Con il giornalista Roberto Ciuffini ripercorriamo le origini del rap in occasione di un incontro promosso dal Cpia L’Aquila. Il rap è un genere musicale che ha le sue radici in diverse forme di musica afroamericana, come il blues, il jazz, la soul music e il funk. Il rap ha iniziato a prendere forma nella metà degli anni ’70, quando i primi DJ di hip hop come Kool Herc e Grandmaster Flash cominciarono a creare beat usando campioni di vecchi dischi di musica funk e soul. Il rap originariamente si esibisce per le strade dei quartieri afroamericani di New York, nel Bronx e Brooklyn, e si basa sulla capacità di improvvisare le parole in rima. Il rap prende spunto dallo spoken word degli afroamericani, che è stato portato alla ribalta negli anni ’60 e ’70 dal movimento del Black Power.

Uno dei gruppi pionieri del rap sono i Sugarhill gang che nel 1979 pubblicarono Rapper’s Delight. Alla fine degli anni ’70 e all’inizio degli anni ’80, il rap comincia ad avere un certo successo commerciale grazie a artisti come Kurtis Blow, Run-D.M.C. e LL Cool J. Questi artisti hanno portato il rap dalle strade alle radio nazionali e hanno fatto conoscere il genere anche al di fuori della comunità afroamericana.

 

Negli anni ’90, il rap ha assunto un ruolo sempre più centrale nella cultura popolare, con artisti come Tupac, Notorious B.I.G., Jay-Z e Nas che hanno dominato le classifiche musicali e la cultura della moda e dei media. Nel corso degli anni, il rap ha continuato a evolversi e a influenzare altri generi musicali come il rock, l’elettronica e il pop.

Oggi, il rap è uno dei generi musicali più popolari al mondo, con artisti come Drake, Kendrick Lamar e Post Malone che hanno raggiunto la fama internazionale. Il rap continua a essere una forma di espressione per molte persone e rimane uno dei generi musicali più influenti e innovativi della storia. Il percorso parte dal funky.

GIVE IT UP OR TURNIT A LOOSE (James Brown)

Baby give it up or turn it a loose
Huh, ha
Baby give it up or turn it a loose
Baby give it up or turn it a loose
Huh, ha
Baby give it up or turn it a loose
Huh, all right
Baby give it up, huh, turn it loose, ha
Yeahhh
Oh, no, no, no
Huh
All right
Oh, no, no, no, ain’t no use
Baby, give it up, uh, turn it loose
Baby, feed your soul, turn it loose
Hey, hey, hey, hey, uh
Yeahhh
Hold you tight, got to feed your soul
With all my might
I’ve to squeeze you
Hold you tight because I love you so
Baby, huh, give it up, uh, all right
Turn it loose
Hey, hey, hey, hey, uh
No, no, no, no, no, no, no

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FUNKY DRUMMER (James Brown)

Come back, cover
Shades, good God
It’s a raid
Cut off the lights
And call the law
Cut off the lights
And call the law
Standing over there
The devil’s on his way
Call the law
Call the law
The devil’s on his way
Bring on the juice
Bring on the juice
Bring on the juice
Bring on the juice
Make me sweat
Still good
It’s still good
Still good
It’s still good
Turn over
Turn over
Turn over
Take me in the chain
Take me in the chain
Take me in the chain
Tall women
Is all I need
Tall women
Is what I want
One more time
I wanna give the drummer
Some of this funky soul
We got here
You don’t have to do
No song, brother
Just keep what you got
Don’t turn it loose
Cause it’s a mother
When I count to four
I want everybody to lay off
Let the drummer go
When I count to four
I want you to come back in
I got to holler
I said it’s in my feet
Feels so sweet
It’s in my shake, good God
About to work me to death
It’s in my shake
About to work me to death
It’s in my shake
I’m about to blow
I’m about to blow
One, two, three, four
Get it
Ain’t it funky
Ain’t it funky
Ain’t it funky
Ain’t it funky
One, two, three, four

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THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT BE TELEVISED (Gil Scott Heron)

