Hip Hop Culture – Bitch Flicks

Sheila E.’s Agency as an Artist in ‘Krush Groove’ and Beyond

But Sheila E. represents a woman’s creative musical power in an early hip hop film dominated by male artists. … As we consider hip hop’s presence in U.S. films and documentaries spanning the globe, it is also reasonable to consider that Sheila E. has one of the biggest roles for a woman that was written in the spate of films that began portraying hip hop culture.

This guest post written by Tara Betts appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s.

The film Krush Groove opens with rap group Run–D.M.C. (Joseph “Run” Simmons, Darryl “D.M.C.” McDaniels, and Jason “Jam Master Jay” Mizell) recording “King of Rock” in a makeshift studio for producers Rick Rubin (as Rick), Kurtis Blow (playing himself, as did most of the musicians in the film), and Blair Underwood (as Russell Walker), loosely based on Russell Simmons’ life. Two quiet girls listen in the studio, and the other group featured in the opening as the credits roll include The Fat Boys featuring the late Darren Robinson, also known as Human Beatbox. The Fat Boys (called The Disco Three here) portray high school students who dream of being famous rappers. Women and girls had minor roles or silent roles in the background. But one woman who received top billing and appeared on the posters in this 1985 film was none other than singer, drummer, and percussionist Sheila E., playing herself in the film. Shortly after drumming during Purple Rain with friend and collaborator Prince, the success of Sheila E.’s first single and album The Glamorous Life and the single “The Belle of St. Mark” helped her segue into her role in Krush Groove.

“The Love Bizarre” is heard before Run DMC even enters the tiny club called Disco Fever, where snippets of “King of Rock” are shot and The Disco Three dream of getting onstage. Sheila E.’s flyness come off with a singular style — asymmetrical short hair with bleached tips and gold coins dangling from her ears, her strings of pearls, a shimmery orange jacket with padded shoulders, and a black fingerless glove. She has a magnetic presence and controls the stage; she sings on her back and slides along the length of the stage, then pops back up to sing the chorus with a big-haired band member mouthing Prince’s voice on the chorus of “A Love Bizarre.” In the meantime, Russell (Blair Underwood) and Run are both watching Sheila. She ends the performance with plucking a chord or two and walks offstage to confront her manager about getting her better gigs. Sheila E. asserting herself here is one of several scenes where she speaks her mind and acts with agency on her own behalf. Of course, a snippet of the Force MDs’ song “Tender Love” foreshadows the romantic interest between Russell and Sheila E. But Sheila E. represents a woman’s creative musical power in an early hip hop film dominated by male artists.

Sheila E. practices what becomes the song “Holly Rock” later in the film. While Run and Darryl sit on the couch, Sheila stops playing to tell Run to rehearse and stop ordering shell toe Adidas. She is not one of the background vocalists on either side of Kurtis Blow when he raps “If I Ruled the World” at a scene in a club. When Sheila E. joins Blow and Run–D.M.C. onstage at The Beverly, their wardrobe takes cues from Prince’s Edwardian style suits, but the more significant element is how Sheila E. occupies the entire stage. She plays timbales, throws her drumsticks in the air and catches them, sings while prancing from one end of the stage to the other, and works the microphone while effortlessly singing and rapping.

When Run and Darryl leave Krush Groove Records, Russell looks to sign Sheila E. as part of his last ditch efforts to pay back a loan shark. Later, after Sheila and Russell fall for each other, Sheila slaps Run for cursing and bashing her for having sex with Russell. She insists on going to help Russell when the loan shark sends bodyguards to the Krush Groove office/college dorm room. Sheila E.’s reprimand convinces Run to help defend his brother. In the closing scene at Disco Fever, The Fat Boys, Run–D.M.C., Kurtis Blow, all line the stage and kick a verse. Sheila rhymes on par with any of her counterparts, and it becomes evident that her rapping becomes a recurring skill in later songs like Prince’s “Beautiful Night.”

