Zeebra Discusses the '90s Hip Hop Scene That Made Him

The English translation of a 2017 Fuze interview with rapper Zeebra about him growing up with hip hop

This story was originally published for Fuze on Nov. 30, 2017. The interview was conducted and written by writer Shiho Watanabe. The translation was done by me as supplementary reading material for my newsletter This Side of Japan. You can check out back issues here. Please give credit when sharing. Thank you.

Zeebra debuted in 1995 with rap unit King Giddra and their album, Sora Kara No Chikara, and he released great solo albums like The Rhyme Animal and Based on a True Story. He’s active not just in music, but he’s also a leader in recent movements to defend club and club culture and a figure who expanded the hip-hop scene as an activist since the ‘90s. We had a great, lively conversation with the rapper, who experienced the ‘90s hip hop scene in the streets such as Roppongi and Shibuya. It’s as though Zeebra mapped the entire hip hop scene in the ‘90s in this valuable story.

Before the ‘90s: Japan’s Struggle to Embrace Hip Hop in the ‘80s

I want to ask you about the scene in the ‘90s for our main conversation, but from the late ‘80s through the ‘90s was when you started to become a rapper and also when hip-hop culture in America was getting really exciting. How do you see the scene looking back at those years?

Zeebra: First of all, people were saying “hip hop will be over tomorrow” in the ‘80s [laughs]. It was a time when people thought that hip hop wouldn’t be around by next year.

That it’s just a fad.

Zeebra: Right. Like it was going to be over in an instant. Because with hip-hop culture, raps aren’t really songs, and you just graffiti all over. Breaking is acrobatic, and DJs physically mess with the record. Regular people would think “stop fooling around.” Vinyl records back then, people would treat them like this. *motions placing a record on a player using both hands* The act of scratching a record back and forth in itself looked strange, so I looked like a weirdo from the beginning back then.

Oh, I see.

Zeebra: A few people around me liked it so it was that, but the rest of the world would think, “why does he have a clock around his neck?”

Like Flava Flav (of Public Enemy).

Zeebra: “Why is he wearing track suits?” or things like that. When I was 19, I actually had social anxiety.

That’s surprising.

Zeebra: I only talked to people who liked hip hop, so I couldn’t talk to anyone else. I also had some other jobs around then, and I would get red even though I had to do customer service. I was able to do the job after pushing myself. I was away from the real world that much.

I heard you knew older people associated with disco, but did hip hop feel foreign to people in the disco scene?

Zeebra: I was often told, “you look so dirty.” Back then, the discos in Roppongi wouldn’t let you in if you’re not dressed nice, and you can’t get in with jeans and sneakers. I felt there was no place for me there, and so I moved to Shibuya. At that time, Shibuya didn’t have clubs and the discos were lame because it was filled with people from outside the prefecture. So I didn’t go to the discos and just hung out around the city. There was nothing much to do at midnight in Shibuya, but the Center Gai would be the only place with lights on, so I would wander there.

Was that in the ‘90s?

Zeebra: No, this was around ‘85, ‘86.

I think this also goes into the beginning of the ‘90s, but there were crews like Boogie Down Productions and the Native Tongues that arrived in the scene. They have an image of a more conscious hip hop, but how did you start approaching artists like them?

Zeebra: I started to define my identity from them, I think. I first started to like hip hop as “music” and “culture,” but I realized hip hop that’s mainstream in America was starting to talk more specifically about Black people as it grew more Afrocentric. And I started to feel that I couldn’t really insert myself in this. I would hit a wall, and there was this new conflict in me wondering, “is what I’m doing just an imitation of Black people? But I don’t think it’s something that can be summed up as just an imitation.” That would start to get more redefined inside of me.

For example, about societal issues in America, when I hear about the crack problem, I would start to think, well, what are the issues here in Japan? There are kids who get addicted to amphetamine, and we don’t have guns, but there are people who carry knives. I graduated from Teams [in reference to the furyo group Teamers] pretty early around first year of high school, so it was comparatively a peaceful time, but there was a time when someone would bring like a chainsaw.

