Music

Bang Bang Boogie

Sugarhill Gang and You Don't Stop

by Charles Mudede

Those who think that white consumption of hiphop began in the mid- or late '90s are terribly mistaken. Whites have been part of the hiphop economy almost from day one. In 1979, before Eminem, M.C. Hammer, Vanilla Ice, Beastie Boys, Run-D.M.C., and Blondie, New Jersey's Sugarhill Gang broke into the American mainstream and sold "Rapper's Delight" to over a million customers.

In Sharptown, Maryland, where I lived when the 12-inch was released, white kids not only bought "Rapper's Delight," but attempted to memorize and recall the entire 15-minute rap without a mistake. And these were kids who raced go-carts, dreamed of owning rifles, loved Rod Stewart, and burned black churches. Indeed, two of my schoolmates who could recall a substantial part of "Rapper's Delight" burned my father's church (which was on the black side of town) down to the ground. The boys were arrested, and the apologetic white side of town helped my father and his congregation rebuild the church. Soon after, the bad boys disappeared, and I have no idea what became of them. But wherever they are now (skinheads in Idaho; vibrant members of the NRA in Arizona), deep in their heads are the words, "I said a hip, hop, the hippie the hippie to the hip, hip, hop, a you don't stop the rock it to the bang bang boogie, say up jumped the boogie, to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat."

Sugarhill Gang and its black-owned record label, Sugar Hill Records, were responsible for transporting rap out of the confines of the Bronx into the sprawling white suburbs of America. And Sugarhill Gang's music arrived in this new world (or off-world) as if out of nowhere. Imagine, the rap had no central theme or structure and seemed to go on forever. To make matters stranger, the group used "Good Times" by Chic, and yet Sugarhill Gang was not Chic. And the Gang looped parts of the song instead of rapping over the instrumental version in its entirety. This was all very new to white America, and its sudden fascination resulted in "Rapper's Delight" becoming a Top 40 hit.

True, by black standards, Sugarhill Gang's rap was second-rate--it was packed with clichés, basic rap tropes, and lacked the depth and meaning of, say, Kurtis Blow's "The Breaks" (1980). But the rappers Wonder Mike, Big Bank Hank, and Master Gee did form a perfect triangle of personalities. Each offered the listener a different mode and delivery. Wonder Mike was fatherly, generous, and thoughtful. He was not a big-time bragger, but a storyteller, who liked to reflect on the big paradoxes of life, like "a rainy day that is not wet and a gambling fiend who does not bet and a tree that's not made out of wood."

Big Bank Hank was the macho man of the trio. He was large and pursued large women with the urgency of a man who wants to father as many children as possible ("I go do it, go do it, go do it, do it, do it"). He was proud of his sexual potency ("I can bust you out with my super sperm") and had a taste for expensive things like color TVs and big American cars. In this respect, Hank was the ancestor of hiphop materialists like Lil' Kim and Cash Money Millionaires.

The third rapper, Master Gee, was the "street aristocrat," as C.L. Smooth once put it, an androgynous prince who avoided thuggish things like guns and seedy hotels. He preferred instead the smell of fancy perfumes, and to rest on large pillows carefully arranged on a heart-shaped waterbed. Master Gee was infinitely lazy and narcissistic. In fact, on "Rappers Delight," he spends much of his rap time going "on, and a on" about his delicate beauty ("I have a little face and a pair of brown eyes") and at one point claims that a party or jam without him is "like Farrah Fawcett without her face."

The good news is, all the members of Sugarhill Gang are still alive! The bad news is, they only have two great songs, "Rapper's Delight" and "8th Wonder." But this is not entirely bad, because both songs are very long. Indeed, if the Sugarhill Gang just passed the mic over one groove, the loop of "Good Times," for two hours or so, that would be more than delightful.