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Sunday, Nov 22, 2009
Jerry "Wonder" Duplessis, Jean's longtime producing partner, arrives at the studio and dispenses with his black leather jacket. Wonder is Jean's first cousin, and Jean -- who really is, by the way, a preacher's son, and really named Wyclef Jean (first name: Nelust) -- has long kept his music in the family. At age 9 Jean moved from Haiti to Brooklyn's Marlborough projects, and then to Newark, where he played guitar in a church band that also included his two sisters and two brothers -- "the Beatles of the church," he calls them. His parents kept close watch on what emerged from their son's radio: Christian rock and country music were acceptable, as was secular music with a philosophical bent. The two Bobs -- Dylan and Marley -- thus made the cut. And Jean has been compared to both: Howard Dean called him "the Bob Dylan of the hip-hop generation," while Jean himself told me that in Haiti, he might as well be Bob Marley himself. As if to fit that bill, Jean's music has, in content and delivery, grown more and more Marley-esque. On "The Preacher's Son," he has a song titled "Rebel Music" and one in which he and Buju Banton seem contenders for the "modern-day Marley" crown.
"Hip-hop today needs the spiritual tone of reggae," Jean says, launching into a jeremiad that befits a preacher's son. "Hip-hop used to be, 'I feel like listening to some conscious music -- so throw on a De La Soul record.' And then, 'I feel like laughing -- throw on "Parents Just Don't Understand." I feel like getting on some gully, gangster vibe -- throw on Kool G Rap. Some universal hip-hop? Run DMC.'" Now, he continues, hip-hop is limited to one subject. Or three: "Cars. Jewelry. Women. Period." He's certainly not immune -- two and a half years ago he began hosting a car show, showcasing his collection of 37 exotic cars.
His gripes would be tedious and trite -- mourning the music of yesteryear has long been a hip-hop sport -- if not for the fact that when it comes to the younger generation, Jean puts his money where his mouth is. To aid children in the U.S. and Haiti, he founded the Wyclef Jean Foundation. He was arrested for protesting New York City's 2002 education budget cuts. He's held countless benefit shows for a slew of charities and recorded social justice songs like "Diallo." He recently told New York Newsday that his new single is inspired by one wish: "I want to help educate [youth] about how important it is to vote."
But attend one of Jean's shows -- as I did in New York, well before our meeting -- and the stale phrase "conscious rapper," which connotes backpacks and soapboxes, never comes to mind. Jean put on a musical revue that merged inspiration and education. He spent most of his stage time ensuring that the under-21 crowd knew music wasn't born yesterday, nor is it solely an American occupation. He rapped a verse or two, then danced salsa to a Celia Cruz tune. He played a decent-sounding riff on his guitar and reminded everyone that African-Americans were rock 'n' roll originators. He shared the stage with sundry guests: reggae artists, gospel singers, b-boy dancers. And throughout, he hopped about the stage gleefully, dreadlocks trailing behind him, as if possessed by the music -- as if to say, "I'm having fun!"
Gearing up to make music, Jean is having fun in the studio today. A batch of men from Guadeloupe have materialized, and one of them is Admiral T: a slender fellow who looks about 19 and is, I'm told, is a reggae star in the French-speaking Caribbean. He's here to record a track with Jean, whose fist he pounds diffidently.
Dispensing with formalities, Jean is soon joking with the men in Creole-tinged English. He bounds toward the stereo and slips in Admiral T's album. As Jean plays and replays Admiral T's French reggae tracks -- "Pull up!" he cries, which is reggae-speak for "that song is so good, we must rewind it!" -- I try to reconcile the reticent young man in front of me with the commanding voice blaring forth from the bass-heavy speakers.
Sufficiently warmed up, Wonder, Jean and Admiral T turn their attention to the task at hand. Wonder cues up a beat; Jean and Admiral T begin formulating lyrics for a verse that's a paean to Caribbean women. It'll be delivered in French Creole, but Jean scribbles lyrics in English and, aided by his French-speaking set, translates.
