Nas' Illmatic: The Blueprint for MCs

Straight out the f**kin' dungeons of rap!

Apr 19, 2024

“I’m new on the rap scene, brothers never heard of me,” Nas rapped in “One Time 4 Your Mind.” That’s not true at all. When Nasir Bin Olu Dara Jones released his debut album at 20, he had long been considered a little prodigy in insider circles. Where else should big rap careers take root if not in New York in the late 80s? Nas absorbs the emergence of hip-hop with breast milk. He grew up in the Queensbridge Projects, one of the numerous social hotspots of the “rotten apple” that is firmly under the grip of a nasty crack epidemic. The stars of a swelling movement reside right next door.

Nas experiences the time “before the BDP conflict with MC Shan, around the time when Shante dissed the Real Roxxane” up close, and gets to know a Large Professor in 1989. This allows the young rapper to make a guest appearance in a track of his crew Main Source, who in turn had already taken Nas in their luggage as tour support in 1991.

His incredibly smooth, serene, yet steady flow and his unprecedentedly intricate rhyme structures for the prevailing time quickly give Nas proper hype. It hails even before the release of its album comparisons with Rakim, Big Daddy Kane, or Kool G Rap. “Brothers never heard of me”—no, that’s not entirely true. When Nas is making his debut, he already has a lot behind him. Its surroundings leave traces. Nas cancels school and stays afloat with various smaller dealers. The hard-hitting reality breaks into his life at the latest when his brother is shot, and his friend Ill Will is murdered in a violent confrontation.

Nas’ ability to generate such excitement was remarkable, considering it stemmed from just a handful of appearances on tracks like Main Source’s “Live at the Barbeque” and MC Serch’s “Back to the Grill,” as well as his single “Halftime” from the Zebrahead soundtrack. His early verses were filled with provocative lines that grabbed attention, but his skillful blend of vivid imagery and complex rhymes captivated listeners.

The clatter of the train, a leviathan of iron weighing 100 tons, barrels through underground New York at a clip of 55 miles per hour. Its destination is as enigmatic as the city it slices through—a tunnel leading seemingly to oblivion. In its pre-Giuliani era incarnation, the F Line is a motley microcosm: graffiti-adorned stainless steel cars are a canvas for balloon-lettered tags rendered in hues reminiscent of bubble gum. It’s an underground vessel teeming with life—rats scurry while a cast of characters includes both the vicious and the bewildered, tourists lost in transit, and laborers drenched in sweat jostle for space.

This subway line halts at 21st Street, disgorging its human cargo into Queensbridge. The doors wrench open with a metallic gasp; passengers disperse, ascending dimly lit staircases into the heart of the Bridge. Without this place, there would be no Illmatic. Indeed, Illmatic is synonymous with Queensbridge itself—the Queensbridge Houses stand as America’s most extensive public housing project. Here lie rows of brick towers, their color as muted as autumnal foliage past its prime, within which over seven thousand souls endeavor to carve out an existence. Elevators reeking of urine begrudgingly stop only on alternate floors. The neighbors? A decaying East River and the “Big Alice” power plant cough up soot plumes into the sky.

On April 19, 1994, the hip-hop world received a gift from Nas’ debut album, Illmatic. The culmination of a two-year quest for the ideal beats to match its creator’s vividly detailed lyrics, Illmatic arrived amid great anticipation. So much so that bootleg copies had already saturated New York City, prompting Columbia Records to expedite its release to mitigate financial losses and waning relevance. The album’s brevity—three to four songs and 10 to 15 minutes shorter than the average—ensured a tight tracklist devoid of superfluous content, leaving fans eager for more.

The debut LP opens with that same subterranean rumble—a nod to Nas’s roots—and immediately transitions into a sample from Wild Style, the seminal hip-hop film from 1983 that broadcast South Bronx street culture to an unsuspecting world. Nas dubs his introductory track “The Genesis,” intertwining his narrative with hip-hop.

In one memorable exchange from Illmatic, Nas’s brother Jungle questions the music playing: “Yo Nas, what the f**k is this bullsh*t?” Nas responds with equanimity, saying this is about honoring tradition without commercial compromise. Amidst societal toxins, such dedication might seem overly righteous today, but back then, it signaled to hip-hop’s pioneers that their legacy would endure through him. As someone who grew up immersed in Park Jams and influenced by Wild Style, Nas wasn’t just paying homage—he was claiming his inheritance as one born from that revolutionary milieu.

