We know the oriÂgin stoÂry of hip hop as the prodÂuct of an enterÂprisÂing subÂculÂture of young, mostÂly African-AmerÂiÂcan, West IndiÂan, and LatiÂno tastemakÂers in the Bronx (or first in BrookÂlyn, accordÂing to an alterÂnate hisÂtoÂry). We’ve seen at least one of the dozens of docÂuÂmenÂtaries and dramaÂtiÂzaÂtions cenÂtered on this pivÂotal moment in musiÂcal hisÂtoÂry in the late 70s/early 80s—when pioÂneers like DJ Kool Herc and GrandÂmasÂter Flash began using two turntaÂbles and a mixÂer to splice togethÂer bars of disÂco, soul, funk, and many othÂer kinds of music to turn them into an entireÂly new form.
In time, samÂpling became the proveÂnance of dedÂiÂcatÂed digÂiÂtal machines, which, in conÂcert with drum machines and clasÂsic turntable techÂniques, formed the basis of the sound of hip hop, dance, and pop music as we know them today. From local NYC roots came a globÂal phenomenon—which has takÂen “cenÂter stage on Netflix’s origÂiÂnal music proÂgramÂming,” as Forbes notes, with the streamÂing comÂpaÂny investÂing milÂlions in new hip hop-themed conÂtent. Still, even with the music’s mainÂstreamÂing and globÂal reach, it’s a bit odd to see the pivÂotal role of samÂpling explained by EngÂlish DJ and pop proÂducÂer Mark RonÂson, on a TED Talk Stage, through a remix of a few dozen othÂer TED talks.
But RonÂson turns this clever preÂsenÂtaÂtion into an immerÂsive examÂple of the ways that samÂpling allows creÂators to become part of a “shared event” and to make new narÂraÂtives or alter the old ones. “That’s what the past 30 years of music has been,” he says, “that’s the major thread.” SamÂpling, he argues, is not about “hijackÂing nosÂtalÂgia wholeÂsale,” but about creÂatÂing new tapesÂtries of sound. “Albums like De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and RisÂing and the BeastÂie Boy’s Paul’s BouÂtique,” he notes, “lootÂed from decades of recordÂings to creÂate these sonÂic, layÂered masÂterÂpieces that were basiÂcalÂly the Sgt. Pepper’s of their day.”
I think Ronson’s right—no these weren’t pioÂneerÂing, experÂiÂmenÂtal rock albums, as purists might point out, but the comÂparÂiÂson is valid for the sheer variÂety, invenÂtiveÂness, and sonÂic comÂplexÂiÂty of the arrangeÂments. (And like The BeaÂtÂles, these artists were involved in their share of lawÂsuits, though in their case for copyÂright infringeÂment.) Artists makÂing albums built priÂmarÂiÂly out of samÂples aren’t “too lazy to make their own music,” RonÂson says, or “tryÂing to cash in on the familÂiarÂiÂty of the origÂiÂnal stuff.” Most artists and proÂducÂers, indeed, look for the most obscure samÂples they can find, with some pretÂty obviÂous excepÂtions.
Rather, RonÂson argues, like the influÂence of the Delta blues on British invaÂsion rockÂers, samÂpling is a way for artists to pay tribÂute to music that moves them and to take its disÂtincÂtiveÂness and make it their own, “to co-opt that music for the tools of their day.” To put it in othÂer terms, samÂpling is both a form of love and theft. RonÂson folÂlows his arguÂment with some perÂsonÂal hisÂtoÂry of his own musiÂcal jourÂney, then gets back behind his DJ rig for a demonÂstraÂtion of Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick’s “La Di Da Di,” the fifth most samÂpled song of all time, as re-approÂpriÂatÂed by The NotoÂriÂous B.I.G. and “culÂturÂal tour-de-force” (he says with tongue in cheek), Miley Cyrus.
Like it or not, samÂpling is here to stay, now the source of virÂtuÂalÂly every buildÂing block of many popÂuÂlar genÂres, from snare drums and cymÂbals to guiÂtars and effects. But maybe this isn’t just a new pheÂnomÂeÂnon of the digÂiÂtal age or a speÂcifÂic artiÂfact of the hip hop revÂoÂluÂtion, but just anothÂer examÂple of KirÂby Ferguson’s culÂturÂal theÂoÂry of everyÂthing in his four part video essay series, EveryÂthing is a Remix.
RelatÂed ConÂtent:
Josh Jones is a writer and musiÂcian based in Durham, NC. FolÂlow him at @jdmagness
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