Portland is a little city but in it there are many things:
people who wear tight jeans, ironic mustaches, too many indie-rock
bands, the Trail Blazers. There are also things about Portland that don’t suck. Its hiphop scene, for example.
For most touring “underground” hiphop acts, Portland is a
take-it-or-leave-it scenario in between good gigs in the Bay and
Seattle. Observers of the Portland scene note dejectedly that the only
acts who consistently do well in town are from Quannum or are named
Slug; something hippies can plug into their rotation, which gives them
cause to say, “I like good hiphop.” Portland has its fair share of wack
local acts, cats who don’t deserve the love they demand in bitter
call-and-response routines, but Portland also has its fair share of
incredibly talented performers who either don’t get the love they
deserve or are just starting to now.
DJ Wicked is the consummate professional hiphop DJ. Put simply, he’s
Portland’s Jazzy Jay. He’s the Northwest’s Roc Raida. If you haven’t
heard of him, that’s your fault, not his. Wicked has been playing shows
on a multiple-days-a-week basis in Portland, the Northwest, and the
country at large for over a decade and his turntable skills prove it.
He’s recorded numerous albums and projects—most recently the
Fuck the Radio mixtape and a split 12-inch with fellow veteran
Portland turntablist DJ Void. Wicked has also toured the nation
alongside Seattle scene kings Grayskul. The man is a master. Go online
right now, buy Fuck the Radio, and listen to his scratch solo
on “Imaginary Scratches”—it’s the single-illest, most technically
perfect scratch routine you’ll ever hear. Seriously.
Wicked might be the single-most talented member of the Portland
hiphop scene, but as far as groups who are garnering the most buzz,
only one word comes to mind: Sandpeople. A 10-man crew of heavyweights,
Sandpeople emerged onto the scene only a few years ago and already have
three albums, numerous sold-out shows, and more fans in town than any
group besides Lifesavas can boast. Their special relevance is not in
their originality—listeners of other “underground” acts will not
be surprised by their song topics or styles—but in their
prodigious skills. Each member of the crew of nine MCs (two of whom
make the beats) and one DJ is talented enough to be a solid solo act in
his own right, a distinction reminiscent of a certain legendary hiphop
act alongside which Sandpeople will perform this New Year’s Eve at
Portland’s Roseland Theater—Wu-Tang Clan.
Between Wicked and Sandpeople, there’s legacy to the PDX hiphop
community. It’s too brief for a changing of the guard just
yet—more like an adding to the old guard
with a new
guard so that collectively the
future of Portland hiphop is, um,
well guarded. Graham Barey
Up in Vancouver, British
Columbia aka Vancity—a rapper
named Web is recording “Live and Direct,” the final track of a promotional project he’s
been working on with Violator All-Stars’ DJ Jam-X. The studio he’s in
is a temporary setup in the back of the Ephin Apparel headquarters, a
clothing store equal parts hiphop boutique and skate shop. Graffiti
covers the walls. Outside, howling winds spatter the city with rain. It
took Web two hours
to get to the studio tonight; he’s here by
default. The last thing he wants is to be called
a “Vancouver
MC.”
“Everything is wrong with [the local scene],” says Web, who first
generated buzz as one-half of Vancouver’s Usual Suspecs. Though he
currently bounces between Toronto, Los Angeles, and New York pursuing a
solo career, he’s temporarily back in Vancouver for family reasons.
“From the talent pool to the way business is conducted… it’s kind of
perplexing to me how [Canadian media outlets] only support artists that
seem to be mimicking [American artists] and doing a really poor job at
it, to the point where it’s embarrassing.”
“It seems that people are struggling to find themselves,” says Moka
Only, a veteran of the city’s hiphop scene. He is, somewhat
unwittingly, best known for his affiliation with Swollen Members, with
whom he garnered three Junos, the Canadian equivalent to the Grammys.
“I can name a bunch of artists here who are doing their thing, but I’ve
heard a lot of unsavory stuff. It ain’t a good look, just following
trends.”
There are pockets of original talent: Rascalz, pioneers since the
early ’90s and arguably Vancouver’s most crucial hiphop group;
Sweatshop Union, who explore social and political issues; countless
DJs—Kemo, Neoteric, Hedspin, Pluskratch, Wundrkut. Artists like
these make Vancouver bleep on the radar of Canadian hiphop and hold a
light to the K-OSs and Kardinal Offishalls out east in Toronto. They
infuse the local landscape with a sense of potential, but the spark to
set the scene ablaze is missing.
Part of the problem is the fact that the Canadian talent pool isn’t
deep enough to make a splash. Artists who develop their own styles will
never be heard by more than a loud minority. “The market is way too
small to sell any substantial amount of music,” Web says. “You’re in a
country of 33 million people [compared to the United States’ 301
million], so even if you have nationwide distribution, your chance of
selling over 100,000 is really slim.”
Because of its youth, Vancouver’s scene hasn’t had time to develop
much of an infrastructure. “For me, it was a lack of people and
businesses and companies that can help me out with what I’m doing,” Web
says. “In Los Angeles, the opportunity really is there. You can make
your life change within seconds. In Vancouver, you can spend your whole
life trying to change the situation but it will never change, strictly
because it doesn’t have the right people.”
Systems implemented to provide that infrastructure and boost the
profile of Canadian music are questionable. A government-mandated
regulation that requires radio and television broadcasters to play at
least 35 percent Canadian content often results in stations fulfilling
the quota by playing already-established acts like Avril Lavigne or
Alanis Morissette rather than taking a chance on independent music.
VideoFACT, funded by the MuchMusic Network (Canada’s equivalent to
MTV), offers grants of up to $25,000 to improve the quality of Canadian
music videos. It has fared better, though the selection process is
unpredictable. “VideoFACT turns down
every single application that
I give them, so
I don’t put too much faith in VideoFACT
at
all,” Moka says.
Vancouver is an oasis of unmet potential. Today’s artists are met
with indifference; tomorrow’s may never come to be because the scene
lacks the resources to aid their development. Artists can learn from
the cities south of the border, but they must establish their own
identity for anyone outside the region to take notice. Let’s call it a
work in progress—with the emphasis on work. Andrea
Woo
Graham Barey is a freelance writer, beat producer, graphic designer,
and monkey trainer living in Portland, Oregon.
Andrea Woo is from Vancouver and lives in a pineapple under the
sea.