Run-D.M.C. Were No Less Rock Than Your Favorite Band
King of Rock was released precisely 40 years ago, “vandalizing” the old idea of rock and helping tear down the boundaries between genres.
Lately, many people are asking where rock has gone—the one with big guitars, long hair, and studs. But are we sure that’s actually rock? Isn’t rock the one of Chuck Berry or Howlin’ Wolf? Could it be that the mainstream idea of rock is that of a well-fed white guy? There’s no doubt that today’s Black trap scene, especially its more unsettling side, takes a lot from the original extremes of rock. But, once upon a time, there was a trio from Queens who had already nailed the true meaning of rock. We’re talking about Run-D.M.C. and King of Rock, their second album, which celebrated its anniversary almost two weeks ago.
Produced by Russell Simmons and Larry Smith—hence under the Def Jam umbrella, the legendary label that not only gave birth to the trio and the entire new school of hip-hop but also to crossover (see Slayer on their roster)—the record is a big leap from Run-D.M.C.’s debut. If, on that first album, the three amazed everyone by achieving a phenomenal result using only a drum machine and blistering rap, with a bold, stripped-down, very hardcore minimalism, it’s also true that the idea of scratching over distorted metal guitar solos was a direct challenge to the status quo. Featured on the debut, “Rock Box” made people shout “miracle” as one of the earliest modern examples of a blend between Black and white music—a track that, in every sense, kick-started the crumbling of musical and racial “walls.” (This would later be explicitly shown with the literal breaking of the wall separating the trio and Aerosmith in the “Walk This Way” video, which forcefully ushered in a new era.)
At a time when MTV was the bible for new rockers, Run-D.M.C. broke into the system as rappers with the “Rock Box” video, becoming a genuine phenomenon and putting rap in the spotlight just as white rock normally was. The brilliant idea to push in that sonic direction wasn’t, as one might think, Rick Rubin’s (who was already dabbling in metal), but Larry Smith’s, after endless “sessions” of screwdrivers and weed. He had his band, Orange Krush, create backing tracks for the trio even against their will since both Joseph “Run” Simmons and Darryl “D.M.C.” McDaniels were against the use of guitars. Corey Robbins, the head of Profile Records, decided the album should be titled King of Rock to shock everyone a bit—like, aren’t these guys rapping? And how dare they call themselves the kings of rock?
The reason is obvious: Run-D.M.C. were taking back what the white industry had stolen from them. Rock did not begin with Elvis; rock is Chuck Berry, Little Richard, and Jimi Hendrix—and if we’re honest, someone like Bo Diddley was already “rapping” in his tracks, not to mention the blues roots that gave the Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin a lucrative head start. Run-D.M.C. reminded everyone, especially young people, that Black musicians are the absolute sovereigns of all “youth” music (because rock, by its nature, always stays young).
In the low-budget “King of Rock” video, the two roam through a rock ’n’ roll museum nearly a decade before there was an actual Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, vandalizing it: they knock down doors, switch off a Jerry Lee Lewis video performance with extreme displeasure, toss their trademark bowler hat onto some Beatles molds and smash Elton John’s glasses. They even take aim at fellow Black artists, stepping on one of Michael Jackson’s gloves.
At the time, Jackson (who hadn’t yet “whitened” completely) and Prince were also trying to tear down genre walls, following the path of ’70s Funkadelic, but they weren’t doing hip-hop. And what they lacked was, above all, the approach: their music was too elaborate, they spent too much on megalomaniac extravagances. Run-D.M.C. brought you back to the basement, to the essence of rock: sweat, power, straight to the point with no nonsense. At the end of the video, in addition to threatening the cameraman with an electric guitar, they spray-paint the walls to remind everyone—if there was still any doubt—who’s really in charge.
This album is important because it represents a break. Compared to the debut, it has cleaner production clearly intended to be commercially appealing. The idea of blending rap and rock might be interesting, but it also risks—by adding music as codified as rock—stunting the group’s innovative momentum and steering them away from their b-boy roots. Yet besides “Jam-Master Jammin’,” which proves exactly the opposite, the album really serves as an experiment that pushes the group in new directions, such as on “Can You Rock It Like This,” a sort of hip-hop–synth-pop hybrid (in fact, almost new romantic, reminiscent of Duran Duran), written by a then-sixteen-year-old LL Cool J. It’s not just rock-rap hybridizing: there’s also a dancehall infusion with “Roots, Rap, Reggae” featuring Yellowman, which turned off some listeners but was yet another attempt to go beyond the “pre-packaged.” (Let’s not forget that the first track, “Rock the House,” is really a curious dub–hip-hop experiment that reworks King of Rock into a delay-fueled trip.)
The beats aren’t neglected: “You Talk Too Much” and “It’s Not Funny” make massive use of the DMX drum machine, even more powerful and versatile than before. And in tracks like “You’re Blind,” the lyrics return to social commentary, which is always present even if softened to reach any ear, as in the comic-style “It’s Not Funny.” The final track, “Darryl and Joe,” foreshadowing the new school of hip-hop with scratches, synths, samplers, and rock, is almost a demo of every sonic possibility Run-D.M.C. could explore—possibilities they’d nail down with Raising Hell and forge into an unmistakable, unbeatable style.
Say what you will about King of Rock, but you can’t deny it was perfectly crafted to slip into the mainstream like a Trojan horse, changing the rules and shifting mass appeal toward a listening experience free of prejudices. It inspired not only the crossover bands of the ’90s (listen, for example, to the Judgment Night soundtrack) but also their own labelmates, the Beastie Boys, who, on the award-winning Licensed to Ill, took over “Slow and Low,” a demo track recorded for King of Rock that didn’t make the final cut.
And here’s the ultimate paradox: in the end, Run-D.M.C. really did enter that museum when they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2009. It surprised many hip-hoppers (the group did not perform out of respect for Jam Master Jay, who died in 2002 but offered an acceptance speech that went beyond heartfelt). Any would-be Kanye West who wants to be “king” still has a lot to learn from them.