If I think of it like that, I felt that we carry similar problems even if we lived in different places. When African Americans were preaching the Rastafari movement, how should the Japanese people think of this? Maybe there is a thinking that all our ancestors are from Africa. There’s a reason why African Americans take a stand on Afrocentrism. It’s from their background of slavery and that they’re forced to live a life not for them. When I thought about what that is like for us, when Japan lost the War and the laws were made by the American forces, white supremacy looked absolute. That’s not independence at all. So I was able to trace those feelings of being controlled by another country.

It was inspiring to know that that experience motivated you to start rapping.

Zeebra: When I first started, it just felt like I tried rapping out just to see. It was around the time when DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince put out “Parents Just Don’t Understand.” I just wanted to try it when I was 16. I once wrote an English rap that kind of imitated that song. I didn’t even know about rhyming back then. But I did have this image of rappers repeating two similar sounds. So in the end, maybe I was rhyming in like two or three different places [laughs].

That sounds like a pretty fresh episode, to know that you were very far from rhyming.

Zeebra: After that, I properly learned about rhyming. “Oh! So it’s like that! Everything has a rhyme. I get it now!” When I first wrote lyrics with a rhyme was about 17 years old, and that’s when I first went to New York.

Going to New York only at 17.

Zeebra: I just loved hip hop so much, and I really wanted to see what it looked like at least once. I had a friend who went to school there, so I stayed there for about a month and a half. At the time, I was first broken down by New York as a place.

New York looks different now especially compared to the late ‘80s.

Zeebra: It wasn’t too safe. After 11 p.m., crack heads and the homeless would just smoke crack in the open even on Broadway. It was crazy. Even in those circumstances, KRS-One would be on DJ Red Alert’s radio show telling people to join him for a march he was doing for the homeless. I wanted to go if I can meet my favorite rapper, and I thought I could see a bunch of my favorite rappers if I went to the demonstration. Being homeless before, KRS-One really had leadership. I think they blocked 5th Avenue and started the demonstration there, but it wouldn’t start right away. All the sudden a riled-up KRS-One would say “let’s get started!” or whatever and we would start walking with like 6 or 7 people from the BDP.

Was there any sound playing?

Zeebra: Nothing. Just us saying “home for homeless!” After I thought they were already gone, I saw about 3 teenage Black kids run after KRS-One, so I ran after him too. I was with the Japanese friend who lived there, we followed the crowd shouting “home for homeless!” together, and I couldn’t wrap my head around what was exactly going on.

It seemed very historical.

Zeebra: Back then in Japan, the kind of demonstrations that young people would do was only from the student activism of the past, so we didn’t have any experience. Manhattan where we did our demonstration was still the heart of the world’s culture. We blocked that road to spread the message. And to think hip hop got behind it as the center of it all, I was amazed. When I thought that I also wanted to do this in Japan was the moment I wanted to take rap seriously.

The Start of the ‘90s and the Rise of Hip Hop

Now, right as the ‘90s was starting, you started to gain experience in your career as a rapper, and you formed King Giddra after meeting DJ Oasis and K Dub Shine. I think until then rappers like KRS-One, the Fresh Prince and Rakim were your legends or rappers that you looked up to. But as you started your career in the ‘90s, people that came after Rakim like Nas and Jay Z were like your peers in a way. Did you have this feeling you were trying to take the same mantle as the other American rappers?

Zeebra: Of course. I did think about how some of these guys are the same age as me. Before that, American rappers were more like older brothers, so it felt like I was being carried by their backs. But Biggie is a year younger than me, Snoop, 2Pac and Method Man are the same age as me, and they all made a mark from the early to mid ‘90s. The one that really ate me up was when Nas, who is 2 years younger, released Illmatic in ‘94. K Dub Shine lived in Oakland around that time, and it dropped when I was visiting Oakland. Of course, I went to the record store to buy the album on release day right as the doors opened.

