Rhymefest’s well-lubricated debut
More Gotta Start Somewhere
No matter how successful entertainers become, they'll inevitably always remember the first gig—whether it was disastrous, wonderful, or absurdly strange. Gotta Start Somewhere embraces these nostalgic moments by asking established entertainers to recall the first time they ever graced a stage. In this edition, The A.V. Club caught up with Chicago rapper Rhymefest in the wake of the recent release of his excellent, long-awaited album, El Che. Before he made a name for himself with his critically lauded debut, Blue Collar, his Grammy award-winning Kanye West collaboration “Jesus Walks,” and his prophetic 2008 Michael Jackson tribute mix-tape Man In The Mirror, Rhymefest was rocking Pumas and petroleum jelly at the Regal Theater on 79th and Stony Island, all with the help of the original Rappin’ Granny.
Rhymefest: The first time I ever got on stage in front of people I was about 11 years old and I went up to the Regal Theater by myself. They used to have their talent competition and you auditioned for it, and I remember wearing this Puma tracksuit, and at the time “Parents Just Don’t Understand” by Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince was out. I’d never wrote a rap before, I just liked rap, and so I went up there and I didn’t have no beats, and I didn’t know what you were supposed to do, and they were like, “Okay, you’re on, get up there,” and I remember going on stage and not knowing what the hell to do so I rapped, “Parents Just Don’t Understand” by Will Smith and said it was mine. The people judging the audition didn’t know what to think. So I got offstage and I remember somebody in the back with their legs up on the chair saying, “Hey shorty?” And I was like, “Yeah?” And he was like “Stop bitin’.” I then I walked out and I was like, oh man, he might know!
The A.V. Club: He just might have figured you out…
R: So then they called me back and they said, “Okay, we’re gonna let you be in the talent competition, but you have to come to three more rehearsals,” and I did, but by that time I said I better get my own rap, I better write a rap, know what I mean? I wrote this really long rap that was just… long.
AVC: What was it about?
R: I don’t know, I think it was like “C-H-E spells ‘Che,’ / When I see a fly girl coming my way / I never front and I never ever fronted / You may want or always may have wanted / To take my title but it’s really un-takeable / You wanna break me? / But I’m unbreakable.” Like that type of back-in-the-day rap.
AVC: But that’s a pretty big jump from “Parents Just Don’t Understand.”
R: It’s a pretty big jump backwards. What did I say? I said, “I can swim the Atlantic ocean won’t even get wet / I can run through any jungle won’t bust one sweat / Get shot in the back, won’t fall to my knees / Get bitten by a rat and won’t catch rabies.” I guess I was pretty good with words. That was my first rap. I was like, “I ain’t Coca-Cola, why they trying to bottle me up?” That was my big line. Then my uncle was like, “You need a beat. You can’t go up there rapping and talk about you're gonna win a talent show at the Regal Theater and not have a beat,” so he took me to his friend’s house. His friend heard me rap, and he said, “Yeah he’s cool, he’s cool,” so he gave me this drum beat that was like [simulates a slow, boring beat] “doom, chu doom da doom chu chu,” and I just did a three-minute, non-stop rap over this drum beat. I remember my grandmother and my uncle making me do it 100 times. And she’d tell me I had to do my arms like this, I’ve got to do it like this… if you wanna be a rapper you gotta do this and that…
AVC: So your grandmother knew how to be a rap coach?
R: No, she was giving me horrible advice. “Okay baby, hold your hand up, don’t put your hands on your cock. Don’t touch your dick! I know you’ve seen them do that on TV but don’t do that, people don’t like that for real.”
AVC: Did your grandmother really say “cock”?
R: She said, “Don’t hold your dick boy, they don’t want to see you holding your cock.” She also told me, “Make sure when you go out that you put a lot of Vaseline on your face so you shine. You gotta beat them in the mind, so when you come out the lights are gonna be on and if you got that Vaseline on your face you’re gonna be glowing.” She had me burning up, looking greasy as hell. So then I remember when the talent show came around the announcer was like, “Here’s Rhymefest!”
AVC: You were already called Rhymefest when you were 11?
R: Actually no, I may have gone by my real name, which would have even been wacker. “Here’s Che Smith!” I just remember I came out and I was rapping and I did all the movements and stuff and I was little so I guess no one would have booed me, but no one damn sure was cheering.
AVC: Not even for your Coca-Cola line?
R: Well, no, because what happened was, at the very end of my performance I heard my voice booming, and then realized the mic had been turned off for the whole song. I was up there rapping, and I heard the beat playing but didn’t know that you were supposed to hear yourself, too. When I went backstage Grandmomma said, “Yeah, they had the mic turned off, I don’t know what happened.” And to this day I’m like, man, maybe that’s a good thing because I may have looked like I was doing the right thing, but they probably saved me the embarrassment of sounding crazy.
AVC: That didn’t discourage you? You didn’t want to give up after that?
R: I didn’t know what happened, I didn’t know if I did good or bad. You have to have some kind of meter to gauge things by if you’re gonna get good at something, and that wasn’t a real clear indicator. What I did realize, though, was that I had to find friends in the neighborhood that rapped. I couldn’t do it with my uncle or Grandmomma anymore.
