"The Blastmaster" Also Becomes "The Philosopher" and "The Teacha"
Written: Apr 16 '09 (Updated Apr 23 '09)
Product Rating:
Pros: Overall, a more fleshed-out offering than BDP’s debut; one of hip-hop’s first socio-political LPs.
Cons: Some might find the relative datedness a little hard to digest.
The Bottom Line: Boogie Down Productions’ best album, without a doubt, is By All Means Necessary, one of the ancestors of socio-political albums in hip-hop.
balogun's Full Review: By All Means Necessary by Boogie Down Productions
If KRS-One was still too young, at the age of 21, to have fully blossomed into a socially conscious poet by the release of Boogie Down Productions’ debut, Criminal Minded, a most unfortunate incident that occurred only five months later may have hastened the process. On August 27, 1987, KRS’ DJ, Scott La Rock rode into a section of the South Bronx with a small contingent to diffuse simmering tensions between a band of local residents and Derrick “D-Nice” Jones, a young man La Rock himself had recently recruited as a third BDP member. However, D-Nice’s threateners did not quite appreciate La Rock’s presence, as they responded by sending a flurry of shots to the Jeep he was riding in, hitting him in the neck. Scott La Rock was driven to a hospital only a mile away, where he died in the operating room. He was only 22 years of age.
It was a loss that would devastate KRS-One and underline the rest of his career. The name “Scott La Rock” rings in virtually every Kris album for the past 20-plus years— a seemingly everlasting tribute to a close friend senselessly taken way too young. Even more so than BDP’s debut, the CD jacket might seem gun-addled, but it is anything but. After all, there is KRS-One, looking out the window with an Uzi, virtually a depictive replica of that now-famous picture of Malcolm X in his paranoid last days. Ditto to the album title: a derivation of the civil-rights leader’s call to achieve racial justice and equality “by any means necessary.” As he says in the opening centerpiece, “My Philosophy”, which really functions as the sequel to “Poetry” from the last album, and can be seen as KRS-One’s manifesto, he proclaims: “Don't bother dissing me, or even wish that we'd/Soften, dilute, or commercialize all our lyrics/‘Cause it's about time one of y'all hear it/And hear it first-hand from the intelligent brown man!”
KRS-One, from now onwards, would denounce the myriad ills he believed were decimating poor black communities, as well as be a sterling representative of hip-hop—by all means necessary.
I mean, what else could explain the fact that “Stop the Violence” was the only single released for the album? Coupled with Cold War-era federal-government critique (“They paid missiles, my family's eating gristle…”), this song can be seen as the launching pad for the Stop the Violence Movement KRS-One formed soon after (It eventually produced the 1989 rap all-star collaboration, “Self-Destruction,” the proceeds of which reportedly went to the National Urban League). Here—as well as the opening centerpiece of the album, “My Philosophy”, which really functions as the sequel to “Poetry” from the last album—KRS-One’s performance is microcosmic of his stylistic progression as well, a growth that greatly compliments his honed ideological direction: His voice now packs more of the impetuousness (for better and to a certain extent, for worse) that would characterize his subsequent work.
Yep, save for the light-heartedness of the disco-soaked semi-instrumental “Nervous” (Now at Jive Records, Kris dismisses his old label, B-Boy), good luck trying to find any party-spiked reprieve here: By All Means Necessary is dedicated to the art of agitating your a*s, not making it shake. It’s a pretty even-handed affair, for while he theorizes that the U.S. government is a major participant in the spread of drugs in minority communities in “Illegal Business”, he turns around and cautions those same neighborhoods in the safe-sex silliness of “Jimmy” (Classic line: “You can’t trust a big butt and a smile!”). After all, if he, as an American citizen, perceives something to be wrong, shouldn’t he say something—not because he hates his country, but because he loves it? “Don’t get me wrong, America is great place to live/But listen to the knowledge I give,” he professes in “Illegal Business”. Not quite “un-American,” eh?
And yes, the traits that helped made Criminal Minded a great album are also present here. The ragga inflections reign over “T’Cha-T’Cha”, Kris rapping the hook rapidly over the bass-heavy drum machine. As for the smack talking that earned him the nickname “The Blastmaster,” songs like “Ya Slippin’” and “Part-Time Suckers” are here to whet one’s appetite for battle rhymes. But it is “I’m Still #1” that remains the most memorable and resonant. It features KRS-One seemingly going non-stop over a sparse chugging funk track, including a visceral line that he had used in an earlier battle with Melle Mel that symbolized the effective end of the first generation of rappers—and the beginning of a new one: “Old school artists don’t always burn/You’re just another rapper who’s had his turn/Now it’s my turn!” (Of course, it is amusingly ironic that KRS-One, 13 years later as a then old-school head, would take umbrage at Nelly making a track called “#1”).
As far as the music, KRS-One thankfully makes it less spartan than the last time out. One couldn’t afford to be a sonic slouch, especially considering that this is 1988, where hip-hop was experiencing a revolution of sorts in production technique (For example, Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, which features the groundbreaking work of the Bomb Squad, was released only less than a month before). The walloping drum machines are comparatively less naked now, thanks to a slight variance of sounds—from Deep Purple guitar riffs (“Ya Slippin’”) and Stanley Turrentine sax (“My Philosophy”) to Fat Albert episodes and the “ding-dong” chant from the female rap group the Sequence that would re-appear seven years later in Dr. Dre’s “Keep Their Heads Ringin’” (“Jimmy”). Yes, the beatwork was still skeletal in comparison to that of, say, Public Enemy or EPMD. Moreover, compared to the other classics of ’88, it is rather dated in sound. However, it is rather refreshing to hear that KRS-One was not solely reliant on his messages.
The last song, “Necessary” is as notable a round-up as “My Philosophy” is as an album opener. It is a spoken-word outro that finds KRS-One railing against the double standards placed upon the still-young rap genre (particularly in comparison to rock), and it can be argued—for better and worse—that the “blame-movies-for-violence-too” theory that would be used several times over in the rap world originated here. Sure, By All Means Necessary is overshadowed by its twin pillar, PE’s It Takes a Nation—it was way more groundbreaking production-wise, plus it was a little more brash and political—but that does not make it any less great. Consider BDP’s second effort just as responsible for firmly establishing the socio-political strain in hip-hop: a precedent that KRS-One would use as the template for the rest of his career; and that only a few followers would match, let alone surpass. “How many MCs must get dissed/Before somebody says, ‘Don't f**k with Kris!’?" he memorably says in “My Philosophy”. Not many have—ever since.
TRACK LISTING:
1. My Philosophy 2. Ya Slippin’ 3. Stop the Violence 4. Illegal Business 5. Nervous 6. I’m Still #1 7. Part-Time Suckers 8. Jimmy 9. T’Cha-T’Cha 10. Necessary
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