Beatsauce's DJ Wisdom calls Black "the most centered, self-driven, and positive of all the San Francisco rappers. He knows exactly what he wants to do and how he's going about it." Likewise, DJ Sake 1 of the Local 1200 crew is such a fan of Black's that he helped connect Black with rising star Goapele. "He's spiritual, soulful, and community minded," Sake says. "And he's seasoned, so his sound now is cutting edge."
For sure, Insperience is as diverse in moods as the city it describes. The album opens with African chanting and conga drums, over which Black, in his thick Frisco accent, catalogs black ancestry while making parallels to street life: "Born descendant of warriors who flossed in war paint/ Who ride for the tribe and die for the tribe." Later, on a lighter note, the grinding synth groove of "Errie" backs a tribute to that San Francisco slang greeting and shout of joy. And on the fierce "Understand Me," with its keyboard bass and melody, Black accuses his peers of self-inflicted ignorance: "Cats don't understand me/ Cuz you walk around like you some little-ass kids."
Traci Bartlow
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Opens for Cee-Lo at "The Blueprint"
Saturday, March 22, at 10 p.m.
Tickets are $12
626-5355
www.sanfiasco.com
Kelly's Mission Rock, 817 China Basin (off
Third Street), S.F.
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Elsewhere, Black's background as a spoken-word poet emerges. On "Can't Glamorize," Black doesn't bother rhyming to the beat; instead, he summons a resentful teenage mother, an absentee father, and a "little princess" who learns to associate pain with love, using abundant words and vivid characterizations, as if conjuring a sandstorm to carve out three simple stones. Still later, on the sparse, catchy "Communication," Black proves capable of both waxing poetic and rocking to the rhythm. Over metronomic claps reminiscent of a Slum Village track, he challenges a lover to stretch her horizons beyond what he can offer.
But while the record's rugged beats and regional flavor could conceivably add up to commercial appeal -- or at the very least, stretch the parameters of his "Bay Area sound" -- an artist can't live on inspiration alone. Having given up his day job to chase his dream, Black pursued what some might consider the unlikeliest of hustles: making poetry pay his bills.
Amazingly, his plan's working. He's teaching verse to children at the African American Art and Culture Complex on Fulton Street, and performing his works at colleges and cafes whenever possible. "That's what really sustains me [financially]," Black says. "Rapping doesn't sustain this. I do poetry shows and get good money for it."
A few days after the interview, Black delivers a spoken-word performance at Oakland's Java House cafe. Apparently, this is where black bohemia's Bay Area chapter meets on Wednesday evenings -- the crowd is full of earthy-chic folks in crocheted caps and Kangols, seemingly extras from the film Soul Food. As Black adjusts the mike stand, he's joined by a man tapping an African drum with a curved stick, another player plucking a bass, and a third musician strumming a guitar.
The MC rocks a little in his white Pumas, smacks his lips -- a habit of his -- then grows still. He opens his mouth, and the words pour out like a river, coils of rhymes that crash into each other while carrying the whole room in their current. With the wordiness of Allen Ginsberg channeled through the urgent, cool cadences of slam poetry and rap, Black lets loose for half an hour without looking at a piece of paper, coaxing the audience members until they grunt and laugh and shout in unison.
It's clear now that Black's rapping and poetry represent two sides of the same coin. When set to music, his words are more focused, highlighting his gift for internal rhymes and concise turns of phrase. But, as poetry, his verse gets free. I recognize elements of "Can't Glamorize" and "Communication," but the rhythms are more arbitrary, the story lines more expansive. I'm not sure which I prefer.
In either case, both formats offer a fluid mix of spirituality and grit. I recall how, at one point in our interview, Black had described his work concisely, saying, "I try to blend the good and bad." Around me, the room erupts in cheers. There are strangers making eye contact, nodding and smiling. Pitch Black is bringing the ugly streets to us, yet it's so warm and supportive in here that it almost feels like church.
