Contact High: A Visual History of Hip-Hop
- Melody De Vivero
- Sep 2, 2019
- 5 min read
Updated: Oct 8, 2020
The core of my musical soul was formed with gospel, r&b, and delta blues. My parents are black southerners. They landed in Los Angeles separately but somehow found each other somewhere between the pixie dust of Hollywood and the simmering race tensions brewing during the sixties. My mother self proclaimed Georgia peach and my father an army veteran from the Mississippi Delta and Motorcity Detroit. My childhood was shaped by their taste in music and was weaned on black 45's and 33's and sprinkled with gospel always played on Sundays. My father drove the car so me and my older brother had to listen to the blues.
My parent's musical influence has helped me see the connections to hip-hop and understanding the genesis of its roots. I will never forget the day, as an adolescent in 1979, I was strolling the halls of my sunny beachside middle school when I heard the most curious connection of words float out my black schoolmate's mouth. Sounding better than a simple poem, it was more. It had a fast rhythm and a dopeness to it, the likes I had never heard. Then again, I heard it from someone else. By the time I had reached my gym class I heard a group of kids repeating the same mesmerizing words. I had a similar reaction the first time I saw someone do the crazy leg dance. I stopped dead in my tracks. What was this? What were they saying? I immediately felt left out of the new music circle. I would soon discover it was the words of Rapper's Delight by The SugarHill Gang.
Growing up, my brother and I played records and anxiously waited to buy new ones all the time. The latest and greatest music was funneled through our one and only black AM station at the time, 1580 KDAY. It wasn't long before we realized the music we heard on KDAY had been released maybe 6 months to a year prior to us hearing it which was the norm. Having lived in south-central LA and having relatives from the east coast the newest music was usually hit the east coast airwaves first before getting to us. We didn't care we just wanted to roller skate and bump to the latest craze. The new rap records of Grandmaster Flash, Kurtis Blow, and Afrika Bambaataa would soon follow. The evolution of this new music genre was ushering in a culture and a movement to the likes that had never been seen. There were genres and categories within the genre. You had an urban sound spouting about political inequities, swirled in with west coast street life, the enticing soulful Philly flow, menacing white boys boasting their Irish pride, the rise of southern hip hop aka "dirty south", and of course the wide influential sound of New York. Women, kids, black, brown, white artist embodied this massive cultural shift in Americana. What was considered safe and conservative for radio airwaves was no more? The phenomenon of hip-hop spilled over into fashion, politics, communities, places, spaces, and countries that we never could have imagined. The imagery was equally married to the artist. Photography complimented the artist's story. In one definitive moment, a photo could decode the bravado, personality and the style of an artist. For the most part, our friends didn't much care about anything other than what song we were going to bump and bounce our heads to. It didn't seem to matter how far it spread. For our generation, it was our music. It was hard, it was truthful, it was powerful, it was hood, it was different, it was disrespectful, it was verifiably and justifiably loud just like we liked. At some point it became everyone's music in whatever iteration or application it evolved into. When hip-hop births a new life lesson it will speak to our souls in a manner that we feel we could not vocalize. It hit the central nervous system of our youth and not only gave us something to bob our heads to, it occasionally told us something about ourselves whether we liked it or not. It was immeasurably relatable. It was the common ground that bound us no matter where you were from. And that for me, a middle-aged, black woman living in the valley is hip-hop.
So once I had kids of my own there was no way they were not going to know hip-hop. Hell, there was no way they were not going to have routine musical history lessons. They were going to hear the same pillars that I heard as a child, gospel, r&b, and blues. But because I was a child of the '60s and 80's they were going to be exposed to a broad spectrum of genres. I was glad to have the opportunity this summer to take them to the hip-hop exhibit: Contact High: A Visual History of Hip-Hop at The Annenberg Space for Photography Museum in Los Angeles. They both were excited. Some of my daughter's film making inspirations were part of the collection. I was happy to see all the artists included in the exhibit. Most if not all the artist I grew up rocking to were in larger than life display. My heart broke a little seeing Aaliyah, Tupac, and Notorious B.I.G. but I was glad they were given respect. The images were incredible. Mostly in black and white but the imagery and the tone of every artist was revealing. I remember reading all the hip-hop magazines and seeing some of those very same images when I was a kid. The museum also included a short documentary film featuring photographers discussing the beginnings of hip-hop and the visual importance of artist having an amazing album cover. I think one industry expert discussed the power of the imagery on the cover playing an enormous role in whether singles were played or people would take the artist seriously. In other words, if the album cover sucked you sucked, therefore, you didn't get airplay. The exhibit was worth it. The best part is it was FREE. I think I paid a $1.50 for parking on a Sunday. No reservation needed. The exhibit ran from April 26 to August 18th.
SideNote:
I had something special to share with my kids after visiting the museum. When I was in my twenties, I attended the Bob Marley Reggae Fest in Jamaica, When our plane arrived, walking around in the baggage claim was no other than Fab 5 Freddy. I heard he was in first class on the same flight. I wasn't sure until we got off. Of course, I had to get a picture. He was the shiidd at the time. Yo MTV raps. "Hello!" My daughters face dropped. Yes, your mother lived once upon a time and did things. And yes mommy had red hair at one time. LOL
Excerpt from the museum:
(An intimate look at the contact sheets and photographs that brought hip hop's visual culture to the global stage. Curated by Vikki Tobak- author of the bestselling book of the same name- with creative director Fab 5 Freddy)
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