Public Enemy

brought a new social consciousness to rap, and offered a voice to those who largely remained unheard. It became a way to share stories and make connections, a vital form of communication. Rap would eventually grow into what Chuck D famously called “the black CNN”.

Chuck D was the main voice behind one of the most loved and feared rap groups of all time, Public Enemy. Defiant and angry, Public Enemy wore its rage on its sleeve, and galvanized communities across the country with their unflinching look into the heart of the beast and the lie that racism had been eradicated. Their targets were many and varied, and nobody escaped their wrath, from Driving Miss Daisy (Burn Hollywood Burn) to the slow response of emergency teams to the ‘hood (911 is a Joke) to successful black men and women turning their back on their roots and marrying into white society (the cleverly titled Pollywanacraka). Their lyrics were harsh and uncompromising, and their tracks, put together by the famous Bomb Squad, were an aural assault the likes of which had rarely been heard. The Bomb Squad – named after the technique of loading a piece of graffiti with way too much paint, a technique they recreated sonically in their impenetrably dense mixes – took the double entendre of their name to heart, reveling in the fear of violence it engendered.

Most people will tell you that the best Public Enemy album was their second, the incendiary It Takes a Nation of Million to Hold Us Back. This album laid out the blueprint for the future of rap as a social force, and wielded its powerful sound as a political tool. But I like their follow-up better, 1990’s Fear of a Black Planet, which explodes out of the gate, hits a number of targets dead on, and, never letting up, ends with Fight the Power, the theme from Spike Lee’s best film, Do The Right Thing.

It was the hottest day of the summer. In Brooklyn, the heat shimmered off the asphalt, and you were drenched with sweat from the moment you stepped out of the shower. It was hot in other ways too. Racial tensions had been simmering and stewing, from Bensonhurst to Williamsburg, and the relentless summer sun just made everybody that much more irritated. You could feel the tension in the air, and everywhere you went, people eyed each other suspiciously, malevolently, hatefully. The sun burned through the civilizing influences, the restraint, the compassion, as though our primate brains had overloaded and we were all skulking around like reptiles, one tail-twitch from Armageddon. To escape the brutal heat, I went to the movies with G and Matt. And on the screen, it was the hottest day of the year in Brooklyn and racial tensions were simmering, as people struggled to do the right thing. Never before – or since – had I seen a movie so perfectly in tune with my environment. There was no boundary between what was on the screen and what was on the street. It was a chilling experience – the only one to be had all week.

Chuck D, with his booming, authoritative baritone, was the main presence of Public Enemy, but they had the smarts to cut his mustard with the “clown prince” of rap, Flavor Flav, who, with an oversized clock hanging around his neck, was always trying to remind people what time it was. Flavor’s raps were also socially conscious and politically active, but he used humor to soften the blow, and to sneak his message past the psychic defenses. Plus, he had all the good lines. For a while, my homey Jamie and I used to walk around Brooklyn shouting “wash yo’ butt” and “your mother got gold nipples” at each other while striking our most ridiculous gangsta-style poses. It’s a wonder we didn’t get shot.

For better or worse, this album was the soundtrack of that hot Brooklyn summer, the sweltering city stewing in barely contained contempt and rage, the black CNN blasting from every stoop in the city.