Was there already hype in Tokyo that there’s this new hot rapper Nas who is going to drop a debut album? Was that because of his verse on Main Source’s “Live at the BBQ”?

Zeebra: That too, and before that, it got 5 Mics on The Source, so it was a riot before it got released. And the 12 inches for “It Ain’t Hard to Tell” and “Halftime” were already out. When I played the album right after I bought it, the intro had a scene from Wild Style. I was so hyped, remembering it now can make me cry. That scene was when the main character Zoro’s brother comes home after serving in the military. Zoro’s room is full of graffiti, and he goes, “what are you doing? I fought for the country, and you’re at home doing this?” Zoro says, “No, there’s this,” and then Illmatic starts. I got teary telling you this [laughs]. Nas and I probably both saw Wild Style at the start of our teens and got blown away. So really, Nas and I are of the same generation. We saw the same things around the same time. That’s how it felt.

You released Sora Kara No Chikara as King Giddra in ‘95. Did you have a thought or a vision to not only translate the words of American hip hop but also its ideas and styles?

Zeebra: During the time I did King Giddra, I thought that’s what I had to do. I got into hip hop through breaking, but I DJ’ed for a long time, so I would approach it as a DJ even from the beginning. I don’t want to hear just one artist, I want to listen to a lot of different types. And you need B-list, C-list, just different kind of characters. I loved it all together that much, so I really wanted hip hop to become this normal thing in Japan. I think it was more that we needed to create a reason for us to be able to do hip hop.

And there’s also the time. The message was the base for ‘80s hip hop, but as it went on in the ‘90s, around ‘92 in particular, hip hop grew more street and got rougher. Before that, it was more “the streets are rough, so let’s straighten it out with hip hop.” But it changed from ‘92, ‘93. Around then, rough wasn’t with guns but baseball bats like Naughty by Nature or with fists, like a more young-boys type of roughness. Not about criminals or violence but a scrappy kind of fighting. I thought that was great. We’re all boys, so what’s wrong with a little fight? The group of that time was like Onyx with their moshing. And then Wu-Tang arrived.

From “Protect Ya Neck.”

Zeebra: Back then, Wu-Tang looked maybe Middle Eastern with wrapping on their faces. Ghostface covered his face, I think, because he was wanted for a crime. But he would be in a video, and they had to hide his face. What was exciting around that time was around ‘93 or ‘94, there was this convention called the New Music Seminar with not just hip hop but other club music. When I saw a show there, suddenly there was this guy pulling this girl screaming “no! no!” and it was Ol’ Dirty Bastard. He would then just find someone and beat them up…

Maybe the girl was acting?

Zeebra: Not at all. Like, “stop! Stop!” That’s when I knew Ol’ Dirty Bastard was something else. I liked that feeling of the scene getting rougher. Around then, rappers would be influenced from the ‘80s, so they would be disciplined at the root. And it was a time when hip hop was ever present, so even if Method Man would get rough, he wouldn’t stray away from hip hop. That’s what was exciting about hip hop in the ‘90s.

Yo! MTV Raps was a piece of media that supported hip hop culture during the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. And you got on an episode. Can you tell me more about that?

Zeebra: I went to Manhattan Records one day. Back then, it had only been a year or two since it opened, and I found a flier there saying “Fab Five Freddy is coming to Japan! Let’s rep rap in Japan!” Whoa, are they really filming Yo! MTV Raps in Japan? The flier had Japanese rappers, DJs, dancers and names that would show up on in the hip hop scene. We weren’t anybody back then, barely starting to pass out demo tapes. I checked the flier but of course our names aren’t on there. I thought, well, no one knows us, but I had to go. We started making a demo tape to pass out on that day. But we would push it to the last minute as usual, working from the night before to the day of.