You will not be able to stay home, brother
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag
And skip out for beer during commercials, because
The revolution will not be televised
The revolution will not be televised
The revolution will not be brought to you
By Xerox in four parts without commercial interruptions
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle
And leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams, and Spiro Agnew
To eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary
The revolution will not be televised
The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre
And will not star Natalie Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs
The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner, because
The revolution will not be televised, brother
There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mae
Pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run
Or trying to slide that color TV into a stolen ambulance
NBC will not be able predict the winner
At 8:32 on report from twenty-nine districts
The revolution will not be televised
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers on the instant replay
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers on the instant replay
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young
Being run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process
There will be no slow motion or still lifes of Roy Wilkins
Strolling through Watts in a red, black, and green liberation jumpsuit
That he has been saving for just the proper occasion
Green Acres, Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville Junction
Will no longer be so damn relevant
And women will not care if Dick finally got down with Jane
On Search for Tomorrow
Because black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day
The revolution will not be televised
There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock news
And no pictures of hairy armed women liberationists
And Jackie Onassis blowing her nose
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb or Francis Scott Keys
Nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash
Engelbert Humperdinck, or The Rare Earth
The revolution will not be televised
The revolution will not be right back
After a message about a white tornado
White lightning, or white people
You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom
The tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl
The revolution will not go better with Coke
The revolution will not fight germs that may cause bad breath
The revolution will put you in the driver’s seat
The revolution will not be televised
Will not be televised
Will not be televised
Will not be televised
The revolution will be no re-run, brothers
The revolution will be live

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INNER CITY BLUES (Marvin Gaye)

Rockets, moon shots
Spend it on the have nots
Money, we make it
Fore we see it you take it
Oh, make me want to holler
The way they do my life (yeah)
Make me want to holler
The way they do my life
This ain’t livin’, this ain’t livin’
No, no baby, this ain’t livin’
No, no, no, no
Inflation no chance
To increase finance
Bills pile up sky high
Send that boy off to die
Oh, make me want to holler
The way they do my life (duh, duh, duh)
Yeah, make me want to holler
The way they do my life
Oh, baby
Dah, dah, dah
Dah, dah, dah
Hang-ups, let downs
Bad breaks, set backs
Natural fact is
Oh honey that I can’t pay my taxes
Oh, make me want to holler
And throw up both my hands
Yea, it make me want to holler
And throw up both my hands
Oh (ow) crime is (woo) increasing
Trigger happy policing
Panic is spreading
God knows where we’re heading
Oh, make me want to holler
They don’t understand
Dah, dah, dah
Dah, dah, dah
Dah, dah, dah
Mother, mother
Everybody thinks we’re wrong
Who are they to judge us
Simply cause we wear our hair long

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RAPPER’S DELIGHT (Sugarhill Gang)

