Adult Rappers

Release Date: May 17th, 2015
Running Time: 61 minutes
Written & Directed by: Paul Iannacchino
Starring: Slug, Masta Ace, Murs, Homeboy Sandman, Eternia, Esoteric, Evidence, R.A. the Rugged Man, Blockhead, Luckyiam, J-Zone

Adult Rappers features working-class HipHop artists as they enter middle age, reflecting on their places in what has largely been a youth-dominated industry. Despite having well-established careers, some of them continue to struggle with issues of relevance and self-worth. As such the film gives a rare glimpse into the world of underground rappers, as all too often the media romanticizes more mainstream and financially successful HipHop personalities with all their egotistical glamour, and neglects to show what is the reality for most working musicians.

The opening sequence is the best part of the movie, as Slug (of independent HipHop group Atmosphere) and a host of others discuss their discomfort at being asked "What do you do for a living?" Slug answers, "I say I work for a record label...it can be awkward to try and explain to a 50-year-old white lady that I'm a rapper, because then she's gonna be like 'you mean like 2Pac?' And I'm like, 'uh, yeah—just like 2Pac'". HipHop legend Masta Ace (the eldest rapper in the film, at 49), says he'll usually give a response of "'I'm in the music industry'. I keep it real vague". Evidence (of Dilated Peoples) says "DJ or photographer", and evasive answers continue, ranging from "I'm an electronic musician", to "I'm a producer", or "I'm an entrepreneur". Luckyiam (of groups Living Legends and Mystik Journeymen) says "The worst thing is to be like 'I'm a rapper'—because everybody's a rapper right now". This segment resonates with me strongly. As a writer, former stand-up comedian, part-time rapper, and occasional DJ who's experienced some success but have yet to fulfill dreams of greater creative realization, it's refreshing to hear the opinions of the many artists here addressing their apprehension in talking about what they do. If even they continue to struggle with these issues then I guess I'm not in such bad shape after all. And that's the film's biggest success; it normalizes life as an artist, and with humble honesty, depicts the challenges of "making it".

The film is divided into sections with title cards that span a range of topics. "Grew Up on Tapes" has the rappers discussing memories of doing just that; carrying around cassette tapes of their favourite rappers, making mixtapes, and "pause tapes"—an old school, guerrilla technique for creating instrumental beats whereby a double cassette player is used to play a song in one deck while recording on a blank tape in the other deck. The blank tape is paused when the instrumental section ends, the source tape is rewound to the same spot as before, and it's recorded again and again until a few minutes of a looped beat is complete to rap over. The chapter "Memory Lane" has the rappers talking about some of their earliest HipHop memories. One recalls that whenever he and his siblings caused trouble as kids, his dad would say "Don't push me 'cause I'm close to the edge"—a line from Grandmaster Melle Mel's legendary song "The Message". Another reminisces about his babysitter bringing her boyfriend over, who started doing the windmill (breakdance move) in the kitchen. This section carries on as the rappers fondly remember their early exposure to HipHop, before segueing into the next chapter "It Was All a Dream", in which they speak about their influences. Slug recalls, "Run-D.M.C. was the first of any music, not just HipHop, that was mine—not my mom's, not my dad's, this is mine". Eternia, the lone female MC and the only Canadian rapper featured, cites female rap duo Salt-N-Pepa, and others name LL Cool J, Eazy-E, MC Serch, MC Shan, and Del tha Funkee Homosapien. For any fans of the artists who appear in the film, it's a pleasure to hear them talk about who they aspired to be like when they were growing up.

After the first half of the movie focuses on lighter material, it turns a little more serious when discussing the business side of things in the chapter "Rap is Work". One artist says, "Most rappers, independent and underground, have 9-to-5s—or at least another job". They list former jobs they've had, ranging from working in bakeries to strip clubs. Some talk about feeling fortunate to not have to have a second job, to be able to survive solely by making music. Murs says he almost always was, and is still to this day, paid under the table—his last official paycheque was at a record store job at age 17. While an interesting detail, it should be expanded on—doesn't Murs receive royalty cheques for the several albums he's recorded? This is one of the film's problems; with about twenty or so featured artists, the narrative is formed with brief excerpts of their comments, rather than leaving room for deeper explanation that featuring half as many rappers would've allowed.

