Beef (2003)

Seemingly as a rule, hip-hop documentaries (Scratch and Freestyle excluded) suck. Almost always, they consist of nothing more than poorly shot camcorder footage decorated with outlandishly unnecessary graphics that amount to little more than a promotional vehicle for the artist or label. (Here’s a hint: watch out for “unauthorized” biographies on Netflix–and make sure to read the user comments. The number of docs on Tupac is mind-numbing, and yes, I thought Resurrection was very poorly edited and egregiously avoided his best album altogether.) The central reason for this is a decided predilection toward showtime, and a substitution of “real-ness” for authentic visual storytelling.

Needless to say, not even the presence of Ving Rhames as the narrator gave Beef, which promised to dissect the history and motivations behind the ubiquitous hip-hop feud, any pre-viewing high expectations. I imagined clip after clip of rappers jockeying for position in front of a camcorder with a time/date stamp in the lower right corner, the only commentary a loose chronological sketch. My hopes were almost sunk by Beef’s prologue, which graphically equated hip-hop feuds with those of the great European composers and 20th century jazz musicians. My the film, however, quickly redeemed itself, and stands as a well-crafted and socially conscious testament to the mindset of not only hip-hop culture, but young disenfranchised urban males in general.

Beef begins auspiciuosly, with a high energy, professional boxing-style display of the best beefs from the past two decades, leading to a nicely nuanced breakdown of the first–Kool Moe Dee vs. Bizzy Bee, from 1981. The excellent archival footage meshed with the interviews (with both combatants, who hold no hard feelings, along with other luminaries including KRS-One and Big Daddy Kane) and narration seamlessly, positioning the event as the introduction of “meaning” within hip-hop lyrics. No more “bomb-wit-da-bomb-da-bang-da-bang-boogie-boogie” after the tape of that live event began circulating through the five boroughs. This segment represents the most impressive attribute of Beef–director Peter Spirer is able to gather a remarkable sampling of hip-hop artists to comment on their art–something exceedingly and unfortunately rare.

The film essentially navigates through hip-hop’s history as seen through beefs–from its initial sole criterion of which MC could “rock the crowd” better, to Boogie Down Productions’ “South Bronx“, which loudly (and unnecessarily) countered MC Shan’s positioning of Queens as hip-hop’s Bethlehem, to LL Cool J’s “To Da Break of Dawn” (the best lyrical attack until Ice Cube’s vicious “No Vaseline“, which cribbed its title from LL, the next fall), to the ludicrous, Hype magazine-fueled East Coast/West Coast feud and the current vitriol between (the surprisingly charismatic and telegenic) 50 Cent and the not-ironically titled Murder, Inc.

The most striking feud portrayed in this film, however, was between Mobb Deep and Tru Life, sparked by a contractual breach on the former, and a studio raid, complete with semi-automatic weaponry, by the latter. The remarkable footage of Tru Life being interviewed on the street in his neighborhood, surrounded by gun-toting “associates” (who flash and fire their weapons), and confessing to his criminal acts stands in stark contrast to the joint puffing Prodigy and Havoc, who casually dismiss Tru as “that Puerto Rican.”

If I had to make an assumption as to the cause of the rise in violence in hip-hop beefs, I would largely attribute it to the rapid rise in popularity and commercial viability of hip-hop culture, leading to the establishment of labels with A&R executives eager to find the next revenue producing superstar, regardless of his ability to exist with decorum on an international stage. It’s the same feeling of animosity I have toward sports editorialists who can’t find a single reason why someone like the demonized Ron Artest would dive into a crowd of onlookers when his integrity was threatened. Def Jam head Russell Simmons offered the film’s most poignant comment, saying that most label heads probably would not mind their talent dying as long as the catalog was selling.

Buy Beef here.

Check out BDP’s “South Bronx” (mp3)
Also, NWA’s “Message to B.A.” (mp3)…and Ice Cube’s response, “No Vaseline” (mp3), which took the crown from LL Cool J’s “To Da Break of Dawn” (mp3)

Filed under: 2Pac  beef  Bizzy Bee  Boogie Down Productions  documentary  film  Ice Cube  Kool Moe Dee  LL Cool J  N.W.A.  rap