During the early 80s, on Saturday
nights at the Roxy in downtown Manhattan and at the Bronx River Center,
acts like Run-D.M.C., Afrika Bambaataa and Fab 5 Freddy created a totally new
scene in New York. French photojournalist Sophie Bramly moved to New York in
1981, when she was just 21, and began photographing it all - when no one else
was paying attention.
"I guess I was a spoiled
brat," she says. "I was working at top magazines like Paris Match in
France and I didn't realise how rare an opportunity that was. I wanted a
change." After a few months in the city, she saw the New York City
Breakers at a party in Union Square - "this bunch of guys took the stage
and started spinning on their heads, shoulders and backs. I was just, like,
"Wow! What is this? I had to photograph this thing and nothing else
mattered."
For four years she hung out with some
of hip-hop's most legendary pioneers. Her photos, though, look more like
snapshots of friends; she shot in artists' houses as well as in clubs and on the
street. They capture all the wild energy of the scenes early years, as well as
many of its freshest looks. "My approach was different because we were
friends or had friends in common, so I could be trusted," explains Sophie.
"Also, there weren't a hell of a lot of people who cared about them and
what they did. The fact that I was a girl, coming all the way from France,
probably helped too."
Did
you know immediately that something important was happening in New York? What
was the energy like?
I don't think I did. And I don't think
many people can analyse a new artistic movement and figure out that it's going
to be important. It had more to do with my instinct. The energy in NYC was mad
back then. It wasn't only the music itself, but also - for me at least - it was
the fact that it was a bit transgressive: this was music played in the streets
by renegades, outlaws. I probably felt like I was rebelling, too.
Where
did you hang out back then? What were the best clubs?
I went to the Roxy religiously. I was
there from the minute it opened to the minute it closed. It was a huge roller
disco in downtown Manhattan that turned into a club once a week, and every
hip-hop lover from all five boroughs would be there. It was wild, with
incredible DJs (Bambaataa, Red Alert, Jazzy Jay, D.St.) and live acts. It was
basically our main spot. Then I would go at least once a year to Bambaataa's
Bronx River parties, especially for the anniversaries of the Zulu Nation.
There
was such a strong look then - how important was what you wore?
Looks were of major importance. They
were a form of social status. Everyone had lots of sneakers and they had to be
immaculate white (the idea was "I'm rich enough to have new shoes").
They were mainly Adidas and Puma, as were the sweatpants and jackets. Then I
think it was Dapper Dan who came up with the genius idea of creating fake
monogrammed Gucci and Vuitton fabrics to make custom clothes for artists. And
everybody was wearing large 14-carat gold chains, and the girls had gigantic
earrings.
Was
hip-hop affecting social conditions in the Bronx? What role did these artists
play in the community?
From my perspective, I would say that
Bambaataa's idea of telling kids to stop killing each other and direct that
energy into whatever talent they thought they had turned out to be magic: to
this day, the Zulu Nation has an impressive amount of members around the world,
who are all still following that idea. So he was probably a major influence in
helping kids find better options than becoming gang members.
How
involved were women in the scene?
There were plenty of women in the
clubs and at block parties, but very few on stage. The Double Dutch girls were
part of the scene, but they were never at the forefront and I don't believe
that any one group ever reached fame. One girl, Peaches, was a pretty famous
dancer and appeared in the movie Beat Street. Another one, Pink, was a famous
graffiti artist and she was a lead character in the cult movie Wild Style. The
Sequence was the hottest girl group, but girls were definitely a minority in
the scene.
The way men used to see them as either
"sisters" or "hoes" probably didn't help. Women probably
felt more comfortable somewhere in between. It took time for women like Mary J.
Blige, Salt n' Pepa, MC Lyte and others to cut their own paths.
How
were your images received when you first brought them back to Europe?
In Europe, we never had segregation, so
instead of looking at black people doing something interesting, people here saw
a bunch of kids doing interesting things who happened to be black. That made
the whole difference, and it was the main reason why the scene was recognised
first in Europe and only much later in the US. I surfed that wave: magazines
like The Face in the UK or Actuel in France and Wiener in Germany were happy to
show photos from inside the scene, by someone who could also help them understand
more about it.
After having kept my archives in a
drawer for over 30 years, I'm more sensitive to the way people look at the
photographs now. Before it was all about being sensational, and now people are
moved by the sweetness of it all, I think.
You've
done so many interesting things since these pictures were taken. What are you
focusing on now? And how does it feel seeing the photos in a book over 30 years
later?
I've never had career plans, instead I
get moved by things and get carried away by them. In the early 90s, I was all
about the Internet, and in the past 10 years it's been all about women's
sexuality, and now it's more about transhumanism. After all these years, I can
finally see a pattern: empowerment and intimacy are my main subjects.
This book is very important to me because I've
always wanted to give back the hip-hop community some of what I took. I can't
not share their own souvenirs, not give them back the emotion of that moment,
when everything was possible and on the verge of changing so many people's
lives.













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