Sheila E.’s prowess with words is only part of what makes her role distinct in this film. She stands out because she is a skillful musician who mastered various instruments and she is not necessarily a rapper in a film dominated by the then successful Run–D.M.C., a teenage LL Cool J, pop sensation New Edition, the Beastie Boys, two members of the R & B group Full Force playing bodyguards, and the future Uptown Records founder and eventual president and CEO of Motown Records Andre Harrell as half of the rap duo Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.

Sheila E. grew up surrounded by significant musicians: her percussionist father Pete Escovedo; her uncle singer and songwriter Alejandro Escovedo, her uncle The Dragons frontman Mario Escovedo, her uncle Javier Escovedo, who founded the Zeros; her uncle percussionist Coke Escovedo, who performed in Santana and started his own band; and her godfather Tito Puente, a legend of mambo and Latin jazz percussion, associated with Fania Records and movies like The Mambo Kings and Calle 54. As a child surrounded by these influential musicians, it is not surprising that she honed her talents and eventually told Prince what she was making on tours with her father and other musicians, to which he replied, “Okay, I can’t afford you.”

After starring in Krush Groove, Sheila E. recorded and released Romance 1600. In 1987, Sheila E. recorded a self-titled album on Paisley Park Records that included the U.S. singles “Hold Me” and “Koo Koo.” The video for “Koo Koo” featured dancer Cat Glover and both women later appeared in the live concert movie Sign o’ the Times as members of the band.

As we consider hip hop’s presence in U.S. films and documentaries spanning the globe, it is also reasonable to consider that Sheila E. has one of the biggest roles for a woman that was written in the spate of films that began portraying hip hop culture. In addition to this, she starred in a musical vehicle outside of Prince’s poetic universe. Sheila E. was not in Purple Rain with singers/actresses Apollonia Kotero or Jill Jones, nor did she appear in Under the Cherry Moon (1986) where Kristin Scott-Thomas plays a wealthy romantic interest. Sheila did not require a hero like martial arts actor Taimak as Leroy Green opposite Laura Charles (portrayed by singer Vanity, Prince’s partner and collaborator) in The Last Dragon (1985) either.

Earlier hip hop films included the 1983 classic Wild Style with graffiti artist Lady Pink as Lee Quiñones’ love interest and Stan Lathan’s 1984 film Beat Street, which billed Rae Dawn Chong as its most well-known star. Chong’s character Tracy Carlson offers a television opportunity to DJ Kenny Kirkland, his breakdancing brother Lee, and the graffiti writer Ramon, but she is not necessarily the main character driving the plot of the film. Lucinda Dickey, a former Solid Gold dancer who was one of the main characters in Breakin’ (1984) and she reprises her role as Kelly/Special K in Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo (1984). But her role as a classically trained dancer who went to learn from Ozone (Adolfo “Shabba-Doo” Quiñones) and Turbo (Michael “Boogaloo Shrimp” Chambers), both stigmatized as “street dancers,” offers a subtle critique against classist snobbery while still excluding women of color, even after Jennifer Beal’s stunning audition scene in the 1983 Flashdance where none other than Rock Steady Crew’s Crazy Legs acted as Beals’ breakdancing stunt double (in addition to stunt doubles dancer Marine Jahan and gymnast Sharon Shapiro).

Although Sheila E.’s notoriety skyrocketed during the 1980s, she continued in the subsequent decades to open musical doors as a musician. She was a bandleader on “The Arsenio Hall Show” and Magic Johnson’s short-lived “The Magic Show.” She released four albums after the 1987 release Sheila E. This Afro-Latinx percussionist continues to tour, perform at festivals, and share billing with notable musicians in various genres. Krush Groove was one place that showcased her talents just outside Prince’s umbrella. In 2014, she published a memoir The Beat of My Own Drum. Lately, she has been speaking with Prince’s surviving band members and coordinating events. Sheila E. also appeared in the BET tribute to Prince, along with The Roots, Bilal, Erykah Badu, Jennifer Hudson, Stevie Wonder, and Janelle Monae. Sheila E. led the electric finale with dancer and choreographer Mayte Garcia (and Prince’s ex-wife) and Jerome Benton dancing with a full crew of dancers and musicians. Sheila E. continues to captivate, entertain, and inspire audiences.

