As the story of the birth of Hip-Hop enters American mythology, we look at the contributions of Latino artists to the genre.
The origin story of hip-hop, recently mythologized in the Netflix series, The Get Down, occupies a sacred space in many fans’ minds, and understandably so. The genre was born from the dire circumstances that plagued The Bronx in the late 70s, not least of which was New York’s seismic rift between the rich and the poor, between whites and everyone else. The community in the borough, a mix of working class Latino and Black residents, was instrumental in Hip-Hop’s ascent. In the crowds at early hip-hop shows, which were held everywhere from bike clubs to community centers, you could see a reflection of the neighborhood’s population with latino, black and sometimes white attendees soaking up this new, revolutionary sound.
Behind the turntables, though, the circumstances were quite different. The majority of Hip-Hop’s earliest practitioners were black and, as such, history has often treated its origins as homogeneous. There were latino DJs and MCs at the time, though. “It took a while for people to accept there was a Hispanic guy out there doing the damage he was doing,” says Charlie Chase, the pioneering DJ who founded one of hip-hop’s earliest acts, the Cold Crush Brothers. As a DJ of Puerto Rican descent, he was active in a music scene born out of black expression and that fact was never lost on him. Chase is far from alone when it comes to Latino contributions to the development of hip-hop, either. We tracked down a number of hip-hop’s latino pioneers to put together an oral history of some of the forgotten voices in hip-hop’s storied history.
After Kool Herc threw the first hip-hop party in 1973 in a recreation room at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue in the South Bronx, DJs like Grandwizard Theodore, Grandmaster Flash and Africa Bambaataa became figureheads of the movement. Also active on the scene during what he calls “hip-hop’s fetal stage” was Charlie Chase, who hit the history books as hip-hop’s inaugural Latino DJ.
Charlie Chase: I was in the Bronx at the time. Seeing hip-hop develop, when I came into the game, I did see mostly black DJs, but in the crowd it was always mixed — you’d see a lot of Latinos and a lot of black people and every now and then you’d see some white people, but not a lot.
The very first venues I played were house parties, then it went to these itty bitty things we called social clubs. They were small places and most social clubs were Hispanic in our neighborhood. Being that I played everything — Latin music, disco, hip-hop — I always got those gigs. Here I am playing hip-hop to a much older Hispanic crowd and they’re looking at me like, “What the hell are you playing?!”
One [social club] was on 180th Street, next to a motorcycle club called the Black Falcons, a big well-known club that was made up of all black riders. Inside, it was a box with a few chairs and a few tables; most of the time when you go to these social clubs it was grown men playing dominos and cards and there’d always be music playing. They’d allow me to play there because I wasn’t charging — I was doing it for free — and they were good with it.
I wasn’t surprised there weren’t more Latino hip-hop artists at that time. I always consider myself to be a dark horse because I was always the odd one. Growing up, all my friends were black; Tony Tone [from the Cold Crush Brothers] is my daughter’s godfather and was the best man at my wedding. I was always around black kids, doing music or playing in bands, so it didn’t surprise me being the only Latino doing it — although it might have surprised everyone else and a lot of people didn’t accept me.
You got to understand, the only people making any noise and who they considered great DJs were Flash, Theodore, and maybe Kool Herc and Bambaataa. And now here you have a kid that nobody knows what the fuck he looks like, nobody knows where the hell he came from, but they’re hearing my mixtapes and hearing this kid doing cuts like Flash and if not better in some cases. They were fuckin’ tripping!
Blacks were like, “What are you doing here? Go back to your congas and your cowbells.” The Hispanics were like, “What are you doing playing that music? Get back to your heritage, get back to your music.” I ignored all that.
There weren’t no DJs out there that were Latino doing what I was doing. There were other Latino DJs that were playing locally in clubs and maybe playing a couple of breakbeats here and there, but I’m telling you at the time there was no Latin DJ at that time that could fuck with me, period.
I’ll put it to you this way: I went to a party with Tony Tone, we already had a name, the mixtapes were out, and we went to one party in the Bronx and we get to the door and one guy at the door lets us in. When we’re inside, another guy is greeting Tony thinking he’s me! They walk up to Tony and say, “Yo, what’s up Chase? Yo, my man Charlie Chase!”
He’s like, “Yo, I’m Tone, that’s Chase.”
You ever see a movie where somebody points and everybody turns their head and they get this dumbfounded impression? They looked at me like, “Nah…”
Tony Touch [New York City-based DJ, producer, and mixtape host]: When it comes to old school Latino DJs, we didn’t have too many, but Charlie Chase was one of the pioneers. Just seeing him had a huge impact on me — it was new and it was happening and I could relate to it.
