Jesus Wept - P.M. Dawn by Michael A. Gonzales


Back in the early 1990s, when so-called “realness” began reigning supreme over rap music, most anyone not subscribing to the sinister outlook of street narratives was perceived as a fake punk just asking for a beat down. The equivalent of young Black kids being teased by their peers for “talking white,” the rules of rap realness kept the music as grimy as possible, caught up in a trick bag of ghetto demands. Real men, according to macho hip-hop mythology, represented and rapped about the streets, their honey booty sweeties and “playing the game” with the precision of hustler.


Unable to be merely content doing their own thing, some artists were determined to tear down any aural agitators who dared not to embrace the soiled imagery of crack infested buildings, pissy projects staircases and dope boys slinging rock on park benches until the break of dawn. While a few bohemian crews, namely De La Soul, A Tribe Called Quest and whoever else was down with the Native Tongues, was given a ghetto pass, perhaps because they socialized at the same spots (Union Square, The World) or recorded at the same studios.


Without a doubt, many hardcore hip-hop fans never really gave P.M. Dawn a chance. With their hippy clothes, surreal lyricism and Dr. Strange personas that reeked of Black mysticism and white witchcraft, P.M. Dawn wasn’t hanging in deathtrap hip-hop clubs, banging out beats on abandoned cars or worried about their baby mamma’s hounding them for child support. Indeed, as Prince Be later explained on the hypnotic single “Reality Used to Be a Friend of Mine” (1992), “What is real, a positive plane, reality and life are not the same.”

Coming from Jersey City, New Jersey, P.M. Dawn were brothers Prince Be (Attel Cordes) and J.C. the Eternal (Jarrett Cordes), who would later call himself DJ Minutemix, who were seen as interlopers from the beginning. Nerdy kids who’d spent more time in the library than on the playground, they went to Catholic school and watched tons of movies. “What is your favorite movie,” I asked Prince Be in 1992. He smiled. “Under a Cherry Moon,” he replied; that answer alone said so much.

Having come of age in the MTV era of the ‘80s, the boys were reared on their share of Michael Jackson, Prince (whose Joni Mitchell endorsement and post-Purple Rain psychedelic period led many young Black men astray), Culture Club, Run-DMC and Cyndi Lauper. Price Be, who handled the bulk of the production and lyric writing, explained the collaborative process with his baby brother. “I’m like a kite and Jarrett keeps me from going too far out there. If I go way out there, I will either fall or keep going.” Their step-daddy, whom was in some way down with Kool and the Gang, introduced them to the music of Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix and Sly & the Family Stone. “But, we were from an urban area, and hip-hop was everywhere. Some of the biggest musical innovations have been coming from hip-hop and we were a witness to that.”

It was 1992, and I was sitting in the Island Records office of their publicist Bill Adler and the telephones were constantly ringing. “When we first started out, we didn’t even want to be rappers, we just wanted to produce, but no one trusted us. So we looked at someone like Quincy Jones, a great producer who started out as an artist; so, we decided to do that.”

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Classic album. Too bad they didn't end up using the original 11 minute intro "Medley Mine Mind". I cannot share this though.

smokeverbs said:

Classic album. Too bad they didn't end up using the original 11 minute intro "Medley Mine Mind". I cannot share this though.

I was trying to respect Be's wishes in not sharing that material.

smokeverbs said:

I was trying to respect Be's wishes in not sharing that material.

It's on youtube.