When Source asked Black Thought, the ferocious, nimble rapper who has fronted the Roots for three decades, for his list of Roots songs that defined his life, he — subconsciously or otherwise — initially submitted tracks by other artists. Picking his own highlights from 11 albums, numerous guest appearances, and one of the most lauded freestyles of the decade turned out to be much harder.
“It was a lot easier for me to think of the 7 songs that soundtracked my life,” he says. “With my own songs, I couldn’t even wrap my head around it.”
Over the course of two hours, though, the loquacious musician born Tariq Trotter dug back nearly 30 years to detail the behind-the-scenes stories behind both the group’s most indelible songs and the deep cuts beloved by hardcore fans. Trotter, 48, co-founded the Roots with drummer Ahmir Thompson (Questlove) after they met at Philadelphia’s High School for the Creative and Performing Arts in 1987. The band grew to include co-founders Malik Abdul-Basit (Malik B.), Trotter’s dexterous counterpoint for more than a decade, and Leonard “Hub” Hubbard, the group’s unassuming, but crucial, bassist for more than 15 years — two key former members who died in the past 18 months. (Rich Nichols, the band’s longtime manager and a pivotal part of the group’s success since its formation, died in 2014.)
Even amid the pandemic, Black Thought remains an overachiever, with projects ranging from the return of a multi-day educational workshop at Carnegie Hall last summer to providing the lyrics and music to the upcoming Black No More, an off-Broadway musical written by 12 Years a Slave screenwriter John Ridley. (Trotter will also make his theatrical acting debut in the show.)
“I’m always going for a level of sociopolitical commentary. That’s the no-brainer element that’s going to be there no matter what,” the rapper says of his song choices, which could double as a commentary on the long arc of his career. “But I also wanted to include a certain degree of vulnerability and just being personal.” Where words like “longevity” are more aspirational than factual for most rappers, the music of Black Thought — from 1993’s Organix to 2020’s Streams of Thought, Vol. 3: Cane & Able — has long transcended trend-hopping.
“That’s what makes the Roots the Roots: There’s no expiration date,” he says. “The shelf life is eternal.”
“There’s Something Goin’ On” (1995)
It spoke to the buzz that we had built with Organix and with our early European tour; just going overseas and doing those initial festivals. “There’s Something Goin’ On” could have just as easily been, “There’s something brewing. There’s something on the horizon.” There was a buzz about this band and about this movement. There’s something eerie about the musicality of the song, just the classic sound of the Fender Rhodes and electric bass. There’s an old soul, kindred spirit sort of energy that you feel coming on in a wave when you hear that music. Listening to it recently, I get the same sort of feeling. It moves you in a different way. That was the initial intention. It was intended to bring about some emotion, some anticipation for what was to follow, so it served its purpose in that way. It was a great palate-cleanser to establish our arrival, so to speak.
“Proceed” (1995)
The chorus was some inside joke. There’s always been lots of running jokes and inside humor in what it is that we do as the Roots. “Proceed” was a chance for us to show our range as musicians. It was something that just felt very different from everything else that was going on out there in the marketplace. But at the same time, it was something that if you were an artist who influenced us and made us want to do what it is that we did, the connection wasn’t lost. It spoke to the commencement of a new beginning.
The way we would record a lot of that music earlier on was freestyle. We were in the legendary Sigma Sound Studios in Philadelphia in a very small room and we were recording onto tape still. A lot of stuff would just be stream of consciousness. Malik and I would just record it as it came to us; as it was going to tape, we would rap the raps, so to speak. “Proceed” was one of those songs.
It was a really accurate display of Malik’s and my dexterity and our chemistry as MCs and how we had our routine down pat from doing so many live performances. Before we got into our official songs, we would just come out and just start freestyling. “Proceed” represents that chemistry at its best.
“Mellow My Man” (1995)
It was a glimpse into how we get down and our world. There were no live hip-hop bands before us. It was very much decided ahead of time that we were going to have the same instrumentation on every song. “Mellow My Man,” again, the lyrical dexterity and how well Malik and I worked together. If “Proceed” was a representation of where my head was at, then “Mellow My Man” was more representative of where Malik’s head was; it was just outlandish and almost zany.
It was just weird shit where you feel like he made a mistake [laughs]. What is that? What did that mean? Why did you say that like that? He would explain it and it’s like, “Oh, shit!” “Mellow My Man” is indicative of his ability to pivot from one idea to another within the same breath. It’s also just an homage to classic hip-hop. We come from the era of, “One, two, one, two, in the place to be, to my man, to my mellow my man.” All the shit that you say that gives you another brief moment to think of the next thing that you’re going to say that actually means something.
