Pitchfork: Could you have ever anticipated working at a late-night show five years ago?
?: I wanted it, though I didn't know it was going to come in this form. In 2007, the road was really taking a toll on us. Some people in the group have kids, and those kids weren't newborn babies anymore; the goodbyes at the airport and the tour bus started becoming unbearable to watch. So my manager and I were always like, "If there was only a way for us to maintain the same money that we're earning now, but stay in one place."
There are only two places in the United States that would let us do a residency that long: Vegas and Atlantic City. I don't think any of us were ready to be like, "OK, don't forget to try the fish sticks. Now, here's Otto the Singing Magician!" at the Showboat in Atlantic City. Ironically, I had just got a house in Los Angeles when I met [Jimmy] Fallon. Cut to five months later, and I'm getting rid of that house and coming back to the East Coast.
Pitchfork: Obviously, "You Got Me" was a huge moment for the Roots. Did you ever feel the urge to chase the success of that song more?
?: If anything, we did quite the opposite. For anyone that's ever had a musical breakthrough in their career, it's always followed by the departure period right after. [Stevie Wonder's] Songs in the Key of Life gave you Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants. [Prince's] Purple Rain gave you Around the World in a Day. [The Beatles'] Revolver gave you Sgt. Pepper's-- which kind of backfired and made them even bigger. It's funny, I can see the science in how music is made with other artists, but it's hard for me to dissect my own thing. It's easy for me to say, "Oh yeah, that's the self-saboteur move that most artists pull whenever they're afraid."
And I just felt like "You Got Me" was a fluke-- I never thought one million people would mutually agree to buy this one product of ours. Even at the time it was happening, it didn't feel like a victory. Erykah [Badu] was always the focus; we weren't even the stars of our own song. So I thought, "This probably isn't going to happen again, so let's try and make like a catalog record displaying everything that we do, and we'll go out guns ablazing." We probably made four records in that mindset, and that definitely started with Phrenology. I thought, "We had our peak, and rap groups don't last more than six records. We'll probably get dropped." At some point, we were just thinking of it like a suicide mission, so we did everything with reckless abandon.
Pitchfork: You recently wrote about how listening to Watch the Throne for the first time really stopped you in your tracks. Do you remember the first hip-hop album that made you feel that way?
?: Definitely [Public Enemy's] It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. I quit my job the day that that came out. I was cutting onions and potatoes as a short-order cook for this 50s-style restaurant chain. I would walk 12 blocks to work everyday, from West Philadelphia to the University of Pennsylvania, where the restaurant was. Before Nation of Millions, I would usually show up five minutes late. I didn't care, I just had the job to earn extra money so I could buy records.
But when I bought that album, my entire walk changed. I wound up getting to work 20 minutes early, simply because you almost had to walk to the bpms of what you were listening to. And by the time that I got there, I just made it to "Show 'Em Whatcha Got" and, at work, I couldn't stop singing that sampled horn line from the Lafayette Afro Rock Band. I went on my lunch break and was just like, "Fuck it, I'm not going back to work." So I went to 7-Eleven, purchased about four Duracell batteries, and sat in a park from about 1 p.m. until about 6 p.m., just listening to that record.
With [De La Soul's] 3 Feet High and Rising, it was the same thing. That album actually made me feel like, "Oh, this is where I fit in." I found a lifestyle I could adapt to. They also legitimized my fashion sense. I would get teased relentlessly from neighborhood kids and from some school guys-- Tariq [Black Thought] included-- who didn't understand do rags or the holes in my jeans or acrylic paint on my jacket. To them, you didn't take a perfectly good $70 Levi's jacket and draw on it. But once the "Potholes in My Lawn" video came out, it made that cool.
The Chronic was the opposite effect. Beause I saw everybody going apeshit over it, but it took me three years to finally understand that album.
Pitchfork: How so?
?: I wanted it, though I didn't know it was going to come in this form. In 2007, the road was really taking a toll on us. Some people in the group have kids, and those kids weren't newborn babies anymore; the goodbyes at the airport and the tour bus started becoming unbearable to watch. So my manager and I were always like, "If there was only a way for us to maintain the same money that we're earning now, but stay in one place."
There are only two places in the United States that would let us do a residency that long: Vegas and Atlantic City. I don't think any of us were ready to be like, "OK, don't forget to try the fish sticks. Now, here's Otto the Singing Magician!" at the Showboat in Atlantic City. Ironically, I had just got a house in Los Angeles when I met [Jimmy] Fallon. Cut to five months later, and I'm getting rid of that house and coming back to the East Coast.
Pitchfork: Obviously, "You Got Me" was a huge moment for the Roots. Did you ever feel the urge to chase the success of that song more?
?: If anything, we did quite the opposite. For anyone that's ever had a musical breakthrough in their career, it's always followed by the departure period right after. [Stevie Wonder's] Songs in the Key of Life gave you Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants. [Prince's] Purple Rain gave you Around the World in a Day. [The Beatles'] Revolver gave you Sgt. Pepper's-- which kind of backfired and made them even bigger. It's funny, I can see the science in how music is made with other artists, but it's hard for me to dissect my own thing. It's easy for me to say, "Oh yeah, that's the self-saboteur move that most artists pull whenever they're afraid."
And I just felt like "You Got Me" was a fluke-- I never thought one million people would mutually agree to buy this one product of ours. Even at the time it was happening, it didn't feel like a victory. Erykah [Badu] was always the focus; we weren't even the stars of our own song. So I thought, "This probably isn't going to happen again, so let's try and make like a catalog record displaying everything that we do, and we'll go out guns ablazing." We probably made four records in that mindset, and that definitely started with Phrenology. I thought, "We had our peak, and rap groups don't last more than six records. We'll probably get dropped." At some point, we were just thinking of it like a suicide mission, so we did everything with reckless abandon.
Pitchfork: You recently wrote about how listening to Watch the Throne for the first time really stopped you in your tracks. Do you remember the first hip-hop album that made you feel that way?
?: Definitely [Public Enemy's] It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back. I quit my job the day that that came out. I was cutting onions and potatoes as a short-order cook for this 50s-style restaurant chain. I would walk 12 blocks to work everyday, from West Philadelphia to the University of Pennsylvania, where the restaurant was. Before Nation of Millions, I would usually show up five minutes late. I didn't care, I just had the job to earn extra money so I could buy records.
But when I bought that album, my entire walk changed. I wound up getting to work 20 minutes early, simply because you almost had to walk to the bpms of what you were listening to. And by the time that I got there, I just made it to "Show 'Em Whatcha Got" and, at work, I couldn't stop singing that sampled horn line from the Lafayette Afro Rock Band. I went on my lunch break and was just like, "Fuck it, I'm not going back to work." So I went to 7-Eleven, purchased about four Duracell batteries, and sat in a park from about 1 p.m. until about 6 p.m., just listening to that record.
With [De La Soul's] 3 Feet High and Rising, it was the same thing. That album actually made me feel like, "Oh, this is where I fit in." I found a lifestyle I could adapt to. They also legitimized my fashion sense. I would get teased relentlessly from neighborhood kids and from some school guys-- Tariq [Black Thought] included-- who didn't understand do rags or the holes in my jeans or acrylic paint on my jacket. To them, you didn't take a perfectly good $70 Levi's jacket and draw on it. But once the "Potholes in My Lawn" video came out, it made that cool.
The Chronic was the opposite effect. Beause I saw everybody going apeshit over it, but it took me three years to finally understand that album.
Pitchfork: How so?
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