The Last Poets
“They was nappin’ when we
was rappin’”
Jalaluddin Nuriddin, one of
the Last Poets on this Last Poets’ debut album laughed after he said this, his
cackle crackling through the phone.
While the acknowledgement of the Last Poets’ role as the grandfathers of
rap, the progenitors of hip-hop culture has gone the way of political
consciousness in the music, Jay-Z wasn’t even born 32 years ago when this album
first hit the streets.
"I think that the
teenagers identify with [today’s rappers] because they don't know. They don't
know what preceded that. As far as what
they're saying in their rap, I don't think it's relevant. In fact, I think it's just the opposite. I think it's designed to keep your mind in
your behind, designed not to make you think.”
The Last Poets clearly aimed to make people think and to make them
act. This was the kind of poetry Amiri
Baraka was talking about when he wrote “We want poems that kill, assassin
poems.” With just percussion and the
voices of the three poets, chanting, declaiming, exhorting, the debut album by
the Last Poets exuded a kind of power that had no one had ever captured on a
recording previously.
Radio, of course, wouldn’t
touch it. Radio still wouldn’t. You can be sure that Eminem gets more spins
in an hour than The Last Poets have in all the nearly 35 years since they
debuted at a 1968 celebration of Malcolm X’s birthday in Harlem’s Mount Morris
(now Marcus Garvey) Park. As Gil Scott
Heron (never a member of the group, by the way) declared, the revolution will
not be broadcast, the revolution will be live.
Revolution, of course, was
at the heart and soul of the Last Poets’ message. In 1968, whitey was on the moon (another Gil Scott song) and an
overwhelming number of young black men were slogging through rice patties and
swamps in South East Asia. In Newark,
Detroit, Harlem and Watts, massed violence was always a threat, had erupted
several times in the previous few years.
A month before the Poets’ debut, someone gunned down Martin Luther King
Jr. There were tanks in the streets of
Newark to keep the peace. Into this
world of chaos and turmoil, the Last Poets threw the monkey wrench of
revolutionary rhetoric.
Nor was it solely aimed at
“whitey.” They had plenty of venom and
verbiage for their brothers as well.
“Niggas Are Scared of Revolution” took on complacency in the hood to the
same (or greater) extent than “White Man’s Got a God Complex” took on “the
oppressor.”
And despite lack of airplay,
and despite their inability to take the show on the road as Abiodun Oyewole was
serving time for robbery in the service of revolution down in North Carolina,
and despite the fear and loathing the ideas on this album engendered among
members of America’s comfortable class, both black and white, The Last Poets
actually spent seven weeks in the Billboard album charts, rising to
#29! All based on the word on the
street.
Word reached the white
intellectual towers as well. Some civil rights sympathizers found the
contained, poetic vitriol contained in the grooves energized their
commitment. Others just liked the
rhythm, man.
“All the razzy, jazzy, sassy
sounds of black culture meet and mingle in the chants of these uptown medicine
men,” wrote Albert Goldman in Life.
“They made you think and kept you “correct” on a revolutionary level,”
noted essayist Darius James. “At no
time does The Last Poets falter or fail to please,” added Amy Hanson in
her five star review in the All Music Guide.
“It will always be as vital, alive and fresh as it was the day it was
recorded.”
Sadly, it is also almost as
relevant. Black men under 30 make up a vast majority of the incarcerated in
this country. The barriers of the barrio still haunt our cities, and as the
economy goes south, watch for the sparks to smolder in Brooklyn and East
LA. Things haven’t changed nearly as
much as many think, and in 2002, as it was over 30 years ago, The Last Poets
is a wake-up call. Wake up, dammit,
wake up.