Radio Nexus

LL Cool J’s Radio deserves the proverbial rock critic label of classic mainly from a historical point of view as it provides a concise summary of rap of the Old School variety at a time when Old School was reaching its commercial and artistic peak. Indeed, Radio effectively encapsulates the themes and musical stylings that made Old School so vibrant for a time and provides a chronological and musical bridge between the bubbling popularity of Old School in 1983-84 and the megastardom of 1986, namely with Run DMC’s Raising Hell.

Radio is strong, concise, and consistent statement of its time, an album that was rooted deeply in the urban geography of the boroughs of New York, where rap was essential born and nurtured, yet one that seemed to reach beyond its geographic scope and offer a boldness that went well beyond the simple, provincial bravado spewings that so characterized this period of hip hop.

The strength of the artistic work is due in part with the urgency and hunger of the charismatic voice, that of LL Cool J, a teenage phenom of sorts. The chiselled, taut, and semi-angered vocal delivery (contrasted with the more silky R&B style of later LL Cool J years) cuts through the stern minimalist beats and meshes well with rockier edge of the musical production of Rick Rubin, the another key element in the validity of the album. Indeed, Rubin’s production give Radio an overall artistic seriousness and endurance that outsizes novelty or one-trick pony acts of the time (think Fat Boys, Doug E Fresh) and outpaces most albums from contemporary Old School stalwarts. Put simply, Radio has weight and substance: a hearty beef stew versus the beef broth and tomato soup of many other artists of the time.

The greatness of the album should not be overstated, however. Musically, it is clearly a product of its time. While it does foreshadow some of the sound that would make Run DMC’s Raising Hell a tremendous success, certain musical and thematic elements – namely the Rubin influences – would quickly become obnoxiously cliché and overused. In other words, the artistic foresight of Radio ultimately displayed a small time window. Even within the album, there is a notable gulf between the truly classic tracks and some of the rest. While this is not particularly surprising since rap albums of this time were clearly in a middle development stage, these musical setbacks are not easy to forget or overlook.

Despite its dated elements, Radio does display great historical importance as it marks a clear and coherent nexus between the best that came before it and best that was soon to come. With regards to its Old School foundations, Radio is clearly employs the DJ mode of the scratch as one of its key sonic weapons. As for beats, the album does not hesitate to borrow inspiration from Run DMC classics “Hard Times” and “It’s Like That” in songs like “I Can’t Live Without My Radio” (intro and foundation beat) and “You Can’t Dance” (a sped up “It’s Like That” beat). Rubin also seems particularly fond of the rockier elements of DMC first two albums and does not hesitate to use them to a minor degree in Radio and, of course, to a greater degree in his later collaborations with DMC and with The Beastie Boys on tracks like “Brass Monkey”. We see the Old School vibe in the thematic area as well. In numerous tracks, the jocular dis/cut/snap method prevails in several songs. And, “Dear Yvette” provides the humorous, although arguably semi-misogynous track that follows in the footsteps of UTFO’s classic “Roxanne, Roxanne”.

With its Old School roots and identity in tact, Radio effectively branches out and offers several musical statements that would provide a partial blueprint for one of Rick Rubin’s subsequent blockbusters. “Rock the Bells” is an obvious stand-out track thanks in large part to its devastating, arse-shaking polyrhythmic beat – a rhythmic structure that would foreshadow Run DMC’s stunning “Peter Piper” on Raising Hell. The only thing missing from the former track to make almost identical to the latter one is the cowbell rhythm slice, an element that is curiously found in the background of “It’s a Lie”, a track that also seemingly foreshadows another element of DMC’s megahit album. Put simply, “It’s a Lie” sounds a lot like “You Be Illin’” both musically and in terms of the comedic nature of the theme.

So, Radio is reverent and uniquely imaginative and bold at the same time. It is well aware of tradition, yet has a vision for the future. In this way, the oft-used label of “Middle School” for describing LL Cool J is appropriate as early albums like Radio helped cement him as a link between the recent past and fast growing future of rap. Still, I think it is unfair to exclude LL from the Old School moniker, especially when used in highlighting historical importance. Radio is one of the handful of albums that truly approach the classic level – mind you, classic singles abound in the pre 1986 period – and that so precisely summarize the feel and growth of a musical genre that was soon to explode both commercially and artistically. Unfortunately for LL and the artistic longevity of the album, the fast and dynamic changes in the hip hop spectrum, particularly with regards to the development of the album concept, would make LL’s and Radio’s impact on the scene somewhat blunted and short lived.