
(Editor’s Note: I don’t even recall how I ran across The Second Disc to begin with, but ever since I’ve checked back nearly daily. Helmed by Mike Duquette and with the assistance of Joe Marchese, they cover the world of reissues and remasters of sundry genres including pop, R&B, film scores, and more. It’s a niche that they serve extremely well so I reached out to Mike to tell him how much I enjoyed the site. We talked back and forth through e-mail and agreed to do a post swap.)
By Mike Duquette of The Second Disc:
As a pretty devoted chronicler of reissues, remasters and box sets, I have seen a lot of great titles and artists pass into the realm of high catalogue status. Just last year alone, fans got a clutch of reissued material from Michael Jackson and The Beatles, two immortal forces who constantly remind us of the enduring power of popular music and its significance in American history. If journalism, as they say, is the first draft of history, then reissues are just as potent a form of journalism as anything in the pages of Billboard.
It makes you wonder, then, why one particularly potent genre of American music has gotten short shrift when it comes to the expanded treatment: rap music. It’s not that the genre has been forgotten entirely; rather, the catalogue titles of the rap world lack the frequency or the depth of reissues in the fields of rock, blues, jazz, soul and even soundtracks or alternative music.
One can only speculate the many factors as to why this is. There’s the lazy argument (that record companies are too racist to reissue them, an argument that fails to hold water since some of the best reissues out there are from prominent soul artists), the business-minded argument (sample-heavy records probably require too many clearances to make any kind of re-release profitable) or the oversaturated argument (that the major labels literally have no room in their schedules to repackage and reissue classic rap records). It’s this argument I tend to empathize with, but it’s not something I’m particularly happy about.
The fact is, there’s a trove of great rap music that deserves a rediscovery on CD. Rap, when done right, is some of the most richly traditional and genuinely fun music anyone can find. The rap scene has been fueling the pop and rock scenes (and vice-versa) for some three decades or so. There are so many acts getting some sort of representation – Run-D.M.C. had some expanded releases some years ago, and Death Row’s assets were bought by a Canadian company with intent to sift through the label’s vaults – but there are still many more deserving segments of the genre. Here are just a few of them.
Sugar Hill Records. Yes, there have been plenty of compilations over the years from artists like Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five or The Sugar Hill Gang. Rhino even did a thorough five-disc box set in the late ‘90s after acquiring the label’s assets. But there needs to be something comprehensive. Imagine sets that emulated Universal’s Complete Motown Singles boxes, with each and every single side and promo edit included alongside in-depth liner notes about how The Sequence, Spoonie Gee, Funky 4 + 1 and others helped define the basics of rap. Now that would be the joint.
Public Enemy. Forget N.W.A. – P.E. was The World’s Most Dangerous Group. With the thunderous rhymes of Chuck D and hype man Flavor Flav, the powerhouse scratching of Terminator X and the insane production techniques of The Bomb Squad, Public Enemy made some of the most danceable, rockable socially conscious music of the 1980s. That their catalogue has never been remastered speaks to the difficulties of music label politics (they were at one point in the past decade slated for expansion, but too much number-crunching and sample-clearing probably killed the project). Terminator X may have gone to the farm and Flav has become a national punchline, but someday listeners might get a taste of P.E. the expanded way.
The Beastie Boys’ Licensed to Ill. The past few years have seen a quartet of lavish Beastie Boys expansions, with one glaring omission: the band’s major label debut. (Since it was released on Def Jam and not Capitol, like the other reissues, it was left out.) Although it’s a bit rougher than its successors, thanks to the rock-oriented production of Rick Rubin, it certainly deserves as close a look as the others, if for no other reason to blast “Fight for Your Right” once more.
The DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince catalogue. Sure, they were one of the poppiest pop-rap groups on the market. Sure, the Prince is far better known today as a box-office titan than a rapper. But they pack more listenability than their soft-sided contemporaries (Hammer? Vanilla Ice? Please), and it would be a natural business move to reissue these CDs every time Will Smith puts a new movie out.
The works of B.I.G. and Tupac. It may have been American music’s biggest game-changer in the 1990s – the ridiculous East Coast-West Coast rap feud that injected needless gang propaganda into the beats and rhymes, turned hustlers into music execs, turned Sean “Puffy” Combs into a household name and killed two of the most promising young performers of their generation. Audiences and A&R execs have chosen to memorialize The Notorious B.I.G. and Tupac Shakur through a string of seemingly endless posthumous compilations, where bits and pieces of new freestyles seem to magically get discovered every so often. (The phenomenon was best parodied by the latter-day Chapelle’s Show sketch, where Tupac rhymes about current events and random occurrences from beyond the grave.) Instead, it might be high time to turn the spotlight back on the albums both men released before their untimely ends. This would give that troubled era the context it really needs, lest history repeat itself.