As the album emerged onto the scene, hip-hop was in its adolescence—old enough to have established roots yet young enough to be entangled in a quest for identity. The album arrived when New York’s street culture seemed to be relinquishing its claim to the burgeoning hip-hop movement. Death Row Records and gangsta rap were seizing the spotlight on the West Coast, while Rap-A-Lot Records made significant strides in the South. In this era, after Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer had their moments of fame, with rappers like Big Daddy Kane embracing a more polished image post-Madonna’s “Sex” book, hip-hop appeared to be at a crossroads.

The Columbia press sheet accompanying Illmatic poignantly stated: “While it’s sad that there’s so much frontin’ in the rap world today, this should only make us sit up and pay attention when a rapper comes along who’s not about exploiting the latest trend and running off with the loot.” This sentiment underscored the unique position Nas occupied as he struggled to secure a record deal amidst an industry that had seen even promising talents like RZA and GZA swayed by misguided executives into producing lackluster New Jack Swing tracks.

The notion that Nas once faced rejection seems almost inconceivable now. His name is invariably mentioned within breaths on any list of greatest rappers. From his controversial beginnings—once rapping about going to hell for snuffing Jesus—to his current status as an icon with Grammy nominations and Gap advertisements, Nas has carved an enduring niche. His work spans collaborations with Damian Marley, high-profile feuds like that with JAY-Z and roles in films like Belly. Nas has achieved this without relying on radio hits—except for “Oochie Wally,” where his bodyguard arguably outshined him—opting instead for authenticity over mass appeal.

Yet at one point, Def Jam’s Russell Simmons (ugh) dismissed Nas’ demo, suggesting that his style was too reminiscent of Kool G Rap from Queensbridge—a backhanded compliment implying brilliance but limited marketability. Instead, Simmons chose Warren G, whose summer hit “Regulate” soared to triple platinum sales in 1994. Illmatic did not enjoy such immediate commercial success; it sold only 330,000 copies in its initial year without a comparable anthem to “Regulate.” Despite this modest start, Illmatic is now hailed as perhaps the finest East Coast rap album ever produced—a touchstone for fans akin to how Baby Boomers revere Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited—an exemplar cited when discussing hip-hop’s highest potential.

Picture him: nestled within the confines of public housing, his pen dancing across the pages of cheap notebooks, crafting verses that blend aspirational lottery reveries with haunting nocturnal terrors. His creative sanctuary is illuminated by nothing more than the flickering amber light of a blunt, the neon signs of corner stores, and the electrifying thrill accompanying the birth of art. Yet there are moments when his pen pauses against the page, his mind grappling with an abyssal void—only to be flooded by memories of shadow-laden streets and suffocating oppression.

The lexicon Nas has crafted over two decades now feels almost too familiar within rap’s vernacular—phrases once fresh now border on trite through sheer repetition. Consider the litany of lines from Illmatic that have become hip-hop scripture: reflections on existential musings and urban survival punctuated by cultural references and personal vices. Stressed from their auditory canvas, these lyrics might lose their luster; however, when delivered with Nas’s signature velvety menace atop deftly chosen breaks, they ascend to legendary status.

Recognizing his role in hip-hop’s evolving narrative is to understand Nas’s influence. If Rakim served as a foundational voice to Woody Guthrie’s folk purity, then Nas assumed the mantle akin to Bob Dylan—an artist reshaping and redefining his medium. With Illmatic, he bends age-old tales to reflect modern shortcomings while respecting hip-hop’s roots without being constrained by its established doctrines.

This conduit linked generations—from Melle Mel and Kurtis Blow through Run-DMC and Rakim to Big Daddy Kane and the Juice Crew—and then there was Nas. Proclaimed as rap’s next luminary since Large Professor introduced this diamond-in-the-rough talent—adorned in Gazelles—to the recording booth, Nas’s emergence was not a solitary triumph but rather a collective endeavor. MC Serch played catalyst in securing him a contract with Columbia Records after discovering he was yet untethered to any label. And when it came time for production, Nas found himself adorned with contributions from New York City’s finest beat craftsmen.

Illmatic showcased Nas’ extraordinary talent for painting pictures with words. He transported listeners from all corners of the globe straight into the heart of New York’s urban environment through his music. Unlike other rappers who relied on gimmicks or vocal theatrics, Nas harnessed the natural flow of his voice to animate his lyrics—a remarkable feat given his background as a young dropout facing systemic challenges. The authenticity in Nas’ storytelling resonated deeply with many because it reflected the lived experiences of Black and Latino youth caught in cycles of oppression. Yet Nas approached these narratives not as an active participant but as an observer—a role that connected him with his audience and set him apart from his peers.