When descriptions of touring come, any illusions of performing as being a glamourous lifestyle are shattered. One such comment is "It's fun the first week. The second week is okay. By the third you wanna go home. You eat crap, you drink every night, you never sleep". Other comments include "It's a 24-hour grind" and "Touring is brutal on your soul". Esoteric discusses having to spend half of every year away from his wife and son. "A lot of times I wish I could just hang the mic up," he says, "and saw this whole gigantic heaping mass of energy, positive and negative, right off my back and just go to the park with my dog, throw the ball for him, and tune out. But it's always there, kind of a gift and a curse...you think about the next record—it's just not something you can turn off".

We're told that despite constantly writing, recording, and making industry connections, there's no sure formula for success. Hard work and quality of music aren't enough. Marketing of image and personality, networking, and a slew of other indeterminable factors contribute to how much someone succeeds. Some darker aspects of the industry surface, as when Murs explains that no matter how much love you might get from some fans, there's just as much hate and disrespect—especially on the internet. "'Fuck you, I hate you'," he says, "Everyday I have to read that—it can drive you crazy". Slug, despite having earned immense respect in the industry, discusses feelings of insecurity, "There's always a little bit of this thing in the back of your mind like 'I wonder if I'm gonna get fired this year...if this'll be my last year'". And so the highs and lows of the industry—especially the lows—and the gritty reality of working rappers is explored with brutal honesty. Audiences often think these guys got it made because they're seen doing shows and making records, but it's a whole lot of hard work that only a small percentage of people who attempt it can sustain for a lifelong career. This is the reality for most rappers, and artists of any medium or genre.

The final chapter "The Lesson" focuses on the ramifications of getting older in the rap industry. Some say that if you haven't made it by 40, it's time to think about another career. Slug says, "HipHop lifestyles require aggression, testosterone—an 'I don't give a fuck' attitude. And when you reach a certain age you kind of have to embrace the fact that you really do give a fuck. So it's kind of hard sometimes to rationalize your own place in this, where you know it's a youth-driven movement. But I'm not so much of a youth anymore". Some positive attitudes about aging are expressed as well, as one rapper says, "It gets a little better every year". One commenter notes there's a natural Peter Pan quality to rappers, and as long as you're inquisitive and have new ideas, your philosophies will apply to all ages and continue to inspire. Another says it's pretty normal for there to be 70-year-old folk and rock musicians, and the only reason it doesn't exist in rap yet is because it didn't start that long ago. Indeed, with old school HipHop legends like KRS-One and Public Enemy continuing to make solid records well into their 50s, it won't be long before we see 70-year-old rappers.

There's no question that it's a tough biz, and there's a subtle sadness that develops throughout the film, as many of the featured artists express never having made it as big as they wanted to when they started out. But a sense of satisfaction emerges for some of them as well, expressing contentment at having had the experiences that they did, even if they weren't of the grandiose proportions that they envisioned when they were young. They talk soberly about facing their responsibilities in the world, personally and professionally, and realize that part of maturing and being an adult is having realistic expectations.

There are a few aspects of the film that I would've liked to have been done differently. For one, the rappers aren't introduced by name until the very end, and while there are some who I knew by face while watching, there were many more who I'd heard of but didn't know who they were until the film's last five minutes. Identifying them at the beginning of the movie instead, and showing clips of them performing and/or playing some of their music in the background would've provided more context and increased viewers' vested interest in what they have to say. Also, the thematic relevance of the title really only comes into play in the last third of the film. It might've more appropriately been entitled something like Working Rappers or Underground Rappers. While there is some interesting discussion about aging, notably absent is any mention of how the industry might've changed from the time that many of these rappers started out in the '90s (or in the case of Masta Ace, the '80s), such as the impact that the internet has had on marketing and record sales in this time when downloading, streaming services, and pirating have largely supplanted hard copy CD sales. And it would've been good to have a few more older rappers appear, as most here range from their early to mid-30s, with only a few in their 40s. Nonetheless, at 61-minutes-long it's an entertaining and insightful watch that's easy to get through, and a must-see for any fans of the featured artists or of underground HipHop in general.
Rating (out of 5): ★★★½
• Nik Dobrinsky / Boy Drinks Ink
December 3rd, 2015