Nov. 18, 326: St. Peter’s Basilica (the first one) is consecrated.
Nov. 18, 1626: St. Peter’s Basilica (the new one) is consecrated.
Nov. 18, 1836: W.S. Gilbert, of Gilbert and Sullivan, is born.
Nov. 18, 1865: Mark Twain publishes “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” under the title, “Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog.”
Nov. 18, 1922: Marcel Proust dies.
Nov. 18, 1928: “Steamboat Willie” is released.
Nov. 18, 1939: Margaret Atwood, Canadian writer, is born.
Nov. 18, 1953: Alan Moore is born.
Nov. 18, 1985: LL Cool J releases Radio.
Some pieces of media change their own medium. “Steamboat Willie” wasn’t the first cartoon made with “synchronized sound” but it blew every prior cartoon out of the water. W.S. Gilbert wasn’t the first comic librettist, but his Savoy operas with Arthur Sullivan are nigh incomparable. Marcel Proust wasn’t the first novelist to grace the world, but no one wrote novels like his novels. Radio wasn’t the first hip-hop album, but it signaled a substantive shift in hip hop’s course.
Radio is considered a crest in the wave of “new-school hip hop” that began inundating the mainstream, along with Run-D.M.C. (1984) and “Rock Hard” by Beastie Boys. It was (almost) a direct rebuttal of the groove-driven, disco-styled rap made before 1985. In lieu of instrumental fullness, artists like Cool J maneuvered through stark drum-machine beats, with turntable scratches and guitar chords bursting like bombs all around.
Rick Rubin helmed production for Radio and it’s very archetypal for him. Given the contentions he’s sparked as a seeming soldier in the “loudness war,” his work with hip hop artists like Cool J and others is still sufficient foundation for his standing as one of the most important producers of the past 30 years. People have called Radio “bare” and “skeletal,” but really it’s toned. It’s got muscle.
What makes Radio all the more amazing is the fact Cool J (born James Todd Smith) was only 17 when the album was released. Yet, the tone of the music isn’t unbearably precocious, or the product of an addled egghead. Smith was sufficiently mature, sufficiently smart, as an artist, by the time Radio came out.
As a lyricist, though, his age shows. “You Can’t Dance” castigates a nameless “moron” whose lack of moves elicits immanent displeasure in Smith. “That’s A Lie” similarly castigates a compulsive liar, played by Def Jam founder Russell Simmons (under the name Russell Rush). “Dear Yvette” gets down with some pretty blatant slut-shaming, with lines that go, “Like Santa Claus said, you’re a ho-ho-ho.”
His age shows in his choice of appellation as well. LL Cool J stands for “Ladies Love Cool James.”
All the same, Smith’s age on Radio might be the record’s best asset. Like the production that enmeshes his words, Cool J is toned, reveling in his spry braggadocio, ready to dismantle anything opposing him. Even with Rubin’s minimalism—on songs like “I Can’t Live Without My Radio,” “I Need A Beat” and “Rock The Bells”—Smith overflows with energy. He raps fast, he raps hard. He wasn’t the first hip hop artist, but he damn well isn’t going to let that stop him.
All braggadocio aside, perhaps Cool J and Rubin weren’t aware of what they were starting when they made Radio. The fact that Smith had the boastful attitude before he was a big success is what helped contribute to Radio’s big success. From the beginning, he wasn’t pulling punches. In a way, this classes him with Marcel Proust, W.S. Gilbert and “Steamboat Willie.” None of them pulled punches, and they ended up changing their mediums, irrevocably.
Other albums released this day: Revolutionary Vol. 2 by Immortal Technique (2003), Hate Yourself with Style by Clawfinger (2005), Weekend Warrior by Biz Markie (2003), We’re Outta Here! by The Ramones (1997).
Think you would be lost without LL Cool J’s contribution to the hip-hop scene with ‘Radio? Let Sean know at sreichard@wisc.edu.