We got to this club called Java Jive under the Square Building where they were going to shoot the show, but no one was there yet. So I played at the game center with people like Uzi. I was wondering if it would start soon because it was taking a while, and when I looked over, Fab Five Freddy was coming towards our way! With that flat cap and Ray Bans that he always wears. I talked to him right away, “We are King Giddra, do you know us?” He responded “that’s dope!” after explaining to him “you know the golden dragon in Godzilla, right? We’re a three-man group repping Asia as the dragon.” I told him, “we’re still underground so no one knows us, but we’re the best in Japan. You’re going to regret it if you don’t interview us,” and he said OK with the interview.

It seems like a big advantage to be able to speak English.

Zeebra: That was really huge. And our English wasn’t normal English. It’s the kind where if you hear it, you know we’re from the same background. So that was big.

Was there any impact from outside the country after you went on Yo! MTV Raps?

Zeebra: So much. It took time for MTV to air in Japan, but my friends living in like Hawaii contacted me. Before that, I went with K Dub Shine, Sticky Fingaz and Jam Master Jay to go see Onyx when they came to Japan. Towards the end of MTV, I said “yo! Big shout out to Sticky Fingaz,” so when I saw Sticky Fingaz after, we would get to talk about it.

Out of the rappers that represent the ‘90s, who had the most impact for you?

Zeebra: The rapper that I just lose it for is definitely KRS-One. Back then, there was a time when people wore this leather accessory called a medallion to lessen the violence from snatching gold chains. There were only ones with Africa marks for sale, so I made a lot of original ones. I would go to Tokyu Hands, make the holes on the hide, engrave words, and paint colors on them. I wore a BDP one at KRS-One’s show. And it was reversible with one side of Rasta colors that KRS-One liked, and the other had this black-and-white pattern like the second album. I wore it on my neck front row at the show at Club Citta in Yamazaki. And then KRS One took the medallion from me and did the show while wearing it on his neck. I waited to see him after the show and told him, “I was the guy who gave you the medallion,” and he was really happy. That time, I was wearing like a Rasta hat. He said “let me get that,” and after I gave it to him, he gave me the Stop the Violence Movement hat. I was going to faint.

The Change in Japan’s Hip Hop Scene

But the fact you can do that I think comes from your way of doing things and how you chase things with full faith in yourself. I’m from the generation that grew up listening to you, but the fact that there were hip-hop leaders in Japan was influential in the way how it passed down this spirit of hip hop in Japan.

Zeebra: That’s all my generation. There was some difference in understanding depending on whether or not we understood English, but we all had that in mind. For example, You the Rock is the same age as me, but he also looked up to KRS-One. Him and I grew up in very different environments, but if we’ve grown to love hip hop around the same time, I think there’s definitely a feeling of connection.

For example, in the streets now, when Kendrick Lamar would drop a new song, no matter where you are in Japan, you can instantly connect with other people through SNS sharing things like “the line in this song is ridiculous.” That seems obvious now, but it was different back then. I don’t think kids these days know the feeling of how people connected back then when, for example, A Tribe Called Quest would drop a new album or Rakim would drop a new 12 inch.

Zeebra: Yeah. We were at clubs and record stores having something like housewives’ gossip. I would go to a record store like twice or three times a week. It sucks not knowing about a song that came out the day before. This is obvious now, but you can release music as long as you make a file of it, so new songs would come out endlessly. But back then, you’d have to make a physical thing, like a 12 inch or a CD. And to make something physical, it would cost money, and if you mess up, you’d be in the red. So the hurdle was high just to release something. And that way, the amount of records being sold would be small, so if you really wanted to, you can track down every new record. I think it went like this until around ‘95. 1995 was when Talib Kweli and Mos Def debuted as Black Star from Rawkus, creating this underground scene. Hip hop would split into the mainstream and the underground, and I realized I couldn’t keep up with the underground, so I headed into… the mainstream, or straight for the thuggish.

And back then, you also had people around you who can understand what was dope.

