WHERE HIP-HOP LIVES

The New Yorker magazine has an excellent article on the radio hip hop turf war's
Entitiled "WHERE HIP-HOP LIVES."

New Yorker reporter BEN MCGRATH indepth reporting on this fued is eye opening.
WHERE HIP-HOP LIVES

Hot 97’s turf wars.

by BEN MCGRATH

On the last Wednesday in April, a former drug dealer named Jamal Woolard, from the Lafayette Garden housing projects, in Bedford-Stuyvesant, was preparing for his big break. Woolard, whose hip-hop name is Gravy and whose songs include “Drugs, Drugs, Drugs,” “Get Wet, Get Wet,” “I Know, I Know,” and “Murder, Murder,” has for several years been a figure on the Brooklyn underground circuit, cutting mix tapes with better-known performers like Busta Rhymes, Foxy Brown, and 50 Cent. A year and a half ago, he signed a major-label recording deal, with Warner Bros., but outside the bootleg market on Canal Street, where you can collect the latest rap demos and mix tapes (CDs, actually) for five dollars apiece, Gravy remained an unknown.

That Wednesday night, he was due to make an appearance on “Riding with Funkmaster Flex,” a popular radio show on WQHT, otherwise known as Hot 97. He’d been invited by Flex, a veteran d.j. who wields a kingmaking power in the hip-hop industry, to perform in an improvisatory freestyle session with a couple of other rappers, Joell Ortiz and Saigon.

For moral support, Gravy had assembled a sizable entourage—three or four dozen men—and outfitted them with extra-large blue T-shirts that read “Gravy” on the front and, on the back, “Brooklyn ‘Get Up,’ ” a reference to the first single from his forthcoming album. Punctuality is unusual in the rap world, but Gravy and his crew arrived early for his session, and when he presented himself at the Hot 97 studio, on Hudson Street in the West Village, at a quarter to seven, Flex sent him away and told him not to return until ten. Gravy went around the corner to get something to eat.
A couple of hours passed. “Then, after I got a sandwich and came out of the store—da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da! ” Gravy told me later, mimicking the sound of gunfire. “The only thing I remember is falling, and knowing that I’m shot—just don’t know where. It’s not like, when you get shot, ‘Oh, I got shot here.’ Nah. You know you hit, so your mind frame is—you pumped, your adrenaline is going. I reach my hand over, and I see I’m bleeding. I didn’t see the hole. I can’t see behind my ass.”

Gravy is an enormous man—well over six feet, and more than three hundred pounds—with a caboose to match. The bullet, it turned out, had struck him in his left buttock. “Straight clean shot— through the ass, through the thigh,” he said, gently rubbing the front of his pants leg.
Five stories up that night, in the building that houses Hot 97, Amy Hackett, the director of institutional relations at Legal Momentum, a women’s-rights nonprofit, was at her desk, working late. She heard the shots, followed by shouting, and decided to wait another hour or so before attempting to leave. Hackett’s taste in radio tends toward NPR. When she finally ventured downstairs, she saw police lights and yellow tape everywhere, and asked one of the detectives, “Is this another gangster-rap event?”

More here
http://www.newyorker.com/fact/content/articles/060710fa_fact1