Fat Joe [Bronx-born rapper who discovered Big Pun]: I’ve been blessed to be from the Bronx, the holy land of hip-hop. As a little kid, I used to watch Ruby Dee [of the Fantastic Five] who I think was the first Puerto Rican rapper on earth; I used to see pictures of Charlie Chase — I used to follow those guys around.
As the old school era turned into hip-hop’s fabled golden age, two key tracks sprang up from California: Kid Frost’s smooth “La Raza” resonated as Latin-influenced gangsta rap, and Mellow Man Ace’s 1990 hit “Mentirosa” came complete with a video that included English subtitles translating Ace’s slang and sassy lines. A wave of similar-minded Latino artists quickly followed, including Delinquent Habits, A Lighter Shade Of Brown, and Cypress Hill.
Homeboy Sandman [Queens-raised rapper, currently recording for Stones Throw]: Cypress Hill’s records were huge, like “Kill A Man” and “Insane In The Membrane.”
Tony Touch: Cypress Hill was very important when they came out. That was a big deal ‘cause it had that Latin influence but you also had that hard New York City edge to it.
Kemo The Blaxican [Member of L.A.-based Delinquent Habits]: Around the time Cypress came out there wasn’t a lot of light being shed on the situation [of Latino rappers]. A lot of early hip-hop was coming out of the east coast, and on the east coast you had a demographic within the hip-hop community that was very blended, so you had black and Latinos coexisting in the musical element. But on the west coast, the demographics and the segregation was more evident. So a lot of the early music from the east coast wasn’t necessarily a thing I took note of. It wasn’t until I heard someone rhyming in Spanish that I really thought, “Oh, damn, that’s a Latin cat doing that!”
There was a song called “Tumba La Casa” [by the Latin Kings] and hearing the rapper Fuego 1 was the first time I remember someone rhyming in Spanish. I acknowledged that and it opened up my eyes and ears and then I discovered Mellow Man Ace and Kid Frost and A Lighter Shade Of Brown and that era when they starting coming out and making hits. I looked at them as pioneers who did it before I did, even before Cypress did. Hearing it done in Spanish was different and not everybody understood it but it worked on so many levels.
As Delinquent Habits, we met Sen Dog a few years before the release of the first Cypress album. Eventually, we slid him a demo and he introduced it to Ruffhouse Records and he got us our first record deal back in 1992 — although a couple of deals fell through before we finally dropped the album in ’96. That wait helped us distinguish ourselves: Cypress fans were thinking we had a similar sound, and early on you could say we really did, but by the time we released the [self-titled] album, Delinquent Habits was definitely a distinguished group.
We also worked with Mellow Man Ace on the second album [Here Come The Horns]. He was excellent, got in the booth, went behind the mic and was on point right off the bat. That’s Sen Dog’s brother, so that’s family.
As the ‘90s kicked on, a generation of artists back in New York emerged representing their city and their Latin roots. The movement culminated with Big Pun becoming the first Latino rapper to grab a platinum plaque. After passing away in 2000, Pun’s legacy is that of a hip-hop icon.
Q-Unique [Brooklyn-born member of The Arsonists and the rock band StillWell]: When I started, I had a front row seat and hip-hop was right before my eyes, but I didn’t look to identify with anybody — I identified with the movement itself. I didn’t immediately try and separate [an artist’s] ethnic background from what was actually happening. But later, what made me identify more was when you had groups like Public Enemy and X-Clan: Even though the message they were conveying was obviously for the minds and souls of black people, I’d take from it even though it didn’t totally identify with the Latin struggle. That’s when you start to identify and find your specific lane if you’re Puerto Rican or Dominican or Mexican. So having Fat Joe and the Beatnuts, you start to gravitate and identify with what they’re doing.
Homeboy Sandman: The Beatnuts’ “Off The Books” and “Watch Out Now” were two of the hugest records of my youth. Kurious Jorge’s “Uptown Hit” was a big record, and Big Pun’s Capital Punishment was one of the biggest and best albums to come out. Of all those cats, Pun was the biggest influence on my stylistically and The Beatnuts probably sonically.
Tony Touch: Big Pun was the first solo Latin artist to go platinum. I remember when I worked with him [on “The Foundation”], we recorded at his house; I brought a portable studio along. It was very memorable because beyond his talent, Pun was always playing pranks. The one that stands out is when he staged a shoot out in his house, so like we were all running for our lives!
Joell Ortiz [Brooklyn-based rapper and member of the supergroup Slaughterhouse]: I definitely looked up to Big Pun and Fat Joe. I remember hearing Big Pun and thinking, “Wow, this guy is super incredible,” like he made three or four things rhyme in one line before he even got you to a punchline. And then Fat Joe just had that raw New York sound. I was super inspired as a kid thinking, “This is cool Puerto Ricans and Latins can do this as well.”
