Hip Hop’s Origin Story, Told by the Legends Who Lived It
Kurtis BlowNasRev RunRoxanne Shanté
- Nas connects his Lauryn Hill collaboration to Blow’s ability to tell a different story about the Bronx. While news showed destruction, Blow celebrated its people; his performance of “If I Ruled the World” in Crush Groove made the ambition tangible. “You did rule the world,” Nas tells him.
- Blow guaranteed double platinum for the remake if Sony gave it normal promotion. He recalls replaying its cassette for about two hours before calling Sony: “put normal promotion behind it and I guarantee it will go double platinum.” The exchange confirms the outcome: “And it did.”
- Hip-hop’s beginnings offered communal release amid severe material scarcity. Blow links its beginnings to Bronx buildings burned for insurance and a broke New York. He says disco was important and hip-hop came out of that era; Nas calls it a mutation of disco, then “ghetto disco,” a label Blow likes. “We built the music and the culture from the ground up with nothing.”
- Blow’s market-entry lesson was to build a track record outside New York’s crowded center. Facing “at least 50 MCs” in 1978–79, he drew on communications training: win smaller markets, then return with proof. Opening a disco with Russell Simmons put that strategy into practice and introduced him to the future Rev Run.
- Blow’s $35 performance payments helped equip the future Rev Run. Run calls that “a billion dollars back then” and explains: “I bought the turntables with the money you paid me.” Scratched name introductions developed with Blow later carried into Run’s own act.
- Roxanne Shanté argues that recognition should follow contribution, passion and accomplishment. Her Paid in Full tribute centers Blow’s work from hip-hop’s beginnings, setting aside personal feelings about the industry. “You deserve to be paid in full.”
1. Hip-hop emerged from scarcity and disco’s release
- Blow locates hip-hop’s beginnings after the 1960s civil rights movement. He recalls Martin Luther King’s assassination, the trauma of the era, Bronx buildings burned for insurance, and the president’s refusal of federal aid to New York City. “We built the music and the culture from the ground up with nothing.” Music provided “escapism.”
- Blow describes disco as very important and says hip-hop came out of that era. Nas calls hip-hop a mutation of disco, then “ghetto disco,” a description Blow likes. Blow remembers bass rumbling down to his toes as he pressed his head into a club speaker.
- He began MCing in Harlem in 1974, imitating a radio personality. In 1975, at 16, a fake ID made him 21 so he could study DJs across New York’s clubs; DJ Hollywood’s microphone work became a reference.
2. Blow built a route around New York’s crowded market
- Blow recalls meeting Russell Simmons at college in 1977 and demonstrating his crowd control at a house party with about 150 people. He had arranged the crowd responses: “It was set up when he came in.” They became friends.
- Facing “at least 50 MCs” in 1978–79, he applied a communications lesson: build a track record outside the city, then return with proof. “I’m number one here. I’m number one over there.” He and Russell opened Night Fever disco in Russell’s neighborhood, where Blow met Joey, later Rev Run.
3. Run’s apprenticeship paid for equipment and shaped his stagecraft
- For Run, access began with cooking breakfast and posting Rush Productions flyers on Jamaica Avenue. He corrects the suggestion that his father bought the turntables: “I bought the turntables with the money you paid me.” His $35 per show, “a billion dollars back then,” financed the equipment.
- Their show alternated DJing and rapping. Run developed scratching Blow’s name to introduce him, then taught Jay to call him out as Run. A broken wrist halted his stint as Blow’s DJ; he recalls being “probably 14 or 15.”
- Blow remembers protecting Run at 13: “He was my heart. Still is.” Run admits, “I was not a good son for a while”; Blow replies, “No, I was a bad father.” Run traces “This is my motherfucking house” to Eddie Murphy. When broken microphones prompted complaints, Run’s answer was, “No, just make them pay for it.”
4. Nas heard possibility where the news showed destruction
- Run recalls Blow playing with Bob Marley at the Garden. Nas remembers seeing Crush Groove in theaters in 1985: “I lost my mind.” Blow’s on-screen performance of “If I Ruled the World” stayed with him.
