Making hip-hop history

Hip-hop is booming in this country, so much so that Telecom has sponsored a national tour by some of our top acts. REBECCA BARRY rides the bus with the boys

When you're travelling the country with Scribe, the Deceptikonz, DJ Sir-Vere, Adeaze, Ill Semantics, Frontline, SAS, three security guards, two tour managers, a merchandiser, a caterer and a runner it makes sense to look after your assets.

That's why the comprehensive hour-by-hour itinerary for the Boost Mobile Hook-Up Tour looks more like it belongs to a school choir than a crew of hip-hop artists.

But misconceptions are common on this tour. When Scribe hopped off the bus in Christchurch, the hotel proprietor took one look at his hoodie and his dark glasses and told the bus driver she wasn't sure about having these types in their parts.

Later she conceded she had never come across a better-behaved group of people.

When they have dropped in to visit school kids on their way, teachers have asked for autographs, too.

And although there have been cases of aggressive crowds - weapons were found on some fans in Gisborne - mostly it has been a hugely successful and incident-free tour.

Organisers Andy Murnane (YDNA) and Danny Leaosavaii (Brotha D), of South Auckland hip-hop label Dawn Raid Entertainment, refer to the three-week, 17-date, 34-man, one-woman cavalcade as "history in the making". On this night, the Rotorua Sports Drome is filling with teenage girls huddled near the front, keeping an eye out for a glimpse of the first DJ, the other eye on the older boys leaning staunchly against the walls.

Ariana, 17, has brought her pre-teen brother Levi because he wanted to see Scribe, although she reckons Mareko is "the dopest MC". A lippy 15-year-old, who goes by the name of Sinister, reckons "New Zealand hip-hop is the shit".

Corinne, a 16-year-old with bleached platinum hair and a cigarette dangling from one hand, is here "cuz I love big black men".

The gig is four hours but fast-paced, with each set lasting no longer than about 20 minutes. Among the big Kiwi tracks - Scribe 2001, Not Many, Stop Drop and Roll - is a predictably high level of American content including 50 Cent, Nerd and Beyonce, as well as backdrop messages citing album sales and a cathartic promotional video.

Murnane makes no apology for the commercial side of his art. Dawn Raid would simply not be the biggest independent label in the country - still going strong after seven years - if it wasn't for their business nous. Why else would a corporate giant such as Telecom's Boost Mobile make such a hefty contribution to the tour?

"We've got to the top of our game in New Zealand," he says, watching proudly as Deceptikonz take the stage. "We're at the point where we've got to think big. Now where can we take it from here? We wanted to give back to the people who have supported our artists. We wanted to give them what they want to hear."

Judging by the piercing screams when Scribe's picture comes up on the backdrop, that becomes clear, despite the record-breaking number one star being signed to another label.

"It would have been stupid not to ask Scribe on this tour," explains Leaosavaii. They asked Nesian Mystik, too, but they were too busy working on their new album to join them.

"It's kind of nerve-racking being the last one [on stage]," Malo Luafutu (Scribe, or Scribbles to his mates) confesses. "But it still blows me away to this day that people are so wild about it.

"I get heaps of crazy teenage fanmail. Like, some 14-year-olds, they write me letters and put their phone numbers and tell me what they like and crazy stuff."

By the end of the gig, a group of possible letter-writers are waiting patiently by the exit, blocking the way to the bus.

"This is nothing," says Ill Semantic MC, Patriarch, as they dodge them like they'd dodge a swarm of bees.

It's only going to get worse at the after-party, where they require a special roped-off area and the might of their security team.

"Oh yeah, there were a few fights," says Frontline MC Con Psy nonchalantly the next day. "It was mostly the girls."

It's 11am and members of Adeaze and Deceptikonz are sitting outside their hotel, discussing the tour member who found a hole in his pants at the club and how everyone pulled at them until they were no longer wearable and he had to leave.

Everyone is in a good mood, albeit hungover, as they slip on to their plush coach, with air-con, a good stereo system and two TVs.

After just two hours' sleep, Mareko, the tour's quietest member, looks like he's been hit by the bus.

Scribe reckons he's starting to lose his voice, the result of balancing this tour with music festival Edge Fest. Last week, he performed four gigs in a day. "It sucks," he says, unconvincingly.

Savage, the Deceptikonz largest MC, collapses across two bus seats just half an hour into the drive to Hamilton, his head back against the window, snoring loudly. "He does this every time," says DJ CXL as Scribe videotapes him. "He does this weird thing where he falls asleep standing up."

Someone lazily yells for the driver to turn up an old soul track on the radio. There's not much else to do for the next couple of hours but listen to music, sleep and chat. They have exhausted all the CDs. They have watched all the movies, some of which have been shockers, says Frontline MC David Dallas (Con Psy.)

Adeaze singer Viiz Tupai breaks into impromptu song: "We're going to Ham-il-toooooon ... " and laughs that he and his brother have turned into a four weddings and a funeral act. "We've done so many weddings this year," he says. "It's good to do a tour like this."


Finally we arrive at Wintec, a polytechnic in Hamilton, where a young blond member of the marketing team, teetering in high heels, leads the party into a lecture theatre full of tech students, high-school pupils and teachers.

It's an ironic predicament - Scribe and Sir-Vere giving speeches about how they bombed at school and the importance of education.

"When I was at school I was terrible at maths and English and now I use them every day," says Sir-Vere. "My careers adviser told me I should take a job at the train station. That's pretty awesome, aye?"

Someone asks Scribe if making a career out of hip-hop in this country is financially viable.

"What does that mean?" he says, half-joking, the room erupting with laughter.

"Okay, I'll tell it like this. I am a walking business. I have three companies. Every time you see me on TV I'm getting paid. It costs $30 to buy a CD. I've sold 60,000. Do the maths."

"Yes, but how much of that do you get?" the girl persists, her peers groaning.

Scribe grins. "Enough to live comfortably. A few weeks ago I bought a Subaru WRX, cash, put it on the table, said, 'Yo, I'll have that one'. And that's the first thing I've ever owned in my life."

They quiz them for another half- hour: "Mareko, how did you get some real ill lyrics in your songs?" "Scribe, what religion are you?" "If yous weren't in the music industry what would you be doing now?"

Brotha D answers the last one. "Personally, I'd probably be heading the biggest scam in New Zealand."

A group of fans - not students but middle-aged teachers and polytech representatives - linger afterwards, hoping to strike up a conversation with the stars.

"It's so good to meet you," says one, grabbing Brotha D's hand as though he's royalty. "I really respect what you guys are doing."

"Thank you for telling the kids that it's okay to make this a business," says another. "It's wonderful to hear you emphasise how you all work together."

Upstairs, over lunch, and now looking a little starstruck, she gushes, "I've been really impressed with how professional you've been."

With precision timing, Viiz bowls a grape through the air and in what seems like slow motion, Todd, the runner, catches it in his mouth.

* The Boost Mobile Hook-Up Tour plays tonight at the St James.