Tara Betts is the author of two full-length poetry collections Break the Habit and Arc & Hue. She is also the author of the chapbooks 7 x 7: kwansabas (Backbone Press, 2015), the upcoming Never Been Lois Lane (dancing girl press, 2016), and the libretto THE GREATEST!: An Homage to Muhammad Ali (Argus House/Winged City Press, 2013). Tara’s writing has appeared in The Source, XXL, Black Radio Exclusive, Essence, NYLON, and the hip hop-inspired anthology The Break Beat Poets.

‘Straight Outta Compton’: N.W.A. as Messenger, Myth, and Erasure

And I don’t buy the excuse that Gray gives by calling these women story criticisms “side stories.” He showed Snoop Dogg in the film twice, and even had Tupac Shakur ( A.k.a. 2Pac) in a scene. Wouldn’t they be considered side stories too? Also, the movie is already long, so adding three minutes just to give us a glimpse of Yo-Yo with Cube, or a kick ass scene with The Lady of Rage in the sound booth rapping “Afro Puffs” with Snoop couldn’t hurt the narrative flow or length. It would take so little to show the world that women were there and are a part of N.W.A.’s legacy.

Straight Outta Compton poster featuring actors and original members of N.W.A. — *Straight Outta Compton* poster featuring actors and original members of N.W.A.

“To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all of the time” – James Baldwin

“To be a woman who loves hip hop at times is to be in love with your abuser. Because the music was and is that. And yet the culture is ours.” – Ava DuVernay after viewing Straight Outta Compton

To love hip hop as a woman, and as a Black woman in particular, is to wage a continuous battle of cognitive dissonance. One can love the beats and artistry of music production, head bob with the best of them while marveling at the creative lexicon spit over a mic, while also cringing at the ubiquitous violence, sexism, misogyny, and mysogynoir. This has always been the burden of women who love rap. And yet we still listen and participate in all its incarnations as a culture. It has redefined music, dance, art, and fashion.

I remember my middle sister bringing home her first N.W.A. album by Ruthless Records. I was already knee deep into East Coast rap, and was initially put off by the antagonism towards women. When the Straight Outta Compton album dropped, I heard it on full blast everywhere when visiting relatives in Los Angeles. I was a fan of Ice Cube’s vocal confidence and that indignant anger he carried in all his rhymes. When he went solo, I used to laugh and marvel at his storytelling skills on his albums. They were at times hyperbolic performative masculinity comedies to me. Street poetry as hardcore storytelling.

Top: Ice Cube, Director F. Gary Gray and Dr. Dre. Below: O'Shea Jackson Jr., Jason Mitchell, and Corey Hawkins. — Top: Ice Cube, Director F. Gary Gray and Dr. Dre.
Below: O’Shea Jackson Jr., Jason Mitchell, and Corey Hawkins.

I was young, but smart enough to know that flinging terms like “bitches” and “hoes” was a reflection of male rappers’ insecurities with women, and the learned behavior of patriarchy. Rappers were no more, sexist, violent, or homophobic than America as a whole. But it was annoying to watch teen boys take on the negative mannerisms and posturing of their new rap Gods. Gangster rap blew up, and the only issues I had with the growth of that subgenre of rap is that it dominated everything. Instead of hearing a variety of rap styles and unique tall tales on wax and cassette, everybody wanted to be “hard” and a thug. Rap became boring. I had to leave for a minute to enjoy Fishbone, Living Colour, and the new music coming from the Black British R&B scene.