Zeebra: From the start, I had King Giddra and the Atomic Bomb Crew. From there, after getting into the scene, I got close with people like Rhymester, Microphone Pager and Kaminari Kazoku. There were also a lot of DJs, so I got close with Ken-Bo. When I would go into [the record store] Cisco, I would say what’s up to Wata-san [DJ Watarai] and a conversation would start like, “Zeebra-kun, did you hear that one song?” “Of course I did, that was crazy.” “When I checked out the promo version, there was one more song.” [laughs] Things like how a capellas would only be in the promo version, and it would just be a fight to get the white labels. We would keep talking about things like that. And then after, people like Kon-chan [Dev Learge], who understood English, would fill in the details for the community.

That’s an amazing community. You expanded your career as the scene got bigger and more diverse, but around that time, did you feel that the spirit of hip hop was breaking through in Japan or that the scene was getting bigger?

Zeebra: The timing when I could get over my social anxiety was when I first felt it. The reason was [TV Asahi’s dance program] DADA L.M.D. That was when Japanese people first turned on to hip hop. [TV segment] Dance Koushien was especially huge. Because of that, a huge boom arrived from the late ‘80s to the early ‘90s, and hip hop started to fit in society more. After that I think was in ‘95, ‘96 when Japanese rap got defined.

Was it around Sanpin Camp [the first big-venue hip hop event in Japan]?

Zeebra: Yeah. We also played a lot shows with multiple acts in ‘93, and when we released Sora Kara No Chikara in ‘95, even before the album came out, we were at a point where everyone in the crowd would sing the words with us. The time when we and Rhymester put out our albums, everyone was just waiting for us. Everything all came together. I think I felt it around that time.

This is probably the ultimate question, but who is the legend that represents the ‘90s for you?

Zeebra: I think there were multiple types rather than artists. The rough and rugged type like the Wu-Tang Clan. The type like Puff Daddy who’s successful in a big stage, looking shiny under the lights. And the underground types, like the Boot Camp Clik. They were different from Wu-Tang. Wu-Tang was a group of entertainers from the start.

The characters of each MC really stood out.

Zeebra: Right. It’s not that they were glamorous, but like they decided to go with their characters. And talking about going with their characters, I think Nas was one of them too. He put out street rap with a mainstream feel.

There’s a bit of commercial appeal. That’s easier to understand with Diddy, with Craig Mack’s “Flava in Ya Ear” at the beginning of the ‘90s, and after that with Biggie’s debut, he made him wear white suits to bring out a mafia feel. There was Mary J. Blige who he worked with behind the scenes, and he debuted Faith Evans and Total on his Bad Boy label and let women sing over hip-hop beats. Like Diddy’s… strategy, you can say, did you model any trends happening in the industry?

Zeebra: Of course. Following Diddy’s own history was exciting. He was originally an organizer in college, and it was amazing how he always connected it to business. And his sampling would be accessible to the regular white person. He even used Duran Duran.

The Police too.

Zeebra: Right, right. He also used David Bowie, and I thought that was amazing. Those songs that used those samples had loops that hip-hop fans also liked. I think Diddy was expanding break beats.

I think the New Jack Swing boom was also big for Diddy. Teddy Riley made it happen with singing and hip hop mixed together, and Diddy put more hip hop on top of that. That was really well done.

So that’s what business sense really means.

Zeebra: But people looked at Diddy as Biggie’s annoying side man always trying to get attention, and he wasn’t good at rapping. He even had people ghostwriting all his raps, but he was also a businessman and an entertainer with great sense.

What America’s East Coast/West Coast Hip Hop Brought to Japan

While Diddy’s Bad Boy empire started to rise in New York, gangsta rap started to grow in the West Coast. It started with Ice-T, then N.W.A., then 2Pac would debut. Death Row Records with 2Pac had great power, and in a bad way, the East Coast/West Coast scenes both would go into extreme directions. How did this all look like for the heads in Japan?

