The flyer was
hand-drawn, on lined index file cards. "A DJ Kool Herc Party," it
read, in a quick pencil approximation of the elaborate spray can slogans then
appearing all over the Bronx: "Back to school jam." The 9pm-4am party
wasn't going to break anyone's bank: admission charges were 50c for
"fellas", 25c for ladies. Clive and Cindy's dad got the drinks from a
local cash-and-carry; their mum made some food.
Clive's friend,
Coke La Rock, decided to shout out names of other friends over the drum-heavy
introductions and instrumental breakdowns Clive had decided to play. The room
held 300 people; they all had a great time. No one had heard of DJ Kool Herc
before that night: the next day, he was famous across the Bronx. Soon,
he'd be hailed as the architect of an entirely new music.
Herc's playlist
was eclectic, and paid little heed to the trends of the day. A recent
not-quite-hit such as It's Just Begun by the Jimmy Castor Bunch became an
anthem for what was soon a large and growing audience. He'd play James Brown,
but not the singles – rather, raw cuts from live albums. And when he came
across a record with the right ingredients, it didn't matter what genre it came
from - English prog rockers Babe Ruth and the Edgar Winter Group's Frankenstein
got spun in Herc's sets, too.
By 1974, Herc
was playing outdoors in the summer – in Cedar Park, where the decks and sound
systems drew power from streetlights. But he was also getting booked at Bronx
clubs, and one night he decided to spin the percussion breakdown from two
copies of the same record one after the other, effectively replaying the break
and extending it. The record was either Bongo Rock or Apache, by
the Incredible Bongo Band. "And when I extended the break,
people were ecstatic, because that was the best part of the record to dance to,
and they were trippin' off it," he said in 1997.
Part of the
reason Herc's innovations had such impact was that they happened amid a wider
cultural explosion. The promoter and scenester Fab 5 Freddy would later
codify DJing, MCing, breakdancing and graffiti as the four elements of
hip-hop – proving, Freddy argued, that this wasn't just a craze, but a
fully fledged culture. Herc says that the dancers he dubbed B-boys were inspired
by James Brown – "That's the king, the A-1 B-boy; way back, in '68 or
'69, whenever you went to a party there was always some good dancers" –
and graffiti tags were widespread in New York by 1971. The DJing came
next, with Herc vying for pre-eminence mid-decade with the other two members of
hip-hop's founding holy trinity, Afrika Bambaataa and Grandmaster Flash. The
rappers were the last to emerge, so Coke's innovations on 13 August only hinted
at the style that would complete the cultural cypher.
Never a showman on
the decks, never a rapper or producer, Herc missed out on the money. His
innovations created an art form that brought fame and fortune to
the thousands who followed him, yet in January 2011 he was
forced to seek donations from friends, fans and well-wishers to pay his
medical bills. In 2007 he campaigned, successfully, for 1520 Sedgwick Ave
to be officially recognised as hip-hop's birthplace; today he
campaigns for universal healthcare, this first street party was the
catalyst for may more Bronx street parties to come.







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