I remember the N.W.A. split, the bitter rivalry, the first time I heard Ice Cube’s “No Vaseline,” the shock of the Dee Barnes‘ assault (and others like Michel’le Toussaint) and how I could never be comfortable with Dr. Dre ever again, even though his beats were always banging with his work on Death Row Records. I remember the shock of Eazy-E’s death from Aids. Heck, I was blasting “Fuck Tha Police” when the Rodney King verdict became the L.A. Uprising. Truth be told, I still blast it now with the current policing problems we face today. Shit ain’t changed. There was just so much rich drama and bad blood surrounding the rise and demise of N.W.A, I was not surprised that a Hollywood studio decided to tell their story with Straight Outta Compton. The movie is a myth-making bromance steeped in the erasure (and hierarchal colorism—the casting call was racist colorism at its worst) of Black women in the rap game. It also highlights the historic and systemic law enforcement aggressions Black people still face.

It’s also one of the best music biopics you’ll see in awhile.

I went to see it three times. Once at the first showing it opened on Friday with only five people in the audience. (It was early in the morning.) My second viewing was with my family and friends in a predominately Black and Mexican audience. The third time was in a rich white neighborhood where I was the only Black person in the audience. Don’t let Hollywood fool you. A culturally diverse audience with women representing many of the viewers went to see this film. I predicted on its second day that it would make at least $60 million dollars opening weekend. It did. It’s an origin story, a coming-of-age tale, a historic snapshot, and a rare glimpse into Black male friendships on the come up.

Let’s be real: Ice Cube, Dr. Dre (and Eazy-E’s widow Tomica Woods-Wright) are executive producers, so there is bound to be a watering down of controversial or less than flattering portrayals of their legacy. With that said, Straight Outta Compton’s greatest strength (besides a slamming soundtrack) lies in the casting of its key players. It really helps that they are all relatively unknowns, and the two standout s in particular are Jason Mitchell (Eazy-E), and Ice Cube’s spitting image, and real-life son, O’Shea Jackson Jr. (Ice Cube). These two are the nucleus of the film, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if the film would’ve been as good to me if Jackson hadn’t been cast to play his own father. It’s such a meta film viewing experience to see Jackson’s version of Ice Cube telling a record executive that he’s about to have a baby (which was himself at that time). Jackson brings a low-key urgency to Cube’s persona within the movie version of the group’s dynamic. It is a wonderful contrast to Jason Mitchell’s vulnerable and playful depiction of Eazy-E.

O'Shea Jackson Jr. playing his father, Ice Cube. So meta. — O’Shea Jackson Jr. playing his father, Ice Cube.

The synergy of all the actors pop, and you find yourself rooting for their success. It’s typical rags to riches lore, and the plot hums along despite the two and a half hour length. In real life they may have been considered the World’s Most Dangerous Group, but in the soft focus light of film, there is no complexity or hard edges. Eazy-E was a drug dealer, but he’s the nicest drug dealer you’ll ever meet. He’ll act hard when he’s jammed up, probably compensating for his small frame, but that’s about it. Cube is the family man, fighting to earn his fair share of profits. Dre (Corey Hawkins) just wants to make music and hates having to choose between homeboys when the inevitable group break-up happens. The cops may be external antagonists in the film, constantly reminding us that Black men need to be kept down just for being Black and breathing, but it’s the in-fighting over money that is the root antagonist. Many a group has broken up over big egos and non-paydays.

DJ Yella (Neil Brown Jr.) and the obligatory booty shots.

