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De La Soul is not dead

Taking time out from building beats in his New York studio, Dave "Trugoy" Jolicoeur from hip-hop trio De La Soul is in a thoughtful mood. He's pondering just what it is that sets apart De La Soul from the hip-hop pack.

"Really, I think it's that we talk about the small things," he says in his deep, clear voice. "I got no problem rapping about doin' the dishes, or watching my kids grow up, or about the devastation that pollution or street crime has on my community.

"To me, that's more personal and more genuine than what most of the biggest rappers talk about these days. I mean, these people aren't constantly on a plane, drinking champagne, with two girls feedin' them grapes. That's fantasy, man."

He chuckles to himself at the ridiculousness of the image.

"You know, it's great if someone is so successful that they own five houses, and maybe they have a coupla yachts too, and a jet, but even for those people, life is about a lot of other, smaller things. And besides, talkin' endlessly about the size of your house or your car is a slap in the face for all those people livin' real lives, goin' home to a tiny rented house on the bus."

In a couple of days time, Jolicoeur will be sliding his chubby frame into a seat on a plane bound for New Zealand. At his side will be partner in rhyme Kelvin "Posdnuos" Mercer and De La's DJ, Vincent "Mase" Mason.

When they hit the tarmac in Auckland there should be a state welcome, because these guys are hip-hop royalty. They might not have sold as many records as 50 Cent, Eminem or Snoop Dogg, but they've made better records - wiser, funnier, more innovative, and less predictable in sound and subject matter. Though not as commercially successful as lesser rappers who play the traditional thug role, De La Soul have always commanded intense respect among more thoughtful hip-hop fans.

The trio has been recording together for nearly two decades. They met at high school in Long Island, and their revolutionary record, 1989's 3 Feet High and Rising, was made when one of them was just 19.

Listen to it now and you'll still be amazed. Here we have three fresh-faced middle-class suburban black youngsters rewriting the rulebook of rap music, expanding the artform to address new themes, pillaging unlikely sound sources such as old doo wop records, French language instruction LPs, and 50s pop and country 45s rather than the usual array of funk and soul albums.

This wildly psychedelic collage, strapped together in collaboration with Stetsasonic producer Prince Paul, still sounds like nothing else, and over this startling sonic backdrop Mercer and Jolicoeur trade rhymes that are several notches above the nihilistic gangster cliches we've come to expect.

Their stanzas are crammed with miraculous metaphors, oblique insider jokes, eloquent pop culture critiques and astute political commentary, and this is partly what gives De La Soul albums their longevity. Every album has been so densely layered with meaning you'll still be uncovering surprises when you're old enough to draw your pension.

"Our albums are full of lyrical land-mines that we've buried in the dirt for you to stumble across," says Jolicoeur. "For years you might not get that explosion of meaning, but you'll get it eventually. That's one of the things we've always loved about music. It's a playground, man. It's all about having fun with words while you get some serious meaning across at the same time."

There have been six more studio albums in the 17 years since that spectacular debut: De La Soul is Dead (1991), Buhloone Mindstate (1993), Stakes is High (1996), Bionix (2001), Mosaic Thump (2000) and 2004's The Grind Date. Each of these has extended the trio's sound into new areas. Their sound is harder now, with a stronger backbone of jazz and soul, but the lyrics remain open-hearted and colourful, perceptive, and positive without sounding nave.

"Just don't go callin' us hippies, man," growls Jolicoeur. "We had enough of that after 3 Feet High came out. People said we were "alternative" hip-hop, or "hip-hop hippies", and it was such bullshit. All we were trying to do, along with bands like Jungle Brothers and A Tribe Called Quest, was to show that there were other styles than the hardcore West Coast sound that was becoming the dominant force in hip-hop. We've never seen ourselves as alternative, or other rappers as gangsta, or whatever. Those are labels others place on us. We're all doin' hip-hop, and we come in a million different flavours."

True enough, but what does Jolicoeur really think of the prevailing flavour? Is he disappointed that the cold-hearted, over-sexed, mindlessly materialistic cartoon gangsta has become hip-hop's default setting?

"Some of those huge mainstream artists like 50 Cent do some good stuff," he says, diplomatically. "You can't deny they got skills. But you also can't deny that a lot of that stuff is trash. There's so much hype and scandal behind what they're doing, and very little honesty.

"Their records are like an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. You put it on, you know there's gonna be excitement, you know there's gonna be gore, there'll be sex in there and things will blow up. There's room for that, of course, but I think the listening audience is missing out on the deeper areas of hip-hop music. That's what De La Soul is for."

De La Soul tour dates: Wellington Town Hall, Friday March 24; Auckland, Studio , Saturday March 25. Tickets $59+b/f from Ticketek and Real Groovy.

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