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 jump the boogie
To the rhythm of the boogie, the beat
Now what you hear is not a test: I’m rappin’ to the beat
And me, the groove, and my friends are gonna try to move your feet
See, I am Wonder Mike, and I’d like to say hello
To the black, to the white, the red
And the brown, the purple and yellow
But first I gotta bang bang the boogie to the boogie
Say up jump the boogie to the bang bang boogie
Let’s rock, you don’t stop
Rock the riddle that will make your body rock
Well, so far you’ve heard my voice, but I brought two friends along
And next on the mike is my man Hank, come on Hank, sing that song
Check it out, I’m the C-A-S-AN, the O-V-A and the rest is F-L-Y
You see, I go by the code of the doctor of the mix and these reasons I’ll tell you why
You see I’m six foot one and I’m tons of fun and I dress to a D
You see I got more clothes than Muhammad Ali and I dress so viciously
I got bodyguards, I got two big cars, that definitely ain’t the whack
I got a Lincoln continental and a sunroof Cadillac
So after school, I take a dip in the pool, which is really on the wall
I got a color TV so I can see the Knicks play basketball
Hear me talking ‘bout checkbooks, credit cards, more money than a sucker could ever spend
But I wouldn’t give a sucker or a bum from the Rucker, not a dime ‘til I made it again
Everybody go: Hotel, motel, whatcha gonna do today (Say what?)
‘Cause I’ma get a fly girl, gonna get some spank and drive off in a def OJ
Everybody go: Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn
You see, if your girl starts acting up, then you take her friend
Uh Master Gee, my mellow?
It’s on you so what you gonna do?
Well it’s on and on and on, on and on
The beat don’t stop until the break of dawn
I said a M-A-S, a T-E-R, a G with a double E
I said I go by the unforgettable name of the man they call the Master Gee
Well, my name is known all over the world
By all the foxy ladies and the pretty girls
I’m going down in history
As the baddest rapper there ever could be
Now I’m feeling the highs and you’re feeling the lows
The beat starts getting into your toes
You start popping your fingers and stomping your feet
And moving your body while you’re sitting in your seat
And then damn, you start doing the freak
I said damn, right outta your seat
Then you throw your hands high in the air
You’re rocking to the rhythm, shake your derriere
Ya rockin’ to the beat without a care
With the sureshot MCs for the affair
Now, I’m not as tall as the rest of the gang
But I rap to the beat just the same
I got a little face, and a pair of brown eyes
All I’m here to do, ladies, is hypnotize
Singing on an’ an’ on an’ on, on an’ on
The beat don’t stop until the break of dawn
Singing on an’ an’ on an’ on, on an’ on
Like a hot party the pop the pop the pop dibbie dibbie
Pop the pop, pop, you don’t dare stop
Come alive y’all, gimme whatcha got
I guess by now you can take a hunch
And find that I am the baby of the bunch
But that’s okay, I still keep in stride
‘Cos all I’m here to do is just wiggle your behind
Singin’ on’n’n’on’n’on n’on
The beat don’t stop until the break of dawn
Singin’ on’n’n’on’n’on on’n’on
Rock rock, y’all, throw it on the floor
I’m gonna freak ya here I’m gonna freak you there
I’m gonna move you outta this atmosphere
‘Cos I’m one of a kind and I’ll shock your mind
I’ll put TNT tickin’ in your behind
I said one, two, three, four, come on, girls, get on the floor
A-come alive, y’all, a-gimme whatcha got
‘Cos I’m guaranteed to make you rock
I said one, two, three, four, tell me, Wonder Mike
What are you waiting for?
I said a hip hop the hippie to the hippie
To the hip hip hop and you don’t stop
The rock it to the bang bang the boogie
Say up jump the boogie, dig the rhythm of the boogie, the beat
Skiddlee beebop a we rock a scooby doo
And guess what, America: we love you
‘Cause ya rock and ya roll with so much soul
You could rock ‘til you’re a hundred and one years old
I don’t mean to brag I don’t mean to boast
But we like hot butter on a breakfast toast
Rock it up, uh, baby bubbah
Baby bubbah to the boogie the bang bang the boogie
To the beat beat, it’s so unique
Come on, everybody, and dance to the beat
A hip hop the hippie the hippie
To the hip hip hop and you don’t stop
The rock it out baby boppa to the boogity bang bang
Boogie to the boogie, the beat
I said I can’t wait ‘til the end of the week
When I’m rappin’ to the rhythm of a groovy beat
An attempt to raise your body heat
Just blow your mind so that you can’t speak
To do a thing but a rock and shuffle your feet
And let it change up to a dance called the freak
And when ya finally do come into your rhythmic beat
Rest a little while so ya don’t get weak
I know a man named Hank
He has more rhymes than a serious bank
So come on Hank, uh, sing that song
To the rhythm of the boogie the bang bang the bong
Well, I’m imp the dimp, the ladies pimp
The women fight for my delight
But I’m the grandmaster with the three MCs
That shock the house for the young ladies
And when you come inside, into the front
You do the freak, spank, and do the bump
And when the sucker MCs try to prove a point
We’re treacherous trio, we’re the serious joint
A-from sun-to-sun and from day-to-day
I sit down and write a brand new rhyme
Because they say that miracles never cease
I’ve created a devastating masterpiece
I’m gonna rock the mike ‘til you can’t resist
Everybody, I say, it goes like this
Well, I was comin’ home late one dark afternoon
A reporter stopped me for a interview
She said she’s heard stories and she’s heard fables
That I’m vicious on the mic and the turntables
This young reporter, I did adore
So I rocked a vicious rhyme like I never did before
She said, “Damn, fly guy, I’m in love with you!
The Casanova legend must have been true!”
I said, “By the way, baby, what’s your name?”
Said, “I go by the name Lois Lane
And you could be my boyfriend, you surely can
Just let me quit my boyfriend called Superman”
I said, “He’s a fairy, I do suppose
Flyin’ through the air in pantyhose
He may be very sexy or even cute
But he looks like a sucker in a blue and red suit”
I said, “You need a man who’s got finesse
And his whole name across his chest
He may be able to fly all through the night
But can he rock a party ‘til the early light?
He can’t satisfy you with his little worm
But I can bust you out with my super sperm!”
I gon’ do it, I gon’ do it, I gon’ do it, do it, do it
And I’m here, and I’m there, I’m Big Bank Hank, I’m everywhere
Just throw your hands up in the air
And party hardy like you just don’t care
Let’s do it, don’t stop y’all
A-tick a-tock, y’all, you don’t stop!
Go hotel, motel.

