We could have been finished. That’s how the 98 Posse started to roll with us.’ As usual, Chuck came up with the name. ‘It was a group of guys that all had 98s,’ James continues. ‘It was almost like a car club or something. The way that we communicated was, “We’re all in this together”. And if a dude come from Queens, or come from so and so and fuck it up, man, they just fuck up the chance for everybody to do whatever to make their money.’
The 98 Posse were immortalised in PE’s ‘You’re Gonna Get Yours’. Just before the crew shouts the song’s title on the chorus Chuck spits, ‘Suckers to the side/ I know you hate my 98.’ The cover for the twelve-inch single of ‘You’re Gonna Get Yours’ features the 98 Posse in all their glory: matching 98 Oldsmobiles cars, gold chains and confident swaggers. In ‘Rebel Without a Pause’, Chuck famously spits, ‘You see my car keys, you’ll never get these/ They belong to the 9, 8 Posse.’
‘The 98 Posse became bonded with the security and also with the music,’ Chuck comments further. ‘We were the music guys, Griff was the security, and the 98 Posse were the thugs and all of us worked together to keep something vibrant and happening so everybody could have a good time.’
The 98s would handle business quietly in darkened areas while helping to make sure there was no trouble and that the female patrons, who the Spectrum crew were especially worried about protecting, were safe. ‘When we teamed up with them it was like we had the hood on lock,’ Griff reminisces. As a result of the union, any hardrocks that came from New York’s tougher areas got a surprise when they started to throw their weight around. ‘If there was beef, you just didn’t mess with us,’ cos it was bigger than the seven or eight guys onstage,’ James Bomb states.
Essentially for the future of Public Enemy, Spectrum City’s show on WBAU allowed them a glimpse of how the business side of hip-hop was developing. Their close proximity to Queens also proved to be important when it came to their relationship with Run DMC, a group which achieved so many firsts for hip-hop. The late, and immeasurably great, Jam Master Jay in particular would prove to be crucial in the PE story.
It was Bill Stephney who hooked everyone up. He had a connection with Russell ‘Rush’ Simmons, who was the group’s manager, Run’s brother and head of Rush Communications. As well as recalling the nickname Russell had had for a number of years, Rush Communications was a budding conglomerate. Simmons, who had already been involved in the careers of early rap stars such as Kurtis Blow, was well on his way to becoming hip-hop’s first mogul.
Bill Stephney had the honour of conducting Run DMC’s first ever radio interview, and this gave him an insight into how Russell, Run DMC and Jay were doing what they did. About four weeks after the Spectrum crew received what is rumoured to be the first ever copy of Run DMC’s breakthrough hit ‘Sucker MCs’ a very young Run, DMC and Jam Master Jay passed through WBAU on their way to future glory. As they were yet to enjoy even their first hit, the Kings from Queens were nervous. They were uncharacteristically quiet and reserved but nevertheless very happy to be there and happy that they were making their way in the industry.
After another visit or two they relaxed and began to open up. The Spectrum crew were always big fans. When ‘Sucker MCs’ was being primed for release, Chuck and Hank were able to get an early copy from Run DMC’s record company Profile through the record pool (a loose collection of DJs who received promos from record companies and swapped information about music) they were a part of. These were the days before hip-hop’s power became undeniable and when it was widely considered to be a fad that would end in the same way as disco and punk: fallen by the wayside. Disgusted fans of genres ranging from rock to classical music derided hip-hop for many reasons. Rappers didn’t play real instruments (failing to recognise both the innovative way hip-hop turned the turntable into an instrument and practices like beatboxing), they didn’t see the value of ‘talking’ on records (they obviously couldn’t see that rapping is the ultimate manifestation of the ancient African oral tradition) and where was the melody? To many, hip-hop wasn’t ‘real music’. It’s easy to see who had the last laugh.
‘Not everybody wanted to be a hip-hop DJ. It wasn’t a prestigious thing in the record pool,’ says Chuck. ‘If you were a hip-hop DJ they’d be like…’ He mimics someone being brushed off by a disinterested third party. As hip-hop DJs, Chuck and Hank were at the bottom of their record pool’s list of priorities. A lot of club owners also felt this way, so only a few hip-hop records at most would be played at your average club night.
This didn’t matter to Chuck and Hank. They weren’t as short-sighted as the other DJs and club owners and were more than happy to take the hip-hop records. As the years passed the amount of hip-hop records with which to form a playlist was increasing considerably. In the early eighties, funk and r’n’b began to take a back seat. But the people who ran the record pool were slow to catch on. As a result, Chuck and Hank’s dedication meant they would often actually be buying records to play on their show. The record pool wasn’t up to the times.
Run DMC’s demeanour was very different to that which the WBAU family had encountered with the handful of rappers who had been successful during the Sugar Hill era spawned by ‘Rapper’s Delight’. Run DMC ended that earlier style of rap with their stripped-down beats, street clothes and, most important of all, their harder style of emceeing. Their good attitude only made the WBAU crew all the more keen to promote them. From that point any record that came from the Rush camp would automatically get played.
In their continuing quest to make a name for Long Island, the Spectrum crew had taken to recording local rappers and playing the tunes on air. The Townhouse Three, a group from Freeport, Long Island, were one of these lucky groups. (In later years, Busta Rhymes, Charlie Brown and Dinco D of Leaders of the New School would be equally fortunate.) While they were careful to keep their own soulful identity, like almost everyone else, they modelled themselves on the Cold Crush Brothers, the innovative collective of pioneers from The Bronx (Cold Crush member Grandmaster Caz had to suffer the indignity of having his rhymes bitten (copied) by Big Bank Hank of The Sugar Hill Gang. If you listen closely to ‘Rapper’s Delight’, Hank even spells out his nickname, ‘Casanova Fly’). Later on, the trio struck a chord with hip-hop fans as Son of Bazerk. Chuck remembers their songs being just as good as anything else that was about at the time, if not better.
‘People thought they were regular records, better than the records we were playing.’ Cos once you hear it on the radio it wasn’t no difference.’ In just under a decade, Son of Bazerk would sign to Hank Shocklee and Bill Stephney’s SOUL label and enjoy a big hit with ‘Change the Style’. The song’s video, which features Bazerk dressed up as a reggae singer, a doo-wop crooner and a heavy metal artist, is one of the funniest hip-hop videos ever made and was a favourite on Yo! MTV Raps.
The Townhouse Three, aka Son of Bazerk, were another
