The Message

Hezekiah drops his debut and defends his words.

by Patrick Rapa

Hurry Up and Wait just about sums up Hezekiah's debut CD. The MC/producer has been an up-and-comer in the local music scene for too long. Raised in rural Delaware and Chester, Pa., and currently living in "gritty South Philly," the MC claims his family has been the strongest influence on his music. His mom lays down ethereal backing vocals on one track, and his younger sister, Keziah, raps on another. His hip-hop future was foretold the day his cousin Jamar came home with a Roland 707 drum machine. Still, it took over a decade of rapping in groups and experimenting with sound in My Damn Room Studio (aka his bedroom) for the 31-year-old Hezekiah to make that first album. "I feel it's the right time, the right sound, the right stage show, and the right label." He says. "From concept, to sound, to image, I'm happy."

Now that it's out (on Soulspazm Records), the highlights are easy to name: The slick beats and swaying grooves, the melodies drawing from rock, R&B, funk and blues. During the verses, he churns out clever rhymes in an intense and gruff voice. Then, it's time for the chorus and he's laying down sweet vocal hooks. The album's less impressive moments are also apparent right away. Politically incorrect fables like "Psycho Chick" and cliches like "put 'em on the glass" drag the album back to everyday hip-hop. And, when the mood strikes or the story demands, he falls into that timeless habit of sprinkling his rhymes with words like "nigger" and "bitch" and "faggot." We talked family, racism, word choice and philosophy.

City Paper: What was the best thing about growing up in Delaware? What was the worst?
Hezekiah: The best thing about Delaware is the character of the people; they're so straight-up with you. I appreciate that, though. For example, if you're hanging with me, and I know you don't like me, then I already know what your intentions are, feel me? Also, the racism there is so out in the open, to the extent that if you didn't grow up in it, it might kill you. The basketball court I played on had "No Niggers" written in white paint on the black asphalt. I've been chased through corn fields by the Klan, and at the same time I've been chased out of the city for being from the suburbs. I hate all that shit, but I love it at the same time 'cause it made me who I am.

CP: Was your mom a big influence on your musical mind?
H: My mom put me in choir at Shiloh Baptist Church at a young age and even paid my uncle to give me guitar lessons. She always pushed individuality. I remember doing things 'cause I saw my older brother do them. Mom would snatch me up and say, "Who does that? Who does that? Not you!" You gotta love it.

CP: What's it like working with Keziah?
H: Freestyle or written, she's the reason I'm not impressed with a lot of female MCs. Nobody has to tell her that she's hip-hop, she just is. My sister has the look and the talent. You'd think she would pimp it. She loves the art but hates the hustle.

CP: So many local names on this CD. How'd you get 'em all?
H: A long history, and a mutual respect for one another. We relate in different ways. I relate to Chief Kamachi's philosophies, Bahamadia's spirituality, Santi White's [Stiffed] punk rock/skater background, and Scratch's [Legendary Roots Crew] strong family values.

CP: What's your writing process?
H: I write rhymes and make beats separately. That way, both can stand alone. The only thing I actually write to the beat is the hook. The problem in doing it this way is trying to find the perfect beat to fit the perfect rhyme. I know I could make it easier on myself, but it's more fun this way.

CP: OK, let's talk lyrics. You're not all disses, but when you do dis, you go for the throat. What's your favorite on this CD?
H: Probably the song "Psycho Chick," because I wrote it at a time when I was going through it. Every single line in the song is true. The concept is so untouched and timeless, you can get it from age 8 to 80.

CP: You don't shy away from controversial words like "nigger" and "faggot." Are you writing the way you talk, or putting on a musical persona?
H: Why would I say something I didn't mean or feel at the time I wrote it?

CP: Should homosexuals be offended by your use of the word "faggot" in your music?
H: No, 'cause of the context it's in. For example, in "Put Your Toys Away," I say "DJs biting other DJs' blends, you 'bout to get fucked up too, you fuckin' faggots." It doesn't have anything to do with sexuality, but yeah, I do see how it could offend someone. And about using the "N" word, I said [in "Soul Music"], "My people wanna look at me weird when I use the word nigga, it's not a term of endearment." OK then.

CP: Does Hurry Up & Wait… have a Parental Advisory sticker?
H: It does have a sticker. Lord knows it needs one.

CP: What is your philosophy when it comes to songwriting?
H: There's no philosophy, because then there's rule, and with rule comes restrictions, leaving no room to grow or have fun. PSA: Y'all "artists" need to stop trying so hard, because it comes through in your music. That's why My Damn Room is perfect; when I feel it, I record it. I don't have to book studio time and then try to recreate that emotion. That don't work for me.

CP: Is it difficult to balance your message with your pop side?
H: No. Look at Melle Mel — he made it work in "The Message," "White Lines" and the theme from Beat Street. I can do the same thing today. It's all beats and a hook. I'm gonna say whatever I want in between.

Hezekiah
Hurry Up & Wait (Soulspazm)
With dazzling beats, infectious melodies and a who's-who of guest MCs (Bahamadia, Richard Raw, Chief Kamachi), Hez's mostly self-produced debut makes a statement on every track. Sometimes the statement is immature and/or inflammatory (see interview and a curiously race-baiting number called "You"), and other times it's just plain weird: "I make rappers take a back seat like minorities in the '60s." Who in his right mind compares himself to institutional racism? Like it's a good thing? Hezekiah makes a better impression with his production skills — the freaky piano melody on "It Couldn't Be Done," the mournful refrain on "Soul Music," the big hip-hop hooray chorus of "Put Your Toys Away." —Patrick Rapa