by Glen E. Freidman

Keep on Trackin': Def Jam star LL Cool J takes a breather.

New four-CD set captures the best--and more--of premiere rap label Def Jam

By Todd S. Inoue

During the '80s, the Def Jam label was the b-boy version of Blue Note. Started by music mogul Russell Simmons and producer Rick Rubin in Rubin's New York University dorm room, the Def Jam imprimatur was an airtight guarantee of anti-wackness. The logo--an aerial view of the Technics 1200 turntable, its tone arm ready to drop--may not win any graphic-design awards, but rap music fans worldwide knew that it stood for hard beats and harder rhymes.

You bought any Def Jam 12-inch single (two copies, if you were a DJ) regardless of its contents, just on the strength of the logo alone. Def Jam was the political Public Enemy, the snotty Beastie Boys, the young lion LL Cool J, rap fashion plate Slick Rick--DJs and emcees whose voices built upon hip-hop's "golden era" in the mid-1980s.

By the early '90s, Def Jam's success showed that rap could not be (literally) ghettoized, and soon major labels flooded the market, snapping up independent record companies and artists. Def Jam made a few mistakes but restructured its empire to maintain a leadership role in the future of popular music. On the Def Jam 10th Year Anniversary four-CD box set, the label shines a lingering spotlight on its best years, hits the strobe on tomorrow's leaders and sweeps its no-hit wonders out the side exit.

LL Cool J was Def Jam's first star, so it is natural for him to be well represented, but 13 tracks is far too many. LL's best, worst and in-between songs are included. "I Can't Live Without My Radio," a tribute to b-boy living injected with drum-machine rolls and bass kicks, is as fresh and invigorating as it was in 1985. "Rock the Bells" made even the most feeble bedroom DJ a star with LL's 17-year-old voice exclaiming his dominance over the grinding guitar- sample scratch and go-go drums. The tender "I Need Love" introduced the rap sex symbol.

After prepping with early Cool J. cuts, listening to "Big Ole Butt" or "Back Seat" is hysterical. "I'm That Type of Guy," "Big Ole Butt," even "Boomin' System" should have been left off to make room for other artists.

Without the luxury of mainstream airplay, Public Enemy's Black Panther persona charged through college radio and suburban tape decks. The immortal anti-hit "Rebel Without a Pause" knocks over stray thoughts like bowling pins. Its aural attack rides James Brown's "Funky Drummer" beat into Armageddon, while the shrill air-raid whistle loop induces paranoia, and the 808 boom nudges guts and dents trunks. Even by today's standards, "Rebel Without a Pause" is scathing and original, and gets folks to exclaim--as Don Cornelius did to Chuck D. after the band lip-synched the number on Soul Train--"That was frightening!"

"Night of the Living Bassheads" and "Fight the Power" further PE's political agenda to a devastating Bomb Squad soundtrack. Even the group's collaboration with thrash rockers Anthrax on "Bring the Noise" sounds more vital than anything on today's rock or rap charts.

The same can't be said for many of today's Def Jam stars. Though Redman, Onyx and Method Man are genuine rap supermen, none has the ability to shock and intimidate like Public Enemy. Onyx comes off cartoonish in its throat-shredding celebrations of realness, "Throw Ya Gunz" and "Slam." And EPMD, to me, will always be best remembered for its Fresh Records-era numbers--"You Gots to Chill" and "So Whatcha Saying"--than for the Def Jam titles here: "Crossover" and "Headbanger."

Def Jam's biggest-selling record to date is the Beastie Boys' Licensed to Ill. Every kid who went to high school or college in the mid-'80s knows the rhymes to "Brass Monkey," "Hold It (Now Hit It)" and "Paul Revere" backward and forward. The inclusion of these hits is expected, but a boxed retrospective ought to provide some rarer material as well. The Def Jam collection, however, comes up near empty, with no sign of "Rock Hard," "Beastie Groove" or "Party's Getting Rough" anywhere.

In fact, the lone hard-to-find cut is Oran "Juice" Jones' "The Rain." Over a typical '80s synth-and-hand-clap backing that could have been imported by Club Nouveau, Juice's falsetto croons the story of a philandering mate. At the song's close, he talks a bucketful of shit: "Silly rabbit, tricks are made for kids, don't you know that? You without me is like cornflakes without the milk. It's my world you're just a squirrel looking for a nut."

Rap is a quickly disposable medium. An artist can strike it big in 1996, and by 1997 he or she's bagging groceries at the corner grocery. Many of Def Jam's .100 batters are assembled here.

Nikki D., the first female rapper to be signed to Def Jam, flounders with a 1991 single based on the Suzanne Vega/DNA remix of "Tom's Diner." 3rd Bass extended its allotted 15 minutes, scoring two of its biggest hits--"Gas Face" and "Pop Goes the Weasel"--by dissing Hammer and Vanilla Ice, respectively. The E in EPMD, Erick Sermon, appears with a solo joint called "Stay Real." Lyrics get no lamer than "I'm blowing up--like Tom Berenger in Platoon," and "Stay Real" should have stayed in the reel.

If Def Jam really wanted to represent itself, wrinkles and all, then why not include some of the label's forgotten no-hitters? Where's Davy D., Original Concept, Chuck Stanley or Tashan? Something must have motivated the label to release these artists (and they damn sure could use the royalties).

Instead, Def Jam takes the opportunity to pimp its slick, R&B-influenced artists like Montell Jordan ("Somethin' 4 Da Honeyz" and "This Is How We Do It") and MoKenStef ("Who Can I Run To?"). Though representative of Def Jam's entry into the '90s marketplace, Jordan and MoKenStef are so manufactured, they should come with union labels, not Def Jam's.

Then there's Def Jam's foray into West Coast gangsta rap and g-funk: Boss, Domino, South Central Cartel and Warren G., all performers--compared to L.L. and Public Enemy--whose longevity can be measured by the yardstick of Michael Jackson's marriage.

What can't be argued is Def Jam's contribution to modern music. As the emphasis changes from making big noise to making big loot, Def Jam chooses artists who sell, as well as provoke. With less MoKenStefs and more Method Mans, Def Jam will be a leader into the next millennium. Its anniversary box set offers convincing, but selective, proof that it still knows the groove.

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