Musicians
“Rappers are not real musicians; they don’t play instruments.” This is a statement I’ve heard a lot in my life, especially when I was younger and my musical tastes were challenged by peers and adults. As a youth, I could see the argument; however, this perspective couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve been reflecting — more so than I have in a long time — on the statement that hung over my formidable years since witnessing Mr. Brad Jordan, also known as Scarface, perform at the Royal Oak Music Theatre in Royal Oak, Michigan in April of this year.
The creation of hip hop and its continued evolution is due to creativity and musicianship. Let’s consider the early DJs at the beginning of hip hop. They extended songs, using, in most cases, inferior equipment, to keep a party going. This was taken a step further with the creation of scratching, which eventually lead to turntablism. The MC, taking poetry, developing a cadence and flow, and performing it. The DJ evolving and becoming a producer, constructing tracks for the MCs to rhyme over. These acts required musical knowledge, understanding of equipment, and constant practice. All of this wouldn’t have happened if these artists weren’t also musicians.
As I’ve continued to witness the hip hop greats I grew up with in the 1990s perform live or on programs like NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert series, this fact has started to bear scrutiny. NPR’s Tiny Desk is a small, intimate setting using live instrumentation, allowing the art to be presented in its most stripped down fashion, completely different than how hip hop is typically presented or listened to. This format has allowed these classic tracks and these hip hop legends to be heard differently.
Scarface made an appearance on the program in December of 2023.
I have always loved Scarface’s voice and his ability to paint a picture with words. Seeing him perform his classic material in this austere manner added a layer of depth to his music and storytelling I wasn’t sure was possible. I was blown away.
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Following the success of that performance, Scarface decided to take this concept on the road as the “Brad ‘Scarface’ Jordan: Behind the Desk Experience.” He wasn’t visiting a substantial number of cities; however, he did have stops planned in Cleveland and Detroit, so I was bound to make one of them work. This very likely could be my only chance to see him perform live. After an afternoon drive up I-75, I was in Royal Oak, one of the largest downtowns in Detroit’s suburbs. With a great deal of anticipation, I walked up to the line that snaked around the corner to get into the theater after enjoying a light meal and a beer at the Royal Oak Brewery a few blocks away.
The venue was old, sans the glamour of the Fox Theater. The layout was odd, a balcony, and then tiered sections on the floor. Working my way near the front, feet sticking to the concrete from beer that was never tasted by its owner, I was the whitest person in the venue. Around 8 p.m., murmuring traveled throughout the theater like a high speed game of telephone as Mannie Fresh appeared on stage for a surprise DJ set to break the crowd in. The “needle” dropped on Eric B. and Rakim, prepping the “old heads” in the building for a night of nostalgia.
Weed and vape smoke, as thick as the anticipation in the room, danced in the stale air. Brad Jordan, his band, which featured keys, drums, bass, guitars, and backup singers, came to the stage.
“It’s a vibe all. I don’t want you to listen. I want you to feel,” Scarface proclaimed early in the set. Words spoken by a true musician.
Listening is absolutely essential in making music, so is feeling, which is what separates the good from the great. Musicians don’t just create music, they are the music. Conveying that feeling, that vibe, is what connects us so deeply to this art form. Late in the set, almost as if he knew what I was thinking, Scarface emerged from the side stage in a tailcoat, conducting his band as if performing a symphony as they worked their way through hits like “I Seen a Man Die,” “Smile,” “Mary Jane,” “Mind Playing Tricks on Me,” and “My Block.” It was if he was in the studio, creating the tracks that would be forever etched into the memories of the hundreds before him.
He created a vibe, his distinctive voice weaving words like brushstrokes on canvas, telling stories, crafting an experience, a feeling. He was and is, a musician.