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THE MESSAGE (Grandmaster Flash)

It’s like a jungle sometimes
It makes me wonder how I keep from goin’ under
Broken glass everywhere
People pissin’ on the stairs, you know they just don’t care
I can’t take the smell, can’t take the noise
Got no money to move out, I guess I got no choice
Rats in the front room, roaches in the back
Junkies in the alley with a baseball bat
I tried to get away but I couldn’t get far
Cause a man with a tow truck repossessed my car
Don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge
I’m trying not to lose my head
It’s like a jungle sometimes
It makes me wonder how I keep from goin’ under
Standin’ on the front stoop hangin’ out the window
Watchin’ all the cars go by, roarin’ as the breezes blow
Crazy lady, livin’ in a bag
Eatin’ outta garbage pails, used to be a fag hag
Said she’ll dance the tango, skip the light fandango
A Zircon princess seemed to lost her senses
Down at the peep show watchin’ all the creeps
So she can tell her stories to the girls back home
She went to the city and got so so seditty
She had to get a pimp, she couldn’t make it on her own
It’s like a jungle sometimes
It makes me wonder how I keep from goin’ under
My brother’s doin’ bad, stole my mother’s TV
Says she watches too much, it’s just not healthy
All My Children in the daytime, Dallas at night
Can’t even see the game or the Sugar Ray fight
The bill collectors, they ring my phone
And scare my wife when I’m not home
Got a bum education, double-digit inflation
Can’t take the train to the job, there’s a strike at the station
Neon King Kong standin’ on my back
Can’t stop to turn around, broke my sacroiliac
A mid-range migraine, cancered membrane
Sometimes I think I’m goin’ insane
I swear I might hijack a plane!
It’s like a jungle sometimes
It makes me wonder how I keep from goin’ under
My son said, Daddy, I don’t wanna go to school
Cause the teacher’s a jerk, he must think I’m a fool
And all the kids smoke reefer, I think it’d be cheaper
If I just got a job, learned to be a street sweeper
Or dance to the beat, shuffle my feet
Wear a shirt and tie and run with the creeps
Cause it’s all about money, ain’t a damn thing funny
You got to have a con in this land of milk and honey
They pushed that girl in front of the train
Took her to the doctor, sewed her arm on again
Stabbed that man right in his heart
Gave him a transplant for a brand new start
I can’t walk through the park cause it’s crazy after dark
Keep my hand on my gun cause they got me on the run
I feel like a outlaw, broke my last glass jaw
Hear them say “You want some more?”
Livin’ on a see-saw
It’s like a jungle sometimes
It makes me wonder how I keep from goin’ under
A child is born with no state of mind
Blind to the ways of mankind
God is smilin’ on you but he’s frownin’ too
Because only God knows what you’ll go through
You’ll grow in the ghetto livin’ second-rate
And your eyes will sing a song called deep hate
The places you play and where you stay
Looks like one great big alleyway
You’ll admire all the number-book takers
Thugs, pimps and pushers and the big money-makers
Drivin’ big cars, spendin’ twenties and tens
And you’ll wanna grow up to be just like them, huh
Smugglers, scramblers, burglars, gamblers
Pickpocket peddlers, even panhandlers
You say I’m cool, huh, I’m no fool
But then you wind up droppin’ outta high school
Now you’re unemployed, all non-void
Walkin’ round like you’re Pretty Boy Floyd
Turned stick-up kid, but look what you done did
Got sent up for a eight-year bid
Now your manhood is took and you’re a Maytag
Spend the next two years as a undercover fag
Bein’ used and abused to serve like hell
Til one day, you was found hung dead in the cell
It was plain to see that your life was lost
You was cold and your body swung back and forth
But now your eyes sing the sad, sad song
Of how you lived so fast and died so young so
It’s like a jungle sometimes
It makes me wonder how I keep from goin’ under

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