Gangsta Rap is a murky business. One minute you’re driving a Cadillac full of prostitutes to a local jewellers, the next you’re being pummelled frantically by a convicted felon. But how did this sub-genre originate? We all know the rumours, the myths and (thanks to Wikipedia) the actual truth, but now, for the first time ever, Ruffhousing is proud to unearth the 1985 correspondence between Andre ‘Dr Dre’ Young and Eric ‘Eazy E’ Wright that lead to the birth of N.W.A. and, ultimately, the international explosion of Gangsta Rap music:
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Dear Eric,
Hope this letter finds you well. God, December is a brutal month; who was it that said “it is winter alone that reminds us of the human condition”? I think it may have been Ice T. As you will probably have noticed, this letter is unstamped. At present, I have little money for postage and thus decided to hand deliver it. As to why, upon arriving at your door, I did not just knock and speak to you directly: I cannot explain. The human mind is a mysterious thing.
Anyway, I’m contacting you regarding an original idea I’ve been harbouring for a while now. You see, Eric, I’m angry. Angry about loads of stuff: the police, bitches, the fact that I was christened Andre – a name which is associated predominantly with homosexual French men and wrestling giants. My idea is to form a rap group. ‘What’s original about that?!’, I hear you cry. I can literally hear you crying as I write this; you live three doors down and Dumbo is on television.
The original aspect is this: we will be a ‘Gangsta’ rap group. We will use rap music to project our anger, dissatisfaction and unhappiness with the modern world. We will combat social inequality; we will provide a voice for the disenfranchised urban youth; we will mention guns a lot. What I need to get this group off the ground, is someone with street credibility, record industry contacts and serious financial backing. Will you be that someone?
Please let me know what you think, Eric. I really believe this could be the start of a beautiful relationship.
All the best,
Andre.
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Dear Andre,
Many thanks for your letter; it made for interesting reading. I myself cannot read but I asked an associate to read it aloud to me. I must say, however, that your opening comments regarding winter threw me a little, as it is currently June.
As you may or may not be aware, I recently set up a record label with a friend of mine, and – like yourself – we are both deeply angry men. Furthermore, we are both really quite well off. To back this statement up, I am enclosing a hundred dollar bill. Please send it back to me at this address when you are suitably convinced of my wealth.
I am very interested in your proposal, and I do indeed have the required credibility, contacts and finance (see enclosed bill). However, I truly believe that I could offer more to this project than just hard currency. I am enclosing with this letter a recent excerpt from my diary. I think you will agree that it shows not only a certain linguistic flair, but also a chasm-like emotional depth:
Friday June 13th 1985:
10.34am – Have just measured myself and found that I’ve grown 3 inches since Tuesday! Things are certainly looking up!
10.37am – Just realised that I was wearing heels. I have not grown an inch.
11.07am – Racked with paranoia about the heels. Have I had them on all morning and not noticed? Must be more careful in future.
On reflection, this excerpt was perhaps not the best example of my way with words (nor my overall state of mind), but I have already placed it into this unsealed envelope, so it’s essentially too late.
Please let me know what you think, Andre. I would be more than happy to provide you with substantial financial support, but I ask that – in addition to this - I be allowed to contribute my lyrics/voice to the records you produce.
Yours, as ever,
Eric.
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Eric,
As you will probably have noticed, I am sending this letter via ‘Fax Machine’! What won’t those egg-heads think of next!
I was very interested in what you had to say in your last letter, and your diary entry certainly made for hilarious reading! I am pleased that you are willing to assist the group financially, but I assume (hope) that your request to contribute your “lyrics/voice” to the records was merely a funny joke. As you and I both know, you sound like one of the Chipmunks and have all the lyrical ability of a dyslexic creche.
Best regards,
Andre.
PS. If it’s alright with you, I will hold onto the hundred dollar bill for a little longer.
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Dear Andre,
Apologies for this late reply to your last note. In your haste to experiment with cutting edge technology by sending me a ‘fax’, you neglected to check whether I myself owned a fax machine. I don’t. It really has to be a two-way thing if it is work properly.
Having listened to you dictate said correspondence over the telephone last night, I cannot pretend I was not wounded somewhat by your assumption that my desire to write and perform raps was “merely a funny joke”. Far from it; I am deadly serious.
I must state again that my finanical contribution to your group comes hand-in-hand with my vocal contribution. There can be no discussion on this.
Yours,
E
PS. I would appreciate it greatly if you could return the hundred dollar bill as soon as possible. It is of significant emotional value to me.
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Eric,
Well, it appears we have hit something of a wall! You insist that you are an urban poet with a flair for language akin to Nabokov and a voice of thundering oak, and I (and most other people) insist you are a helium-voiced simpleton with a Jheri-Curl hairdo.
However, I must say that I respect the strength of character that you displayed in your last letter, and I think I may have a possible solution to our conundrum. I have a friend named O’Shea who has been writing rap lyrics for some time now under the alias ‘Ice Cube’. I have explained our situation to him and he is more than happy to give you the lyrics he produces that he doesn’t think are good enough to use himself. The ones that are just plain embarrassing. You know, the rubbish ones. No-one will be able to tell you are not the author of your own verses; O’Shea is a master of subtlety. I enclose here an example of a trial lyric he has written for you for a forthcoming song called ‘8 Ball’:
“Ice Cube writes the rhymes that I say/
Hail to the niggas from CIA”
The plan is bulletproof. We get the money and the label contacts; you get a portion of the spotlight and the chance to make your (oddly high) voice heard.
What do you say, Eric? I’m afraid that this has to be my final offer.
Warm regards,
Dre.
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Andre,
Today will go down in hip hop history as the dawning of a brand new era! I’m happy to say that I accept your offer. I just know you and I will be friends forever, with no need to ever fall out.
All my warmest wishes,
Eric.
PS. No worries about that hundred; what’s a few dollars between friends?!
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TROUBLE, I'M OUT.