The tales spun on Illmatic are raw accounts from “the dungeons of rap,” where everyday occurrences are stripped of glorification. Nas addresses themes familiar to those growing up in tough neighborhoods: drugs, violence, sex, and the pursuit of success equated with wealth. However, even with its lyrical brilliance, Illmatic’s legendary status is also due to its meticulously crafted beats. With mentor Large Professor’s guidance, Nas assembled an iconic production team including DJ Premier, Q-Tip, Pete Rock, and L.E.S., taking an unprecedented collaborative approach to crafting the album’s soundscapes.

This collaboration wasn’t merely transactional; it involved personal interactions and shared creative spaces. Large Professor took Nas to Phife’s grandmother’s basement, where Q-Tip was working on “One Love,” and Pete Rock’s studio sessions included DJ Premier, who contributed scratches for “The World Is Yours.”

Illmatic fostered a competitive yet cooperative atmosphere among its creators, which led them to elevate their contributions. DJ Premier revisited his mix for “Represent” after hearing contributions from Pete Rock and Q-Tip; this drive resulted in innovative sampling choices like using a pipe organ from an old silent film soundtrack.

The musical architecture within Illmatic combined diverse elements harmoniously. From L.E.S.’s somber loop on “Life’s a Bitch” to Large Professor’s transformation of Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature” into “It Ain’t Hard to Tell,” each producer brought unique flavors that complemented Nas’ storytelling ability. Even lesser-celebrated tracks like “One Time 4 Your Mind” stand out despite being overshadowed by other groundbreaking songs on the album—proof of Illmatic’s overall excellence.

Despite being heralded as a classic by The Source magazine upon its release—and seen by many as a savior restoring New York hip-hop—commercial success for Illmatic was slow in coming. It took years for the album to achieve gold status and even longer for platinum recognition. Nevertheless, it marked a significant moment in hip-hop history upon its arrival.

Post-Illmatic releases inevitably faced comparisons against this monumental debut—a shadow cast long over Nas’ subsequent works. Yet this didn’t stop him from evolving; he achieved commercial success with It Was Written by adapting his style into what became known as the Escobar persona. Nas crafted an opus that remains influential decades later—an achievement recognized through documentaries, books, retrospectives, reissues, and tributes dedicated to celebrating Illmatic’s enduring impact on music and culture.

This groundbreaking work defined its time and altered the course of hip-hop, influencing a generation of artists. The Notorious B.I.G., for instance, drew heavily from the LP, adopting its artistic concepts and structural blueprint so overtly that it prompted Ghostface and Raekwon to satirize the imitation in a skit. JAY-Z transformed a potent line from Nas into an entire track on his album Reasonable Doubt. Pre-Illmatic, Shawn Carter’s style bore the hallmarks of Big Daddy Kane, and after, his delivery took on a smoother quality, evidence of Nas’s impact.

Yet, for all its influence, Illmatic remains a singular entity confined within its narrative universe. The album’s strength lies in its focused depiction of life within six blocks—desperate, savage—a microcosm where young men like Nas are trapped by their surroundings. Through his lyrics, we encounter his battles and the specters that haunt him.

Repeated listening reveals a roll call of characters: Fatcat, Alpo, Grand Wizard, Mayo—and others whose fates hang in uncertainty. “Represent” alone is an inventory of lives that prompts listeners to ponder their outcomes. AZ, the album’s sole featured artist, captures this sentiment succinctly: he represents the aspirations of those who never had the chance to realize their dreams.

Illmatic transcends mere escapism for Nas; it is an amalgamation of experiences and narratives that has endured beyond ephemeral slang and shifting tastes. It tells the tale of a remarkable talent emerging from deprivation—a narrative that aligns with works like The Basketball Diaries and Native Son. Yet, unlike Jim Carroll or Richard Wright before him, Nas possessed an ability they did not have—he could rap.

The album’s legacy is such that no true successor could follow; Nas recognized that he had captured lightning in a bottle—a moment unique to time and place. One can still evoke this lost world with each listen—from the initial rumble of the subway train to when the doors slide open—revealing what unfolded within those six blocks during an unforgettable chapter in music history.