Eighteen Wheels of Funk

THIS WEEK, Dmaft/Funky Ass/Threshold Records releases Kool Keith's Diesel Truckers featuring KutMasta Kurt. The album extends a collaboration that began in 1992 and is fully recognized on the hypnotizing Masters of Illusions. It also adds yet another Kool Keith persona to a storied list of aliases, including the sci-fi gynecologist Dr. Octagon, the rubber-wigged Black Elvis, the avenging Dr. Doom and the female-orgasm inducing Spankmaster.

Born in the South Bronx, Keith recently returned to New York from a 10-year stint in L.A. In the 20-plus years separating his days with the Ultramagnetic MCs and this month's release, he's produced a record or two every year, never with the same label, and has collaborated with just about everyone in the game. He's also produced some of the most original, bizarre lyrics in the history of hiphop. New York Press caught up with him last week before he went tie shopping.

When do you ever sleep? I never sleep. I record for the love of music. I record 'cause I like to do music.

This new album that's coming out, Diesel Truckers, describe the sound. I think it's a very versatile album. You know, just the originality of a pure MC.

Your lyrics dive deep into the pool of imagination, while some lyricists are afraid to get wet. I think the music industry has a standard vocabulary; everybody talks about a small number of subjects. And that is what the public is programmed to hear. Through all lines of media and through the airwaves, people are programmed to hear just a minimal explanation of things. I think I touch issues people are scared to talk about, things that nobody would dare say. People are playing it safe; instead of a base hit, you should go for a double.

Tell me about a day in your life. A photographer came by yesterday to take some pictures of me and he said, "You're more down to earth than I thought you were. You eat at Popeye's, you walk around, you go shopping at Macy's." He said a lot of people have this idea of me as some guy walking around with a spacesuit on in San Francisco or Utah somewhere. The different [visual] things I've done, like Black Elvis, was partly the record company's idea. When I did Elvis I just wanted to wear regular clothes. But they got more into the science-fiction aspect of it. Even with my videos, I've never directed one of 'em. I wanted to do normal videos, and yet the industry had captured me as this mysterious guy that landed from outer space. People really had orgasms believing I was some android from another planet, which is not true. They had rumors of me even being in hospitals and stuff. What happened was, I answered the questions about me being weird and bugged out and crazy and a patient of Bellevue and Creedmore, just to satisfy the interviewer at that time. Back in the 80s I was like, "I didn't give a fuck, I told people all types of things." And what happened was, they ate it up and digested it, but some people never shit it out. They want me to be the guy hiding underground coming out of a hole, peeping off the top of a building, looking out the windows through a dark curtain, riding around with a tinted window with a space helmet on, but I have never done that. People thought I was off painting myself purple somewhere or trying to build a spaceship out of aluminum foil somewhere in Utah. Instead of learning the essence of who I am, they rode the train too many stops. It's like some Spiderman shit; motherfuckers need the Daily Bugle to catch a picture of me or something.

Why do you think so many rappers just follow formulas? It's a sad industry thing, and A & R [controls] it. A & R's seeing what's hot and duplicating that, assimilating this. The industry is filled with clones. It's not about originality. It's just like you said, a group can come out tomorrow, it can be four transsexuals with guitars, they're not going to sign that, they're just going to sign a duplicate of Destiny's Child.

You've worked with many different labels. Does that make it easier for you to go through the field without someone telling you what to do? Dealing with the majors and the independents are two different things, across the board. When I was on major labels, it's cool but the limitations are extreme. They send a guy into the studio to monitor your sessions, listen to what you're making, offer suggestions. With independents, you control everything from the music right down to your fashion. The industry's gotten so foul nowadays, you've got clothing companies, labels, that will send clothes to your photo shoot and then try to take them back after you take the picture. So that means you're taking a picture for somebody's clothing, [then] they're trying to take a shirt or pair of pants back from you at the end of the day. I don't wanna wear nothing at all if I have to give it back.