- Nas contrasts news of the burning Bronx with “AJ Scratch,” where its people were “fresh”: “You were telling a different story than what the news was telling.” Blow’s declaration mattered because “this Black man had the audacity” to address the world from a cinema screen. Nas’s Lauryn Hill remake paid homage: “You did rule the world.”
5. Blow guaranteed double platinum with normal promotion
- Blow played the remake’s cassette in a newly bought Nissan with an upgraded sound system, rewinding for about two hours. Hearing Lauryn Hill intensified his excitement: “Oh my gosh. I kept listening to that song.”
- His call to Sony preserved a clear condition: “You put that record out and put normal promotion behind it and I guarantee it will go double platinum.” The exchange confirms the result: “And it did.”
- Shanté closes by explaining Paid in Full’s standard: love, accomplishments, passion and contribution to hip-hop, beyond personal feelings about the industry. Blow’s work “from the beginning” earns the tribute: “you deserve to be paid in full.”
Full transcript
Before hip-hop became a global business, before the world understood what this music could be, Kurtis Blow was out there helping make history.
We built the music and the culture from the ground up. We didn’t even call it hip-hop. It was called rocking, breaking, burning, partying.
How does it feel, Kurtis, to see little Joey become Run-DMC?
I remember him at 13. I used to protect him from Russell. Nobody could touch him.
Like in the movie Crush Groove. This guy right here, he was my heart. Still is.
This man said, “If I Ruled the World.” You did rule the world, so I had to do your song over with Ms. Lauryn Hill. How did you like that song, my brother?
1. Built From Nothing: Hip Hop's Origins
Oh, my gosh, man. I’m on a stage with all my heroes.
All my heroes.
You know, the way you all looked back then, you looked like radios. As a kid, that was what I was looking at—the face of the speakers. I’d stare at the radio, wondering, “What are their lives like?”
Well, I think I should tie my shoes.
Those are some nice shoes, too, Mr. Blow. Mr. Blow is clean.
So tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we’re celebrating one of the architects of this culture. Before hip-hop became a global business, before the world understood what this music could be, Kurtis Blow was out there helping make history. For me personally, his music became part of my own journey. This conversation is about legacy more than records. It’s about the man, the movement he started, and the legacy he carries. Let’s get right into it. Mr. Kurtis Blow, the King. What was it like? Take me back to Harlem, New York, before the record deals, before the hit records. What was young Kurtis Walker dreaming about? Did you ever imagine hip-hop would take you around the world?
Wow. Going back to those days, hip-hop was really, really brand-new. We didn’t even call it hip-hop. It was called rocking, breaking, burning, partying. We just loved music and wanted to have a good time. The context of the whole situation was that we were coming out of the civil rights movement in the 1960s. I remember Martin Luther King was assassinated. Malcolm X, JFK, RFK—community organizers were having debates and protests with activists and government officials. They were arguing. It was traumatic during that time.
There was a community organizer who wrote a book, and he had this one statement. He said, “The buildings are burning down on one side of the street, but the kids on the other are trying to put something together.” I don’t know if you know about the Bronx in the ’70s. There was a documentary called The Bronx Is Burning, and all of that. Landlords would set their buildings on fire just to collect the insurance money. Every block had a building burned down to the ground.
We also hung out in these abandoned buildings. You could go in there and see something like graffiti for the first time—a guy’s tag on the wall with a magic marker: “My name is John. Here I am. Now I’m not here. So now you know.” That was graffiti, but it was like degradation. I remember the president came to New York and refused to give us money because New York was broke at the time. I remember the newspaper headline: “President Says No to Federal Aid to New York City” to clean it up, because of all the degradation going on with the buildings and everything.
We came out of that era, that moment in time when we didn’t have anything. We had nothing. We built the music and the culture from the ground up with nothing.
Absolutely.
2. Hip Hop Was "Ghetto Disco"
With nothing. Just the love of the music. It was very, very important. It was more like escapism for us. I remember going to the club, putting my head in the speaker, and listening to the bass rumble all the way down to my toes. I would close my eyes and just go off. That was hip-hop to me.
Was it disco music you were listening to?