Fat Joe: I met Pun in my projects. I was going into a grocery store and these kids were battling and he was like, “Let me go, let me go.” I’m looking at them all like, “What is this big fat Puerto Rican dude going to say?” Then he spit. He said, “Snatch the moon out the sky, blow the sun away/Me and my brothers play hardball…” I never heard nobody rhyme like that. At the time Nas was really amazing, Kool G Rap was still amazing, and I heard Pun like they can’t mess with him.
I miss him incredibly; I pray for Pun every single day. We just rep Pun as much as we can, make him a martyr. Every time Fat Joe wins an award, I just turn and say it was all for Big Pun. Now there’s ten-year-old kids who couldn’t have known him, but I see them selling shirts of Big Pun and this kid says, “Mommy, that’s the legend.” The Latino people are teaching them that dude’s a legend.
The record industry hasn’t always correctly embraced the idea of marketing a Latino rapper or DJ, instead often encouraging artists to play up what Homebody Sandman calls “their Latinoness” in a cliched manner. New movements like Bodega Bamz’s Tanboys clique are out to change that perception.
Q-Unique: Maybe I was being naive, but when I started I just figured, “Hey, I rap, here’s my cool demo that I spent money on, I’m trying to get a record deal.” But the industry was like, “Who’s going to identify with this kid? He’s light-skinned, he’s Puerto Rican, he looks Italian, how do I market that?” I wasn’t thinking the way they was thinking, but some of the things that would come out of the meetings were, “Can you rap in Spanish? Can you rap over a Spanish sounding beat?” I would look confused, like, “I’m from Brooklyn, dude.” I didn’t understand.
I remember there was a time when I had a manager, a black person, and he called a label back then and conferenced called me in and told me to put my phone on mute and asked me not to react or respond or come into the conversation — but he wanted me to listen to what was being said. He called the label like, “What do you think of Q-Unique and the tape I sent you?”
The guy responded, “You know what, the kid can rap, he’s pretty good, but I would never sign him.” "Why not? You said he’s good. What’s the problem?” He said, "He’s Puerto Rican and Puerto Ricans will never sell. I can’t sell that. I don’t know how to sell a Puerto Rican rapper.”
I remember hanging up and being emotionally broken. It’s like you can change your style and your clothing, but you can’t change what you’re born.
Tony Touch: I was never pressured to market myself as a Latino artist — I did that myself. I wanted to push myself as a Latino artist and I made that decision to market myself that way. It had a good reaction, like people would tell me they could relate to what I was doing and what they were seeing for the first time.
Joell Ortiz: Early on, we decided not to shy away from [being Latino]. It was hard to get record deals because they would always just book me in Latin rap venues and be like, “Okay, Joell, how are we going to attack the Latin market and promote it?” Once I was hearing that stuff a bunch of times, it was like I guess I got to embrace this thing and really wave the flag and let them know we’re not going to be stopped.
That’s the one thing about Latin people — they’re very proud of their own. Like when I used to get up in a Latin rap venue, I’d see Puerto Rican flags and hear, “Boriquas!” People were there to support one of their own. The fact I was good and took time to practice and make sure my songs were tight was just a bonus — they were going to come out and support anyway because one of their own was doing it.
Homeboy Sandman: I think the way everything is marketed now, every Latino artist really has their Latinoness played up by the media. I remember Joell Ortiz touching on that early in his career and I’ve noticed it with myself a lot… I’ve definitely been advised to play up my Latinoness and cater more to a so-called Latino demographic. Never have. Some Spanish will wind up in my bars but that’s just ‘cause that’s who I am and what I grew up around.
Bodega Bamz [Spanish Harlem-based rapper]: The Tanboys is a movement to push our culture forward as far as Latinos not being represented in the same light as other nationalities and demographics. I feel like it’s my duty; I’m carrying the torch for my predecessors.
Why are Latino artists overlooked in hip-hop? It’s an accumulation of a lot of things. One is racism — that’s very alive and well and not only with whites and blacks but Latinos as well. Another is people just don’t understand, and when people don’t understand things they fear it. They don’t understand why does a guy have to rap in Spanish and mix Spanish rap words with English words? Latino artists, we’re a rare commodity; there’s not too many of us and there really hasn’t been many of us that’s broke that surface into superstardom. But we have a lot of people who tried and people won’t understand that. We definitely left a dent in the game.
Charlie Chase: I’ve been doing this now for 40 years and there’s problems I’ve seen. The Latino involvement in hip-hop from the beginning has either been not spoken about or omitted or deleted or just plain ignored. A lot of people want to say Latinos weren’t there from the beginning and I’m living proof that we were. I’m very adamant about getting that message across.
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