You've worked with some great producers, but each of the beats has some of your aura in it. How close do you work with creating the rhythms that you rhyme over? A lot of the albums I've done, like Black Elvis, Matthew, a lot of the core was me-that funk feel. My problem with the industry is that it's not as soulful as they think it is. They call neo-soul "soulful"; I don't think it's that funky at all... Justin Timberlake is the funkiest guy out there to the common kid. I'm serious. Like you said, I take it all the way back. I grew up in funk, and there's no way I can't be funky.

You're involved in so many different projects. Do you have a sound in mind when you conceptualize an album, or does it just sort of grow? I make something naturally sound conceptual. I'm never like, "OK, this record is gonna be called 'Radiator.' We're gonna make 10 tracks called 'Radiator Tracks.' We're gonna talk about the steam around the radiator, how it gives off heat..."

Do you edit yourself heavily? Pull back or hit the delete button on things? Everything I write, I use. One thing I'll never do is re-record a vocal. I have a traditional way of making a song; I make a song and it's done. I don't wanna go back to the song about radiators, like, "We're gonna pull the remix up, can you rap about how the steam goes up really high, can you change it up and talk about how the steam is even hotter?

What makes you laugh? People that can't dance, looking at you saying they can. Like they come and grab you at the club like, "C'mon, you can't dance? You can't move like me?" I'm like, "Girl, look at you, you're fuckin' off beat. Why're you spinning around?" Did you know kids now have schools to learn how to dance? They actually have schools like, "You too can be a top dancer." People get up early in the morning like they're going to school, they get on the subway, and go to some fucking dance class.

I grew up on the Gap Band, James Brown, know what I'm saying? Earth Wind & Fire, Ike and Tina Turner. I used to have to dance to Cameo in my mother's living room for company. She'd be like, "Hey Keith, come over here and dance for Uncle Joe, Uncle Bobby and them."

What year in the future do you think people will finally catch up to you? It'll probably be when my kids are grown up. My youngest daughter'll have to be 21, and people will be like, "Your fucking dad made the best tracks..." Every album I did, people still play that stuff everlasting, because my shit is timeless. Ninety percent of the music industry makes overnight shit.

When you create an alias like Matthew, or Black Elvis, is there a reason for it? To create new space for the brain to move? I feel like I can sometimes turn into another person to make another album. If I do my name all the time I might be limited. I feel like I can call myself Mike Johnson, put on a pair of glasses. "Hey world, here's a new album from Mike Johnson." I can create 15 brand-new damn tracks as Mike Johnson. "You ever heard Mike Johnson's shit? It's hot. No limits."

How did you find L.A.? I think L.A. was a little too laid-back for me. It's funny, a lot of people always say, "Yeah, I'm moving out of New York, I'm going to Atlanta, I'm moving down south, I'm moving to Florida, I'm moving to Dallas, I'm moving out to Cleveland, man." But I noticed that they move out to these places and they get old fast. Like you see a friend that moved down south, he had five or six kids, his belly is sticking out like he's 10 months pregnant. His wife is fat; his kids are fat. He goes back and forth to the shopping center, buys beer, goes back home, watches the game, sits in his backyard. At night everything closes at 11 o'clock. You have a little bullshit town to drive through to get you a hot dog. You've got to drive 20 miles to get yourself some milk and cookies. It's like, "How could you move down there, like why did you move to humiliate yourself?"

It was a big thing to brag about for urban people, like "Hey man, get a house and move out into the wilderness, man, that's the life. Look at the cows, breathe some fresh air, look at the hay, the horses running around." And a lot of guys are insecure, so they marry these beautiful chicks and they move 'em way out into West Bubbleville four hours out of the city, in the wilderness. It's like, "You're lonely, you're lonely in that big 10-bedroom house, and there's nothing there but crickets and crows and you're out in the wilderness-big deal. You're miserable. You have an eight-room house that nobody wants to travel five hours to see. You're out there, you're in space motherfucker." o