In his book of essays on pop nostalgia, ¡°Retromania,¡± music critic Simon Reynolds writes of how we ¡°privilege the emergent phase of a genre . . . rather than those who come later and carried on their work; the latter are settlers, not pioneers . . . but I really think you can hear the difference. In some near mystical way, the spirit of the age permeates the music.¡±
Anyone who watches ¡°Wild Style¡± will be inclined to agree. This micro-budget project, shot on the streets (and elevated train tracks) of New York City in 1981-82, captures the birth of rap and hip-hop culture, and the energy on display is palpable ¡ª it¡¯s that gleam in the eyes of someone who knows they¡¯re riding a wave of fresh, vital energy. This was a point in time when the scene was still so underground that an uptown white liberal could ask with a straight face about ¡°that rat music.¡±
From its opening scenes, ¡°Wild Style¡± captures a scruffier NYC in a lost age before Mayor Rudy Giuliani, with three-card Monte scammers in Times Square, trains covered in elaborate graffiti, and the Bronx looking like a war zone. Sartorially, this was before the commodification of hip-hop: before XXL sizes, athletic wear and the global spread of MTV. It¡¯s a surprise to see all the denizens of this nascent scene dressed as fairly typical late ¡®70s youths, randomly attired in Levi¡¯s, plaid shirts and even crewneck sweaters, with the emcees looking more like back-up singers for a funk outfit.
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