Women in the film, not surprisingly, play small tertiary rolls as doting mothers, comforting wives/girlfriends, and of course playthings to be used and disposed of immediately. There’s the obligatory pool parties with plenty of low angle male gaze booty shots, the after parties in hotels and tour buses with groupies who are tossed aside, and locked out of rooms naked. It is what it is. A film made by men who want to see T and A and think it’s funny to use women as punchlines. Typical. A drawback of the film is the erasure of women artists who were part of the success of Ruthless Records and Death Row Records. Women like the rap group J.J. Fad (who performed at my highschool back in the day), whose album Ruthless Records released first, to great success, which solidified the company as a legitimate business in the eyes of the music industry. Their album paved the way for the Straight Outta Compton album to come through blazing. These ladies opened the door, but there is no mention of them. Nor is Yo-Yo who rapped with Ice Cube with his Lench Mob Crew, or The Lady of Rage (one of the best lyricists to represent the Death Row crew).

Missing from the story, the women of West Coast rap, Yo-Yo and The Lady of Rage.

Both the screenwriter Jonathan Herman and director F. Gary Gray have made comments regarding the lack of visibility and the importance of the women to the accurate portrayal of the group (F. Gary Gray’s remarks in this one was disappointing). In a recent Rolling Stone interview, Ice Cube said some things that made me question why he still holds onto an outdated binary of women and sexual agency.

As a screenwriter, I must concede that I understand that a movie can’t have everyone and everything in it. To get everything in would require this to become an HBO/Showtime mini-series (which would be dope as hell). The take on the group this time around is just focused on the group. Juggling several narrative/character strings is difficult, and Herman does a good job of helping us track the core group. Like I said, I get this. It keeps the script tight and the plot moving. But it lessens the power of the story in the end.

By tabling the real-life misogyny for a less complicated narrative that would force people to see the group as flawed humans like everyone else, we get a sanitized version that doesn’t interrupt the audience’s investment in their likeability. There is no complexity to them, and therefore no messiness. This lack of complexity in showing how patriarchal police brutality, American racism/sexism/classism create self-hate in Black men that is then projected onto Black women and their rap lyrics, keeps Straight Outta Compton from being a great film classic. And I don’t buy the excuse that Gray gives by calling these women story criticisms “side stories.” He showed Snoop Dogg in the film twice, and even had Tupac Shakur ( A.k.a. 2Pac) in a scene. Wouldn’t they be considered side stories too? Also, the movie is already long, so adding three minutes just to give us a glimpse of Yo-Yo with Cube, or a kick ass scene with The Lady of Rage in the sound booth rapping “Afro Puffs” with Snoop couldn’t hurt the narrative flow or length. It would take so little to show the world that women were there and are a part of N.W.A.’s legacy. Scenes with Dre’s future wife could’ve been cut to make room for women in the rap game. Those scenes added nothing to the story.

Ice Cube (O'Shea Jackson Jr.) facing everyday police harassment in Compton. — Ice Cube (O’Shea Jackson Jr.) facing everyday police harassment in Compton.

L.A. Uprising after the Rodney King verdict. The film shows the relevance of N.W.A.'s music and real life police aggression. — L.A. Uprising after the Rodney King verdict. The film shows the relevance of N.W.A.’s music and real life police aggression.

With the strength of its weekend haul, their viral marketing campaign, and great word of mouth, Straight Outta Compton should be in the top five successful films of 2015. I doubt if it will be nominated for any major awards because there are no slaves, maids, hookers or overly downtrodden Black people. (There may be director award nomination nods for Gray, maybe even screenwriting noms for Herman, but I don’t see them winning because of Hollywood’s notorious lack of diversity in the Academy and other big time film awards members.) This is a movie about young Black men with odds against them turning themselves into iconic rap legends. All because a young drug dealer took a chance on some friends who had talent, and invested in the possibility of being more than what they were, and more than what people thought them capable of. It’s a classic Horatio Alger story, with dynamic young actors bringing life to the fabled history of West Coast Rap. It does what it is supposed to do: entertain. Once again, I will live through my cognitive dissonance, lament not seeing my girls Yo-Yo and Rage, but admire the music, nostalgia and history Straight Outta Compton brings to the masses. It’s a film with heart and soul, not perfect or completely honest with itself, but so worth the viewing.