That’s a good question, because it was definitely disco. I’m an avid supporter of that era. Disco music was so very important. We were coming out of the civil rights movement, then we had the right to vote, and then we had the hippies and the flower children and the “love your neighbor” movement. Dancing became our greatest pastime. Everyone would work hard all week, then go to the disco or the club downtown with the strobe lights and the disco ball. The lights were flashing, everybody looked good in suits and ties and silk dresses, and we danced the night away. That was it. Hip-hop came out of that era.
Yeah, I called it a mutation of disco.
Wow.
3. A Fake ID and Every Disco in New York
Even more so, it’s ghetto disco.
Yeah, I like that. I’m from the hood. I was up in Harlem. I didn’t have the money to pay to get into those clubs. In 1975, I was 16. I got a phony ID down on 42nd Street.
Right.
It made me 21, so I could get into all the clubs. I went to Leviticus, Nemo's, Negin's, Superstar, Cafeteria, the Hotel Diplomat, Hippopotamus, the Garage. Man, I was there. You name it, I went to every disco in New York City because I was studying to become a DJ. I wanted to see all the different styles, do my research, and find out. I ran up to DJ Hollywood up in the Bronx at Club 371.
I thought he was from Harlem. DJ—
He’s from Harlem, but he was number one up at Club 371, the House of Joy and Fun. I saw him. He had a line around the block trying to get in. I saw this man do some incredible stuff on the microphone that I’d never heard before. I was already an MC. I’d been rapping—or, let’s say, MCing—since 1974 in Harlem at the WHAM.
1974?
That’s when I started MCing. I was trying to impersonate my hero on the radio. His name was Hank Spann, WWRL Super 16 on the dial. I did that voice, impersonating him, at a club called the WHAM. It was an old police station on 152nd Street and Amsterdam, up on the Hill, across the street from the battlegrounds. I know you’ve heard of the battlegrounds—151st and 152nd. It’s a park right there. We did battles right there. Anyway—
Real history, y’all.
That was my first job.
Real history. The real New York history and hip-hop history.
4. Meeting Russell Simmons (and Little Joey)
So, for somebody who was there, how did you get discovered? Sorry to cut you off. How did Kurtis Blow get discovered as a rapper and signed to be the first rapper on a major label?
As the years went by, I convinced Russell. Russell and I met in college in 1977. Well, I went to college a year earlier. I was 17 when I met Russell and convinced him to come over to my block in Harlem and listen to me DJ. I had it all set up. I had my crew, my team. My whole block was there. It was crowded—we had about 150 people at a house party.
I was sitting there doing my whole Hollywood: “Throw your hands in the air and wave them like you just don’t care. And if you got on clean underwear, somebody say, ‘Oh, yeah!’” Somebody screamed, “Oh, yeah!” All that crowd response. It was set up when he came in. I said, “All right, let’s go,” and we threw on “Good Times”—Nile Rodgers, you know. I rocked “Good Times” for Russell, and we became friends.
I went back to school and majored in communications. I learned that if you want to make it in the big city—you know, New York had a lot of competition, with at least 50 MCs during 1978 and 1979—you should go out to the outskirts of the city, into what we called the boondocks, and get yourself a track record. Pull out a number one in this market, a number one in that market, then come back to the big city and say, “Hey, man, give me a shot. I’m number one here, I’m number one over there. I’m doing my thing. I’ve got a track record.” That’s how you get a job doing anything.
5. Breakfast, Flyers, and "My Heart"
I said, “Russell, let’s open up a club out in your hood.” We opened up the Night Fever disco, and that’s where I met Ron and Joey. I used to go out there on the weekends and stay at his house.
I used to cook breakfast for y’all.
Yeah, and we had a great family. I’d get together at Ron’s house.
I used to put flyers up on Jamaica Avenue. That was my first job.
Rush Productions.
Yep. Rush Productions. Kurt was down with Rush Productions as a promoter with Russell. They promoted Kurt. They both went to CCNY, right? I was just a little kid wanting to be down. Whatever I could do to get down, I would do, whether it was cooking breakfast or getting them socks or whatever. I remember my father taking him to the store. I used to cater to them, and I was just trying to sneak my way in. Kurt took me under his wing.
Yep. You know that story you told about breaking your arm—
Yes.
It was your wrist.
My wrist.
I thought it was your arm.
No, it was my wrist. I broke my wrist.
