Cypress Hill: No Sell Out 
Words: Elliott Wilson | Photos: B+
Originally published in ego trip #5, 1995
“Today you’re gonna smoke some good weed with us,” B-Real slyly mumbles as he rolls one of several blunts that would later be smoked during our hour-long conversation. Seated in the kitchen area of their Buzztone Management offices in the heart of West Hollywood, CA, B-Real, his sidekick Sen Dog, and the crew’s unofficial leader DJ Muggs, have just finished polishing off their lunches and are now ready to get down to the business of promoting their third album tentatively titled Temples of Boom.
It’s been four years since High Times magazine favorites Cypress Hill seemingly emerged out of nowhere and shook up the state of rap music with their platinum-plus self-titled debut. A captivating collection of tales of corrupt cops (“Pigs”), gun trigger madness (“Hand on the Pump”) and gang life (”Hole in the Head”), the blunted trio from Los Angeles (not the South Bronx as was commonly believed at the time) brought fresh musical innovation to a stale rap scene. Besides bringing a strong dose of Latin pride – as displayed by Sen’s Spanglish solo forays “Tres Equis” and “Latin Lingo” – Cypress also revealed like no other group before them the pleasures of being buddha blessed. Although Cypress weren’t the first to talk about weed on record they were the first to devote so much of their musical content to it – so much so that it became a large part of the group’s image. The hectic “Light Another” slammed at a feverish pace. But it was the Grant Green-sampled dusted groove “Stoned Is the Way of the Walk” that brought Cypress’ cannabis consumption to the mainstream. And the mainstream embraced the fuck out of it.
Not only did Cypress get suburban love, they also got respect on the street – even the streets of New York, which elevated their first single’s B-side, “How I Could Just Kill a Man,” to underground classic status. But as groups from Run-DMC to Naughty By Nature before them can attest, it’s hard to maintain balance on the tightrope between street credibility and commercial acceptance. Something’s got to give. And in Cypress’ case they fell hard on the commercial side – to the tune of three million units sold of their follow-up, Black Sunday – while their hardcore fan base ignored them, turning to the more rugged sounds of Black Moon and the Wu-Tang Clan.
News Flash!
In the hopes of saving their rapidly deteriorating street credibility Cypress Hill and the entire Soul Assassins family have announced their plans for an African-American fan registration drive. For a limited time only, every Black person who can be convinced to go to one of their concerts will be given $5,000 in cash and prizes of $250 will also be awarded to Caucasian fans showing up in blackface.
- The Source, January 1994
The above caption appeared in a special 1993 Year in Review section in The Source magazine – who after putting Cypress on the cover of its July ’93 issue, and two months later giving Black Sunday a positive, four-mic review, took several shots at the group and its crew in this tongue-in-cheek parody. The incident set off a highly publicized war between Cypress and rap’s most high profile magazine. Cypress felt betrayed by a publication that until that point had been overwhelmingly supportive of the group’s career. The Source’s former editors probably felt that they were speaking for a hip-hop nation that felt it was losing the group to pop music fans. “[The Source] took a cheap shot,” B-Real angrily recalls. “Dissing our audience, which is the same motherfuckers that buy their magazine. If they’re saying most of our audience is white, who do they think is buying their magazine when they see us on the cover? They were dissing their own readers.”
His partner Sen, however, took a more diplomatic approach to the whole affair. “I burned a Source onstage in London. We were having a bad show, shit started fucking up, and some asshole threw a Source onstage. Snoop Dogg was on the cover and I said, ‘No disrespect to homeboy.’ I ripped the cover off and I said, ‘This is what I think of this magazine,’ and I burned the shit out of it.”
Although Cypress’ beef with The Source is somewhat juvenile (they still refuse to appear in the magazine even though the staff personnel has gone through changes) their disagreement represents a bigger issue we have continually faced in the hip-hop community: can successful rap groups sell records without being labeled sell-outs because the mainstream (a/k/a white people) financially supports them? How do you stay real and stay paid? How does one avoid having a lengthy rap career without hitting a crossroad and encountering hip-hop’s dirtiest nine-letter word – crossover?
Are Cypress Hill sell-outs?
“A lot of that [negative] talk is envy. From motherfuckers that won’t say their names,” B-Real maintains.
“Everybody’s a critic, man,” Muggs adds with a disgusted smirk.
“A lot of it be coming from other rappers too,” B-Real points out. “You figure like this: if these motherfuckers were in my position they wouldn’t be talking that shit. What are you gonna turn away people from buying your records, turn ’em away at the shows if they don’t look like a hip-hop motherfucker? How you gonna do that? He pauses, making pinpoint eye contact before continuing.
“It’s music, you make it for everybody. That doesn’t mean you change your fuckin’ format to get [record buyers], but if they accept it the way it is, then fuck it. What’s the problem?”