Zeebra: Around then, even in Japan, there were issues between the east and west coasts. There were times they bumped heads because of a difference in identity and what they believed in. For example, East End was more pop in a good way, it connected more to dance-y things, and their songs were like Kwame, one of my favorites. On the other end, Muto-kun (DJ Muro) already liked D.I.T.C., so everyone in Japan went in different directions, and there was possibly some moments where they bumped heads. But in America, when they clash, it can lead to shootouts, so that looked out of hand. This is going to sound bad, but it also felt fun sometimes watching people fight.

Around the time when the West Coast scene started forming, there was a moment when Afrika Islam from the Universal Zulu Nation wanted to teach things to Ice-T, who was head of the L.A. scene at the time, and his crew. So they had a friendly relationship. But people like Eazy-E and Dr. Dre who weren’t part of the scene would come out and say “stop messing around,” and things would escalate.

From early on, Ice Cube left N.W.A. and joined the crews in New York.

Zeebra: Around that time, it looked like the East Coast was a lot better in rapping skills while West Coast rappers thought they just have to say “fuck,” “shit,” “bitch.” So it took me back to see the super lyricist Ice Cube get together with The Bomb Squad.

Around the late ‘90s, you put out a solo album, and you put out “Greatful Days” with Dragon Ash. Around that same time in America, Jay Z put out hit songs one after another, Timbaland would come out, and it went into all sorts of directions. What did you think of it at the time?

Zeebra: I called it the “chiki chiki” sound at the time. People who grew up with sampling would say “what is this? This isn’t hip hop.” But I knew hip hop before sampling, so even if a new sound would become popular, I felt that this was normal for the hip hop that I know. I would do a show at TLC’s in-store event for “Silly Ho.” I always thought that hip hop should be fresh at all times. Whatever is used up isn’t fun, and new things should keep coming out.

Thoughts on Today’s Hip Hop Scene

Recently, younger people are getting into a ‘90s revival whether it’d be music or fashion, but why do you think that is?

Zeebra: To break the mold. Like sizing for clothes, these few years, the sizing would be tight in hip hop, and clothes are treated to be worn properly to how they’re made. But recently, people would wear baggy clothes on purpose because of the ‘90s revival. It goes into this instinct of arranging things for yourself. I think that’s the ‘90s.

Music-wise, sampling got intense as it got into the ‘90s. It got into an age where you have to properly clear samples to use it. You can’t ever make something like Public Enemy’s second or De La Soul’s first anymore. There was also a time when hip hop was banned on the radio, so we would make songs by breaking the mold while arranging it ourselves.

You still get drawn to high-school rap competitions or Freestyle Dungeons, and you’re still a presence that hooks up the younger generation in hip hop. The acts coming out right now, like Bad Hop or Kandytown, are all rappers born in the ‘90s. The kids who were born in the decade you helped create are now holding up the scene, but do you ever feel a gap?

Zeebra: I actually don’t know. It’s not just Japan. Overseas, there’s always this talk of Young Thug did this, Lil Uzi Vert did that, and everyone is talking about how it’s not like this or that anymore. I think people should just listen to what they like no matter what generation. It would be great if someone’s listening habits would expand rather than it get broken down to something more specific. What I’ve been always thinking is that I hope it becomes peerless very soon. I want to make it a situation where, sorry to artists in other genres but, hip hop takes everything in the scene.

Thinking of it that way, it looks very promising to see young people get into hip hop by trying out freestyling.

Zeebra: It’s not always like this, I don’t think, but my son would always listen to hip hop because it was just around him since he can think, and he got a Wu-Tang Clan CD for his 10th birthday from Yutaka-kun (DJ Yutaka). I think he’s been using that influence from that time to his essence today. His brother isn’t doing hip hop but house. When I saw him make a beat, he would be looping Brand Nubian, and I go, “oh, so you would sample that and bring it there.” I think that’s fun, and that’s the same feeling with Joey Badass and Kandytown. The songs would have the atmosphere of the music as it did back then.

I think it’s good for hip hop now to have that kind of sound, and on the other hand, I think it’s also good to get crazy with trap sounds from the mainstream.

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