{January 2008}

Working at Urbanology and building with my editor, I’ve found myself frequently mulling over what it means to be a “hip-hop journalist.” As Priya pointed out, a whole lot of what we read in music magazines wouldn’t stand up as “real journalism” to my instructors at Humber College. You know, Q&A sessions that mostly promote an upcoming album, artist profiles that hit the typical biography points but don’t go any deeper, and, of course, album reviews.

Don’t get it twisted, I love reading hip-hop mags and don’t have any problems with the types of articles listed above when done properly, but is it journalism? Is traditional journalism even a goal, or is music writing another beast altogether?

While traditional journalists may find themselves covering a broad range of topics, from local bake sales to pedophiles to shady businessmen, music journalists are unique in that they’re consistently writing on a topic they love. They may hate certain bands or certain genres, but for the most part, they’re always passionate about music. Hip-hop journalists are even stranger because they’re covering not just music, but a culture that has influenced their lives, that they’re a part of and, through writing, also participating in. Unlike with some other reporters, business is personal.

I’m a big proponent of knowing your history, so I’ve spent the last few weeks soaking up as much hip-hop writing as possible. I’ve stopped just short of stalking Jeff Chang, and I think I know more about Touré’s work than his own mother does. But while these more recent pieces were easy to get my hands on, it was the older writing I was looking for the most.

Awhile ago I found a great resource, a blog called “Press Rewind If I Haven’t Blown Your Mind”. Here you can find a bunch of classic material — articles from the early heyday of The Source pre-Eminem obsession, clippings from Rap Pages, and, most dope of all, pieces from the now defunct Ego Trip, which I never really knew existed until it was too late.

The articles aren’t just text transcriptions; these are jpeg scans of the original artifacts, yellowing paper stock and all.

The site hasn’t been updated since summer, so if you’re feeling their project as much as I am, drop them a line and tell them to keep on with what they’re doing. Also, check out Jeff Chang, Kim Osorio, Danyel Smith and Tamara Palmer’s conversation on hip-hop writing at “Connect Politic”.

Once you’re done browsing, come back and drop me a line about your thoughts on the current state of hip-hop journalism.

Jef Catapang
Editorial Intern, Urbanology Magazine

{October 2007}

It’s a tough contradiction working in hip-hop in Canada, Toronto specifically. Unless you’re part of a small, lucky (though not undeserving) group, you’re probably doing it for the love of it. Sure, it’s in the back of your head that this little thing will turn out more lucrative than you ever dreamed, but more likely than not, you’re grinding — long hours, haters and minimal returns. And yet something keeps you going, right?

My old boss at a concert promotion company had a funny refrain: “hip-hop ruined my life.” One of those funny ’cuz it’s true type sayings. When you try to make this thing your 9-to-5 — whether as an artist, promoter, writer, designer, or what have you — it’s easy to forget why you love it. And you start complaining like you do at any other job upsizing fries or selling stereo equipment to people who don’t need stereo equipment.

I can’t even say that I’ve been trying to work in hip-hop per se, but I always seem to end up there in one way or another. When I was in school for film and trying to make movies, I’d always end up combining my work with hip-hop themes. And now as a writer/journalist, I find myself writing about hip-hop. But I’m glad to say, my latest experience, here at Urbanology, has been a positive one.

This internship provided two experiences so far that proved downright inspiring. One was an interview I did with a Canadian novelist for an upcoming issue. At the end of the phone call the author kept me on the line and started asking me questions about myself. When I made a comment about his work filling a void on my bookshelf, he asked why I had never thought to fill it myself. “When are you going to write that book?” he asked.

It was such a positive thing to say that it almost threw me. It’s one thing to interview a writer you respect. It’s another thing to have that writer personally motivate you to keep pushing at your dreams.

The other experience was attending a gallery show of work by young photographers mentored by the one-and-only Jamel Shabazz (if you don’t know, Google). At one point Shabazz made a speech and reminded everyone in the room how easy it is to make a difference. He borrowed someone’s oversized fitted cap and passed it around the room. One dollar from everyone, he said, and that’s 100 bucks going to a good cause.

I know that’s really simplistic and there’s nothing revolutionary about it. But you know; it’s easy to forget how simple things can be sometimes. 

Jef Catapang
Editorial Intern, Urbanology Magazine

{October 2007}

One of my first assignments as an intern was to attend a listening party for an established pop act’s new album. I was excited to go, but I hated the artist. I guess that’s just part-and-parcel with music journalism: having to endure a lot of really (objectively speaking, of course) wack music.

I didn’t hate the album though, which was surprising on the one hand, but on the other hand also not surprising at all because the label reps plied us with liquor beforehand. 

I debated whether or not this was bad journalistic form. My editor had told me beforehand to represent Urbanology well. But what did that mean? Normally it would mean don’t drink, douche bag. But if everybody else in the room was drinking, might it not look badly on the mag to be the only person in the joint not partaking? And so I had some drinks.

(If you never read another blog from me, it probably means I got fired. My bad.)

But this isn’t about free booze. I’m a professional, and there are bigger concerns in the world of journalism than free booze. There are also free eats. There was pasta, hors’d’oeuvres, and orange juice of that freshly-squeezed-but-yet-still-out-of-a-carton variety. Oh and there was some salad that I didn’t touch because some dude decided to pick some up with his fingers. (Hey guy, you know who you are, are you reading this? If so, what the hell man??)

As the album finally started playing I sat down and opened my notebook. Three songs in I looked up and noticed I was the only person taking notes. More than that, I was the only person there who seemed to be actually listening to the music. The small talk was almost as loud as the beats. Note to self: “listening party” is more party; less listening.

One of the label reps eventually sat down beside me. This was the most rewarding part of the evening. He told me anecdotes about the artist, his interactions with other stars, and even hush-hush secrets about what projects and singles were coming up next. Looking back, it was your typical name-dropping self-promoting type convo, but I’m still green at this, so I was riveted. 

As for my thoughts on the album, you can get the full review later when the new issue drops and you go buy it at your local bookstore.

Jef Catapang
Editorial Intern, Urbanology Magazine