Although both of Cypress’ albums have stuck to the same musical script – B-Real’s nasal vocals coupled with Sen Dog’s animated back-up support over Muggs’ bluesy, Bomb Squad-inspired tracks – the Cali crew has participated in some high profile outside projects – with Sonic Youth and Pearl Jam, for example – that have given some naysayers ammunition to criticize.
“We always liked rock,” Muggs contends. “My uncle used to be a fuckin’ acid head. He had a room with black lights, velvet posters, lava lamps, beads and a 8-track and he’d be trippin’…”
“We did [rock] projects, why not? Try something new. Run-DMC did it back in the days with Aerosmith – what’s the fucking problem now?” B-Real defends, cutting his man off. “Back then everybody was loving them for that.” He shakes his head. “The politics change in rap as it advances as you go along. I’m glad we did it.”
“After our first record was successful we started doing shows with the Beasties and on the Lollapalooza side stage. From the get-go, we found out that those rock kids were up on our shit already,” Sen recalls. “The same audience that listens to Nirvana, Courtney Love – they like Cypress Hill, Ice Cube, Snoop and Dre.”
Although the group acknowledges that Black Sunday, their biggest seller, wasn’t their finest work, they still don’t feel the need to apologize for the fact that they’re rap’s five million dollar men. The group cites record company pressure to finish recording as soon as possible as the main reason for the album’s lack of groundbreaking material. As terrible as some have proclaimed it, Black Sunday isn’t as bad a record as advertised. It starts off strong with B-Real’s Rita Marley-inspired crooning on “I Wanna Get High,” the T-Ray-produced I Ain’t Goin’ Out Like That,” and the double-sided hit single “Insane in the Brain”/“When the Shit Goes Down.” Unfortunately, from there the album stumbles with cuts like “Lil’ Putos” and “What Goes Around Come Around, Kid” – both well below Muggs’ production standard. The second side of the record is packed with previously released material like “A to the K” and “Hand on the Glock” – further evidence of the Hill’s “we were rushed” assertion.
But, hey, somebody apparently liked it, snatching up the gloomy cemetery-covered release without hesitation. Actually at that time neither record sales, nor fear of the infamous sophomore jinx were the first things on Cypress Hill’s minds. “We were pissed off,” B-Real recounts, “’cause of all the politics in the rap game that you learn as you go along – record companies, managers, promoters. We were like, fuck it, here it is, like it or not.” B-Real bangs on the table lightly for emphasis. He pauses for dramatic effect, “And motherfuckers liked it.” They all laugh.
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Before the platinum hits, world tours, and an unforgettable Woodstock appearance, Louis “B-Real” Freeze and Senen “Sen Dog” Reyes were gang-banging and drug slanging on the tough streets of South Gate, CA. Sen explains: “I ran with the hood three or four years before B-Real came around. But once he got in he got into it deeper than I did.” At the time, Lawrence “DJ Muggs” Muggerad, a Jackson Heights, Queens, NY native, was struggling with the adjustments of living in his new surroundings. “I came out to Cali and they was tripping off me. Back in New York, everybody was wearing Tims, sweatshirts, and jeans. I came here and everybody had khakis, T-shirts and Converse. I moved into a neighborhood with a bunch of esés and they’d always fuck with me. They’d always talk a gang of shit and throw their fuckin’ pinkies in the air until I whooped they ass. Then I became cool. ‘Oh, that’s that white boy from New York.’”
While B-Real and Sen were full-time hustlin’ and part-time rappin’, Muggs – the cool-ass white boy from the Big Apple – was avoiding the street life, working hard to establish himself as a local DJ. His persistence and dedication paid off when Muggs hooked up with two emcees – Bret B and Sean B – and formed a crew called 7A3. Unfortunately, the group’s 1988 Geffen Records release, Coolin’ In Cali, made little noise and the trio quickly disbanded. Muggs, however, remained unfazed by his first strikeout in the rap game. He was the visionary of Cypress Hill, encouraging his homies B-Real and Sen, who he maintained ties with throughout his 7A3 experience, to get off the corner and focus on the music. Sen complied quicker than B-Real, who almost waited too long.
“I got shot,” B-Real blurts out matter-of-factly. “I was being ignorant. You live and learn. I happened to be a lucky motherfucker. After that, I was still out there fucking up, slanging. I didn’t learn from that too much. One day I got popped with some shit that I was slanging and my moms was buggin’ and these motherfuckers [he points to Muggs and Sen] were buggin’. So I was like fuck it, this is the last time I get locked up for some stupid shit. When I got out I almost went back into that phase, but these motherfuckers came in and said, “Yo, why don’t you try to write a song again?” ’Cause I was always rappin’. But it was just a hobby. I was like, “I ain’t gonna get paid from it. I’ll get paid off slanging.” Little did I know that we would eventually be gettin’ paid behind this shit.”