Okay.
I was heartbroken because not only was my wrist broken, my heart was broken because I couldn’t go on tour. I was his DJ.
Yeah. How old were you, Ron?
I was probably 14 or 15.
You see, I used to stay at his house a lot, because I was coming out on the weekend with a whole two crates of records and taking the train and a bus and all that.
And then I started driving a cab.
You were a DJ before you were a rapper.
Oh, yeah.
He was like a mixture of a DJ and a rapper.
Of course. Yes, yes, yes. I remember that. Both of you were.
Yes, I started out as a DJ. But Joey used to have an attic upstairs, right?
Yeah, I took it over from my brother.
He and the whole crew used to be up there. His dad bought him some turntables.
Turntables, yep. But no, I bought the turntables with the money you paid me.
Ah.
You used to give me $35 a show, which was a billion dollars back then. I bought some Quanta turntables. I wasn’t able to get the Technics. Remember the Quantas? I used to DJ, and I got real fast. I used to go so fast you’d just catch air.
He was awesome, incredible as a—
Catching air.
Nothing. The lady’s about to say something.
We had a show. He would come out by himself and DJ for a little while, then I’d come out, not even introduce myself, and start DJing. He’d take the mic and start rapping.
Yep. That’s where I met my wife, at a Long Island rink.
And then after he did a couple of numbers, he’d come back to the turntables and cut up our intro. Then I would start the show.
That’s how I came up with calling him out: “Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow.” I came up with that.
That was his idea.
So then he called me out, “Run,” once I became my own person. I thought I could take a record, scratch his name, and call him out. I did that until I broke my wrist, then I passed it to Davy. They’d throw on “Christmas Rappin’,” and you’d call Kurtis Blow out. By the time I became Run-DMC, I taught Jay to call me out: “Run.”
That’s crazy. That’s incredible.
True story.
How does it feel, Kurtis, to see little Joey become Run-DMC? How did that feel for you, because you mentored him?
Man, it’s like, my God. I remember him at 13. I used to protect him from Russell.
Yep, yep.
Could nobody touch him.
Anywhere. Like the movie.
I was his son.
Like the son of Kurtis Blow, like the movie *Crush Groove*.
Everything.
This guy right here was my heart. Still is.
Yes.
My heart. I was very lucky to have him.
Yes, yes. He took care of me. I didn’t even know why. I couldn’t figure out how I got to be down with Kurtis Blow, but it was a big honor to be down with Kurtis Blow. Then we made movies together, *Crush Groove*, and we toured together.
6. Krush Groove and "This Is My House"
One of my favorite movies. I don’t know if you’ve seen *Crush Groove*, but if you haven’t, you’ve got to see it. It came out in 1985. These brothers were doing it. I went to the movie theater and lost my mind. I actually talked to Doc last night, and he said he referenced the movie and talked about the scene where you and your brother were arguing.
Yep.
And then you went on stage. I don’t know if you want to share this.
I’ll share it.
With the people. Where did you get the—
This is my motherfucking house. I got it from Eddie Murphy, because Eddie Murphy made the joke about his father saying, “This is my house. If you don’t like it, you can get out.” I used to say that all the time, and Jay said, “You need to say that on stage.” I was like, “What? Say it?” I was like, “This is my motherfucking house!” Then I told Eddie. Eddie was like, “Get the fuck out of here.” I’m like, “No, I got that from you.” I was inspired by Eddie because he lived right in Long Island and he was so close and so funny. That’s where my “motherfucking house” came from.
You came up with this part. There’s been a whole lot of superstars.
Russell came up with that because I was on tour with Kurt and the Fat Boys, which he produced. He produced some Run-DMC, and I mean, I see he was my dad, but you’re competitive with your father. That’s why I’m just so happy I was able to give him his flowers today, because I was a bad kid. I wasn’t a good son for a while.
No, I was a bad father.
Well, he was a bad father, so I just wanted to curse everybody out. I used to come out and say, “This is my house,” and throw mic stands and act crazy. I don’t know where I got it from, but—
It’s a clean stand.
Got it from Kurt, I guess. And Kurt is blood.
You know what else they used to do at the end of the show? They’d—
Throw the mic down.