“Silent Treatment” (1995)
There was no Amina. This was the beginning of me becoming knowledgeable of how to work in narratives. That was like my earliest storytelling work, and being able to string a story together that makes sense and being able to sell it. Part of being able to sell any story — to make anyone believe anything that you have to say — is you have to believe in yourself. That was part of the process: me convincing myself that this is about a real person. But I’ve met folks throughout my career who are like, “I’m Amina. That song’s about me.” That song took on a life of its own. It was in the tradition of being a great storyteller, telling an adventure à la Slick Rick. But also having that one song on your record that is about girls; the “I Need Love” or I Want You” from LL Cool J.
Most of the emcees who inspired me to do what it is that I do — Rakim, Big Daddy Kane, even Kool G Rap — had that one song that’s about a girl. “Silent Treatment” was in that tradition. When we recorded it, I felt like, “Oh man, I’m singing on this joint. I’m rapping about a girl,” like, “The rappers’ rappers aren’t really going to rock with this.” But everybody loved it. When I met Biggie for the first time, he was singing the “Silent Treatment” chorus and told me, “That’s my favorite shit.”
“What They Do” (1996)
In 1996, the Roots released the video for “What They Do” lampooning various rap clichés and what Questlove called the “champagne culture” of many garish videos. Notorious B.I.G. and the group had had a near-falling out two years before, when the band misheard Biggie’s “invisible bully like the Gooch” line as “…the Roots.” (Biggie was, in fact, a huge fan.) Now, Biggie felt the group was mocking his video for “One More Chance” and commented on the quasi-beef to The Source. Questlove offered to write an op-ed for the magazine, explaining how the whole thing was a big misunderstanding. Biggie, however, was killed the next day.
There’s nothing that I could have done differently other than have been more informed. Maybe if I watched videos more at the time, I would have known while we were shooting the video for “What They Do,” that there was a particular scene that almost mirrored a specific scene from a Biggie video. It goes back to the rapport that we had from meeting each other, with him essentially co-signing us. When we did this satire video, that was coming from a place of light humor and making fun of something that everyone was doing at the time and all these different rap video stereotypes, it was funny.
Even Biggie found it funny, but I think his feelings were legitimately hurt. “Out of all the shit that you guys are doing that’s so general, why single me out and do something that was reflective of my video specifically, as if I had ever did anything to diss the Roots. I’ve only shown you love.” It was a case of “Who’s on First.” I had no idea at the time that there was a part that looked like Biggie’s video. We were huge Biggie fans; It was a mutual respect and appreciation for one’s craft.
“The Next Movement” (1999)
All these different recording studios that we frequented throughout our career were essentially church. It was about just getting the energy from the brick and mortar. We were coming up to New York now to record at [Electric Lady]. We were working in the studio with the people who inspired us to do what we did. We were working with Bob Power. A Tribe Called Quest would be in the next room, or Busta Rhymes or De La Soul or Mobb Deep. Nas is down the hall. So there was a certain creative energy that we had working in New York that was just very different than being at home.
I remember this one trip we went up to record and Kamal just started playing this crazy shit. I think we may have been tripping on mushrooms at the time. We used to make mushroom tea, and we’d drink the tea because it was more of a mellow way to do it if you’re going to also smoke a thousand blunts. We were probably on mushrooms at the time, and we came up with “The Next Movement” and “100% Dundee.”
I’m more the straight-edge now, but throughout our career, I lived the rock & roll and hip-hop lifestyle more than the others. And I did everything that came with it. [Laughs] Ahmir has always had to maintain the pocket. It’s not always fun to be the drummer; if the drummer is drunk or high, then the music is going to suffer. During those days, he wouldn’t have partaken in anything.
“The Seed 2.0” (2002)
This one was polarizing. Everything that “You Got Me” was for us stateside, “The Seed” was on a worldwide level that catapulted us into a glimpse of pop-rock stardom in Europe. It was no easy feat to take something that essentially wasn’t broken and already an amazing song and to add onto it in an organic way without bastardizing what Cody Chesnutt already had.
We were opening for Red Hot Chili Peppers in Italy and this crowd was not a Roots audience. We’re killin’ it as we always do, and they were booing the fuck out of us, throwing bottles onstage and doing every Italian hand gesture. Flea had to come out so they would chill. But when we went into “The Seed,” they were like, “Fuck the Chili Peppers.” [Laughs] Game over. “Oh, these guys sing that song, we had no idea.” They went crazy, and that’s what it was like for us on the strength of that song in Europe. It was police escorts when the plane lands like we’re the fucking Beatles.
