Hip-hop in Saratoga

Hip-hop in Saratoga

Strictly speaking, there is virtually no hip-hop community in Saratoga Springs, NY. Or at least there isn't one that I've been able to discover yet. A few clubs on Broadway play hip-hop music and feature local emcees, but the scene seems to cater more to the 21-plus crowd -- college students and heavy drinkers. In the nearest bigger city, Albany, there are some coffeehouses and bars that sponsor open mics that draw some rappers and spoken word poets. Some teachers also use hip-hop in classrooms, and there is evidence of graffiti throughout the region. But that's been the most I've been able to find so far.

Frank, the manager of an automobile garage in downtown Saratoga, is about the same age as me. He asked me one day when I was picking up my car what I taught at the college. I'd been in Saratoga for about a year at this point, and had developed a sort of brief shorthand: history, mostly contemporary American history; for instance, I'm working on a class now on hip-hop.

His eyes lit up.

"What kind of hip-hop?"

"Well, I really teach the history of the movement and how it started in the boroughs and spread across the world. We look at issues like the 1970s recession, the aftermath of the Civil Rights movement, and white flight."

He picked up his phone. "There's some you need to meet."

He put in a call to Tyara, who worked in the public school system in the Albany School District. In addition to serving as a teacher's aide, Tyara managed a b-boy crew. The boys had grown up in the area but were mostly in the city now. She kept them connected to their home by organizing events and shows at school pep rallies, sporting events, and malls.

Several months later, I got a chance to connect with Tyara and hear her story. But just then I was standing on the other side of the check-out counter from Frank who had my car keys in his hand. I wanted to hear his story first.

"Did you grow up in Saratoga? Were you a b-boy here? Who's b-boying around here these days? What about women?"

He laughed at my barrage of questions.

"Saratoga, back in the day, isn't what it's like now," he said. "This was one mean city, with some pretty big attitudes."

He was part of a b-boy crew that called the downtown area their turf. One time, he recalled, some kids from one of the New York City crews decided they wanted to try and expand their territory. They came up looking for an easy battle. Frank's crew ran them out of town.

Frank is at least part African American. Like me, he stands out somewhat. His shop, in my mind, exudes hip-hop. He does good work for a fair price, and usually doesn't have any trouble fitting our cars into his schedule. When money started to run tight, he never pressed us to spend more than we could, and often suggested ways to stretch repairs so that the dollars for the car would last a little longer.

The vibe in the shop is friendly and comfortable. No one's turned away. Every one can find a place. It's odd to describe an auto shop in such terms, but that's how it exudes hip-hop. No, there isn't rap music playing in the background. The waiting room magazines are more likely to be the monthly supplement from the AARP than the glitzy covers associated with hip-hop. You don't hear hip-hop slang or see employees in hip-hop attire. But the mood of the place reflects hip-hop culture.

I haven't been able to talk with Frank much since late 2011. My work takes up a lot of time, which makes just hanging around and chatting rather challenging. In addition, my sense is that Frank might be a bit reticent to talk to me, as well. After all, I am a newcomer and I am affiliated with higher education, an entity that many in the world of hip-hop look up with suspicion.

Plus, I don't go out. I'm fifty years old. I don't live anymore in an urban environment. If Saratoga Springs seemed small when I first moved here, the town where I ultimately put a down payment on a house is even smaller: population 4,000. We chose the house because it was less than ten miles from Saratoga, had a barn and chicken coop on the property, and sat on a three-acre lot. When we moved in, we thought we'd use the barn as a studio and writing center. Three years later, it stores a tractor mower, rakes, manure forks, and tons of garden tools, and a lot of junky parts that we think we might be able to put to use later. Fifteen hens and a rooster live in the backyard coop and have a 10,000 square foot run space. The rest of the backyard is slowly being dug up so we can grow our own food. This is a long way from the birth of the b-boy and the b-girl in the Bronx. But it is very hip-hop, nevertheless.