They used to drop the mic down. I was using every bit of attitude I could figure out.
They’re crushing microphones every night. The sound man comes to me and says, “Kurt, Kurt, please, please, can you talk to them and tell them to stop dropping the mics? They’re breaking the mics every night.”
Right, right. I was—
Tell them to stop cursing!
No, no. I was like, “No, just make them pay for it.”
I paid for it.
You’ll make good money for it.
7. Bob Marley, Prince, and the Jheri Curl
I did what I had to do, but I didn’t stop.
And you were the first hip-hop artist on tours with the big, gigantic Nile Rodgers and all these other big bands, right? How was it being that rap guy on those big tours with all these guys who hadn’t seen rap music?
Marvin Gaye, Bob Marley—he was the big kahuna.
Did you say Bob Marley?
He was on tour. Davy got sick one day, and I was getting ready to set up the turntables to DJ for him at the Garden when he was playing with Bob Marley. That’s how old school and how great Kurt was. He played with the biggest band ever.
Wow. Superstar.
It was all amazing. I tell this all the time to people: It was a dream story. It was a movie, for sure. Meeting Michael Jackson, meeting Prince—I did a photo shoot with Prince. This was right after I did “If I Ruled the World” and *Crush Groove*, so I was a little hot. I set it up with my record company: “Hey, hook up a photo shoot with me and Prince.” I wanted to meet Prince, right? They set it up. We did it at a club down in Memphis, Tennessee, and I’m sitting right next to Prince. There were 3,000 women inside the club and another 2,000 outside who couldn’t get in. Out of all those women who wanted autographs and pictures, you both had that curl.
Prince had that curl. It was fly.
Prince took 2,000 shots. He did it 2,000 times, and I did it about 20.
Kurt, I redid your song. I was so impressed by you and “If I Ruled the World.” That song did something to me. Seeing you do that song in *Crush Groove*—yeah. So many hit records.
So many hit records.
It’s crazy, you’re talking about the Bronx, but at the same time the Bronx was burning, you had a song where you said, “Up in the Bronx, where the people are fresh.”
“AJ Scratch.”
8. "If I Ruled the World" and Lauryn Hill
There was one DJ. You were telling a different story than what the news was telling. You were uplifting the Bronx and giving a message about how beautiful the people really were during the worst times ever. When you did “If I Ruled the World,” I said, “This man said, ‘If I ruled the world.’” This Black man had the audacity to be in a movie on a silver screen, speak to the world, and say, “If I ruled the world.” You did rule the world. So I had to do your song over with Miss Lauryn Hill. How did you like that song, my brother?
Oh my gosh. Wasn’t it incredible?
Honored.
I remember getting a cassette tape at my house. I’d just bought a new car, a new Nissan, one of those little, cheap Nissans, but it had the best sound system you’d ever hear. It was loud. I went to the store and got some new speakers and all that. People would pump up their cars and stuff like that, but this was fidelity. I put the tape in my car and listened to it for about 2 hours, rewinding and rewinding. “What did he say? Oh my gosh, that’s Lauryn Hill!” I kept listening to that song. I got so excited, I called Sony. I called them back and said, “I got the tape. I listened to the tape.” They asked, “So, what did you think?” I said, “I think it is great. And I’m going to tell you this: You put that record out and put normal promotion behind it, and I guarantee it will go double platinum.”
And it did. So, thank you.
9. Paid in Full: The Final Tribute
Thank you, man.
I think that was the last question, because I could sit up here and talk to all 3 of y’all for 3 hours. Shanté, the queen, do you have any last words?
Everyone was wondering what I was going to say when I sat here. I just need y’all to understand this: What you see in front of you right now is a true reflection of what “Paid in Full” is about. “Paid in Full” is not about anybody’s personal feelings about anything that takes place in the industry; it’s about the love of hip-hop and a person’s accomplishments, love, passion, and contribution to hip-hop. As I’ve sat here, and as we’ve all sat here, we’ve heard this man talk about his passion, being there from the beginning and in the fight to make sure hip-hop has become what it is today. So it’s only right that he becomes an honoree of “Paid in Full.” I look over to him right now and say to you, I love you, and congratulations, because you deserve to be paid in full.
Thank you.