There are multiple dates that lay claim to the birth of hip-hop. Generally, though, it’s said that “hip-hop celebration day” (now a U.S. Senate-recognised date) is August 11. That’s because, on that day in 1973, Jamaican-American Clive Campbell – aka DJ Kool Herc – threw a now-infamous “back to school jam” for his sister Cindy in a recreation room in the South Bronx. It was on that night that the various pre-existing elements of hip-hop (MCing, DJing, graffiti, b-boys and b-girls – otherwise known as breakdancers) came together and a new culture was born.
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If you subscribe to this as the official origin, then 2023 marks 50 years of since the birth of hip-hop. Accordingly, Fotografiska New York is running Hip-Hop: Conscious, Unconscious, a new photography exhibition which has enlisted Mass Appeal’s Sacha Jenkins and Sally Berman as co-curators, mapping the history and growth of the culture from its roots to a truly global sensation.This means black and white street photography from those grassroots early days, but also the glossy magazine shoots from over the years; there are in-the-moment images capturing ciphers and freestyles, the stylised portraits and intimate moments. These are the archives telling the story as it has been happening and continues to happen, in real time. We spoke to three of the photographers whose works have been selected about the stories behind their stunning images.
Sue Kwon on her photo of Slick Rick
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I remember thinking he was funny – he was cracking jokes the whole time. It was just the three of us in the room. [Slick Rick] was the stylist, I remember we did two looks and they let him change. We didn't have much time – I think I had maybe 20 or 30 minutes to get the photo, the rest of the time was for the interview. People ask me about the AIDS sign but it was just there – I didn't even think about it until years later; my focus was on him and the Adidas sneakers. I think it was cool getting him in those instead of the construction boots they were normally wearing, because the sneakers were one of his markers – unfortunately he didn't have his signature gold, obviously. He was definitely a natural, he knew how to be on from the moment he walked in the cafeteria.It was a little bit odd to see him in prison greens and, you know, just being in that situation. I remember me and the writer saying it was sad that we were working with him there. It was surreal, but he was great. He was so poised and dignified in those circumstances.
Adama Delphine Fawundu on her photo of Ol’ Dirty Bastard
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What was special about this day is that the community was involved. There were people just coming outside from the building to be a part of this shoot. You would hear neighbours saying things like “I remember when he was a little boy!” It made me think about these pockets of communities – particularly Black communities in these urban cities – [and how] you don't hear so much about the multigenerational stories that exist within the space. This person’s there who saw you when you were little, or this person remembers you when they used to walk you to school. I feel like all those little chatterings were happening during this music video shoot.What I love about this photograph is that it doesn't look like it was a video shoot. It just looks like all of these people were outside. It's such a hip-hop vibe with the people! You see ODB holding his microphone, freestyling or rapping. Big Daddy Kane is in the background, and there’s the guy wearing the Guru shirt. It just brings it all together.I always love performances, because I feel like they're so instinctual; they're so unplanned most of the time, particularly that one. So to freeze that in the frame is special. It's a cipher, which is so significant when you think about what hip-hop represents, too; this past, present, and future all folding into one and continuing, continuing, continuing.