B-Real discovered that you can make a little money in the rap game when he sold Sen’s brother, Mellow Man Ace – who had just gotten signed to Capitol – two songs. Ace’s 1989 debut, Escape From Havana, featured “River Cubano” (produced by then-Grandmixer Muggs) and “Talkapella” – both songs co-written by Louis Freeze.
Since his last album was released in 1992, Ace (not the Masta, the Mellow Man) has lived in relative obscurity, permanently cast in his big brother’s shadow. Sen seems visibly upset about the current relationship between he and his little hermano. “My brother made a decision when we were constructing an organization that he wanted to do his own thang. A lot of people have changed since Cypress blew up. People you wouldn’t think would change, change. Some people treat you different when they you on TV, or in a magazine, or hear your shit bumping in a car next to them at a red light – they trip. You’re both successful and shit, but somebody couldn’t look at it like that. ‘This motherfucker shouldn’t do better than my shit.’ To me it was never a competition thang. We’re doing what we love, brother.”
Sen bounces up in his chair and concludes: “People change, those around you – you might not know who at first, but they’ll come out and show themselves, that they resent your success.”
Another artist Cypress doesn’t seem to currently be on good terms with are their former Soul Assassin cohorts in House of Pain. With his trademark intense glare, Muggs clarifies the current Soul Assassins roster: “The Soul Assassins is us three, Ralph, Son, and T-Bone [Funkdoobiest]. We’ve known each other for years. I’ve known Sondoobie since we was in the ninth grade. Everlast and them just came along. They ain’t down with us no more.”
Why?
“Because they’re superstars,” Muggs blasts. “They don’t represent correctly.”
B-Real jumps in jokingly. “As rock n’ roll peoples put it: creative differences.”
“We don’t have no hatred for them,” Sen adds. “It’s a business decision Muggs and Everlast made with each other and us being part of Muggs’ crew…”
B-Real, right on cue: “… we support that decision all the way.”
What does Muggs mean by ‘representing correctly’?
“Running around with yellow, orange hair. Fuckin’ lookin’ like James Dean. Niggas wearin’ tight leather pants to the clubs out here.” Muggs’ clowning has everyone in stitches. “I don’t even know them motherfuckers. I knew Everlast for five minutes, did his shit. His two boys with ’em, I don’t know them.”
“Everlast is a good-hearted dude,” B-Real diplomatically offers. “Some things we weren’t agreeing with. Some shit was said on a personal level, so we just had to say you go your own way and we’ll be where we at, business-wise you’re on your own right now. I wish them luck.”
On the surface, it seems that Cypress Hill was troubled by certain House of Pain members’ high-profile visibility and what Cypress perceived as rock-star egos. B-Real says, “Everlast – he plays guitar, he’s good too. He loves rap, but it’s secondary. He’d rather be a musician – and Danny Boy too. Lyor [DJ Lethal] – he’s a hip-hopper. The other two would like to be in a band. And rap and bands don’t mix unless you’re the Fugees or the Roots or something like that.”
What prevents Cypress from becoming ‘superstars’?
“’Cause we know we’re not,” they all chime in.
Sen asserts, “Muggs was a DJ and a breaker when I met him, and B was a pop-locker and a breakdancer. I was a pop-locker. That’s the basic fundamentals of hip-hop.”
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Riding in his incredibly fat black Lexus ride on the way to the photo shoot, Muggs gives me a rough-mixed advance taste of the next Cypress Hill album. Out of the five songs I hear, “Throw Your Set in the Air” – the hook for which incidentally sounds surprisingly similar to Ice Cube’s “Friday” (Cube jackin’ for concepts? Nah…) – is arguably the standout. All the tracks seem pretty solid upon first listen. Muggs still has a dark, moody edge to his production, even though the ever-changing sample loops are missing. B-Real is vocally as sharp as ever, and Sen still plays the psychobetafunkdafied cheerleader and occasional second verse wrecker. Although I didn’t pick up on it on the cuts I heard, B-Real promises that the new album will have a new spin on the whole weed content; a new angle he predicts will later be shark-bitten by others. At press time there were also rumors of a possible last-minute collaboration between Cypress and one of their new favorite groups, the Wu-Tang Clan.
B-Real is quick to point out that artists like Wu-Tang, Mobb Deep, and Biggie Smalls are proving that in 1995 you can still be true to hip-hop and sell records. “Keep it real”-talk is bullshit and played out. “You can’t limit yourself. That’s not what life’s about,” B-Real rationalizes. “As long as you don’t sell yourself short or sell yourself out. If you change who you are to try and sell records, you fucked up. But if people accept you for what you are and what you’re doing, so be it. Take advantage of the doors that were kicked the fuck open.”
Sen philosophizes: “You only stay underground for so long. Actually, the underground leads you to a bigger place. If you want to stay underground don’t sign a fuckin’ record contract.”
“’Cause you might blow up,” Muggs adds.
You might blow up.
В первый раз такое вижу.
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