On the Good Foot
Footwork brings hip-hop to Old City.
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"This place is going |
The concentration of hip-hop heads is unusually high for Old City. A homey wearing a camouflage bandanna flips through the stacks of records. A woman, donning a bright yellow foot-high headwrap, sizes up the racks of T-shirts and baseball caps that stand in front of a spraypaint-covered wall. At one side of the room a young kid in an oversized baseball jersey edges up to the stage at the back of the store. Footwork music and clothing shop (at 28 N. Third St.) was almost empty a few minutes ago, but now it's quickly filling up for today's in-store performance by Brooklyn's Full Clip and Boston's Mr. Lif.
On the other side of the room, a DJ works the wax, making a record sound like sheet metal as he wiggles the turntable back and forth. In a town that has few, if any, spots that regularly showcase rap acts, Footwork is quickly becoming the Mecca for Philly hip-hop.
"It's the only reason I come to Center City anymore," says Satan, a 32-year-old West Oak Lane resident who brought his 10-year-old son down for today's show. He's been into the Philly hip-hop scene since the late '70s and this crowd brings back memories. "I love this kind of atmosphere; it's a real outlet for me," he says. Sure, there are rap records, baseball caps and graffiti videos for sale, but it's the growing community that keeps people coming back, often several times a week. Rappers hang out and show off their style just for the hell of it, fans chat about new releases and everyone picks up flyers for this week's warehouse parties.
"This place is going to bring hip-hop back to this town," boasts Bruce Allen, 17. The only thing he's concerned about is the store's location: "It should be in North Philly." Situated on North Third Street, Footwork is in a part of town better known for fine art than phat beats.
When co-owner Rich Medina opened up the store last June, he knew Old City wasn't the obvious choice for a hip-hop shop. But Medina, 28, and his partner Ari Saxe, 26, banked on the location being an up-and-coming neighborhood for the arts—all arts, including rapping, DJing, breakdancing and graffiti painting. The startup capital came from Bobitto, an old friend of Medina's and a graduate of Lower Merion High who moved to New York, became a member of the Rock Steady Crew, a radio host, a Vibe columnist and owner of the Manhattan Footwork Store.
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Co-owner Medina (left) with The Roots' Tariq at an All That Show. photo: Mpozi Mshale Tolbert |
"I know we're being watched," admits Medina, referring to his suspicious neighbors. When a Footwork customer spraypainted the side of the building a couple of months ago, a neighbor called the police and 13 cop cars showed up. "I had to explain to the cops that I was the owner of the store and that it wasn't really that big of a deal." There was also a rumor going around that the store was selling cocaine and pot, but the negative whispers seem to be quieting down.
Roe Fierro, who owns Teknika interior design across the street, is impressed at how much work Medina and Axe did to fix up a space that had been vacant for a long time. You'd think that hip-hop and hoity-toity wouldn't blend so easily, but Fierro has no complaints: "They're real quiet over there," she commends. "Unfortunately, I'm too old to go in that shop."
But Medina knows not everyone is as open-minded. "There are young guys who come down here that housewives on the Main Line would probably deem vandals based on their looks alone."
The store owner and DJ is not only determined to make Footwork a successful business, but he also wants to prove that hip-hop can be an intelligent forum. Though he hasn't yet gone after the First Friday crowds, he's started his own cultural happening: All That Shows. On the first Sunday of every month, rappers and poets take the stage at Footwork. Many artists travel hours just perform for 20 minutes.
The sub-woofer starts to boom as the trio Full Clip takes the stage for today's in-store appearance. Brillo-rough deliveries combine with scratchy tracks and catchy choruses. It takes a couple of numbers before the audience warms up to the group, but when they do, they're attentive and appreciative. For all of the rumors about violence that follow Philly hip-hop shows, this one is low-key and good-natured. Even Full Clip rapper Meany comments on the "madd love" circulating throughout the room. "It's kinda tame compared to a New York show, but they show a lot of respect here."
The next act, Boston's Mr. Lif and Akrobatik, stumbles at first. The rappers are not happy about the rhythm the DJ is hitting 'em with. They ask for a faster beat. Once in sync with the DJ, the duo energizes the crowd with a combination of toasting, interior rhymes and rat-a-tat-tat rhythms. A few people straggle out, but most stay, and when Mr. Lif tells them to wave their arms in the air, everyone's with him.
After the show is over, the hip-hop heads reconvene on the sidewalk in front of the store. An impromptu networking session starts up. The performers are lauded, cards are passed and phone numbers scribbled on paper.
Inside, Akrobatik and Medina are discussing the current state of hip-hop: "Too many kids aspire to what they see on BET," grouses Akrobatik. "A lot of kids don't want to be real, they don't want to learn how to rap, they just want cut a record and be famous."
Medina confers. "We get to see a whole range of people here, from kids who come out and shit on the mike and chew out the crowd to great MCs. It's good for a lot of the younger kids to see rappers who act like professionals."
But when Medina talks about "professionals" he isn't thinking of chart-toppers like Puffy Combs or macho poseurs who're grabbing themselves any chance they get. "That shit just makes our stuff look better," he says. The kind of hip-hop he loves isn't often heard on the radio; it's streetwise and edgy. Footwork is much more concerned with independent releases than the major-label flava of the month. Medina, who used to sell pharmaceuticals for a living, admits he wants his business to thrive (the shop is almost at the break-even point), but he also wants to teach young producers and rappers about the funk and jazz that propelled many classic rap tracks. Footwork's walls and racks are also packed with used vinyl.
"A lot of times I'll pull a jazz record out and tell some 20-year-old guy, 'Listen to this. It's only $10. If you don't like it you can exchange it for something else.' Often the kid will come back and say, 'Hey, I listened to that record and these guys stole that from MC so-and-so.' I'll tell him, 'No, it's the other way around.'"
Mr. Lif, who drove all the way from Beantown for today's performance, will definitely return. He wishes there was a Footwork in his town. "Places like this are a landmark for underground hip-hop. How much more real can you get?"
