“You have to have that same approach to everything and have the same moxie and makeup that you have as a human being,” Chuck D says. “Why would you make yourself up in the mirror and go outside and ask somebody how you look? That’s killed 90% of artistry: the focus on what the reception will be. I’ve never made a song for anybody else.” By the time “Fear of a Black Planet” dropped in 1990, the country understood its most iconic track, “Fight the Power,” as marching orders. The rest of the record is simply a motherfucking masterpiece, a collage of sounds and samples, instrumen- tals and interludes that make revolution feel like a block party. Public Enemy spared no one: “911 Is a Joke” and “Burn Hollywood Burn” — which features Ice Cube and Big Daddy Kane — became instant anthems. Throughout the group’s lengthy run are Chuck D’s deep-toned flow and Flav’s equally wicked, higher-pitched vocals. The pair are the only original Public Enemy members carrying the torch. As they continue to spotlight oppres- sion and injustice, they also explore their musicality. “I don’t know if Flavor (Flav) is Mick and I’m Keith or if he’s Keith and I’m Mick, but we’re the Rolling Stones of the rap game, and we built it to be a lot of different things,” Chuck D says. “We represent the genre, and I think we represent an aspect of musicology and DJing. We try to trans- form, come up with different lineups and find different ways to do things. We feel like it’d be corny and boring to do things the same way we did. We like to move with the technological changes and find what works for that moment. “I’m an old head, so I understand what was there and what was lacking. So there- fore, I have exuberance for the tools today because I’m a user of the tools across the span of time,” he continues. “I’m not intimidated by new technology as it comes up. I know what art is, and I’m not in competition with the tool. As artists, we should embrace our mistakes; that’s our human pulse. You can’t be beat by a machine. The machine is always trying to be perfect, and our imperfections, our scars — that’s what makes us. “There’s always going to be something new that threatens people. The horseshoe industry was threatened by the fucking horseless carriage. That’s life. That’s evolution.” ‘IT BEHOOVES ME TO STUDY ARTISTS’ For the man who grew up in a musical household — his folks rotated Earth, Wind & Fire, The Commodores, Stevie Wonder, and Led Zeppelin through the speakers — life has always been about art. But he didn’t always know it would be the path he’d follow. “Music was supernatural,” Chuck D says. “But if somebody would have told me in high school that I’d be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I’d be like, ‘What?!’ I graduated from high school in 1978. There weren’t rap records.” Being on the radio was his first calling. He liked the DJs on AM and FM radio; he liked the sports announcers. But art wouldn’t let go. He found inspiration in illustrations, paintings, flyers, sports cari- catures, political cartooning. None of that passion has waned. As we chat, he lights up about his upcoming books (published by Akashic), fine art projects and a collab with John Densmore, the drummer for the Doors. They met in 2014 when Chuck D was in Los Angeles as a Record Store Day ambassador. Densmore gave Chuck D some beats, Chuck D rhymed over them and soon, toying around turned into something more substantial. What trans- pired is a record of spoken word and rhythmic beats called “No Country for Old Men,” by this two-person act called doPE, merging the names of their bands, the Doors and Public Enemy. Look for the release this coming Record Store Day, April 18. As he discusses his projects, he mentions the magazine he launched, Rap Central Station, which focuses on hip-hop art, culture and history and aims to combat algorithm-driven media. The physical 12”x12” vinyl-sized publication raises artists’ voices and includes creator-written reviews. Cypress Hill, Monie Love and Grandmaster Flash are among the contributors. After four decades, he still sees art as a road to personal growth that can lead to broader transformations. Increasingly, to him, those transfor- mations arise out of a tension between technologies bent on speed and living histories that are at risk of being forgotten. “People gotta be open to reading and studying,” he says. “Study artists. I’m an artist, so it behooves me to study artists before me. Study the past to think about the future. It makes you ask yourself questions, like ‘What did they go through? When they looked at their world, how big was it?’ and to think about how things developed.” The magazine, the music and Chuck D’s other artistic contributions keep him grounded. The lifelong hell- raiser seems so deeply content you wish he’d bottle that inner peace and sell it. The years have also given him grace and humility. When I mention the inspiration he has provided since the ‘80s, he replies: “I’m here to give some answers, not the answer. That’s gonna be in the context of every person’s life.” Public Enemy performs on Sunday, February 22, at Innings Festival at Tempe Beach Park. Chuck D, left, and Flava Flav (Sanjay Suchak)
