The Paybacks
Perennial press darlings and the collegiate crowd's concert faves, the Roots have never seen sales success to match their cult following's passion. Now, just as the veteran road warriors join Jay-Z at Def Jam, the critics start sharpening their swords. Can hip-hop's best live band defy death?
by Peter Rubin

Black Thought is feeling the heat. Not because the LA sun was baking through the window of his black Porsche Cayenne as he drove to his apartment, not because he can't find a lighter for his freshly-rolled blunt, but because the tide is turning. A week before this particular afternoon, the Roots headlined a two-night stand at New York's Radio City Music Hall, and more than one critic took the opportunity to engage in a little Thought-bashing.

"It doesn't much help that all the guest rappers... are exponentially more charismatic than Black Thought," wrote a critic from The Village Voice. Even The New York Times>, which in recent years has fallen over itself to laud everything from screw music to reggaeton, got in a few good licks. The Roots "sound best when they're collaborating with outside rappers," said the venerable paper. "Perhaps that's because their own rapper, Black Thought, is rather dull."

So if Tariq "Black Thought" Trotter is feeling that kind of heat, it's no surprise that he's a little heated his damn self. "It's just some real faggot-ass shit," he calls out from the kitchen, still rummaging for a lighter. He finally finds one, walks back into the living room, sits down on the couch. "I'm fuckin' aware of muthafuckas hatin'," he says. "Not even on the band, but on me! Comin' at my neck."

His eyes look weary as he blows a thin plume of smoke. Some fatigue is to be expected: he's been on the road for almost a month. Even right now, the rest of the band is at sound check for another show tonight, and there are two more shows before the weekend is over. So yeah, he's feeling the grind. But there's more to it than that.

The heat comes at a very bad time. After all, everything on the surface seems gravy: The Legendary Roots Crew is preparing to release Game Theory, their first album since joining Def Jam Records, amid much fanfare, earlier this year. They recently became the first hip-hop act to perform at both Lincoln Center and Radio City Music Hall. They've escaped a grueling long-term deal at Geffen, where they released their first six major-label albums, and now one of their most demonstrative fans is also their boss. (Not only did Jay-Z tap them for his famous Unplugged episode, he's has made frequent cameos at Roots concerts, including the Lincoln Center and Radio City shows.)

To quote from the group's extensive catalogue, though, there's something goin' on. After an Illadelph halflife in the rap game, the Roots find themselves in a very strange position. While only two of their six albums have gone gold (1999's Things Fall Apart, which featured their only real hit single, the Erykah Badu-assisted "You Got Me," and 2002's Phrenology) they've been favorites of the press, especially the mainstream press, since their major label debut, Do You Want More?!!!??!, put their live instrumentation front-and-center in 1995. Lately, though, the rebuke: They're a karaoke act, say the whispers. They're being held back by their sub-par emcee. There's no place in hip-hop for live music. They're a jam band-a bunch of nerds making music for white college kids. The group's drummer and unofficial leader, Ahmir "?uestlove" Thompson, calls it the Tom Hanks Syndrome. "It's almost a clichˇ to praise the Roots," he says, meaning a backlash is simply the next logical step.

Black Thought echoes the concept: "You can only be the great artist for so long-come out with effort after effort that garners all this praise. The Roots have been around for so long that [critics] gotta fuckin' hate on something-why not the fuckin' old dudes and shit? Like 'Yo, you're through. Your sound is dope, but you've been here for 15 years.'"

The rap game has changed since the Roots came in the major-label door. Things are more singles-based now. The mixtape scene means new product comes out a lot quicker. Six grown men who play live instruments 200 nights a year simply don't have the time to be showing their ass on 106th & Park, or popping up on every hot single. They're a group of guys with a daily grind and government names-hip-hop's version of office-job commuters.

Then, of course, there's the Black Thought Question. He's the MC, and as such the frontman, but his personality is decidedly at odds with both his central role and his extroverted lyrics. "Tariq is probably the most guarded person I know in hip-hop," says ?uestlove. "Just his whole stance. Never lets you see his eyes. He might Miles Davis the audience and just turn his back on you." It's a far cry from the flamboyant personas wielded by most other rappers.

"I'm more on the low," says Thought himself. "I move in silence. I don't like puttin' too much of me out there to be dissected, analyzed, oh-what-is-he-about? You can concentrate on any part of the collective that you want to, but people just tend to concentrate on Ahmir because he's the more visual one. He's out there more, people see him doin' more collaborations."

It's true. Quest is one of the most visible people in hip-hop-or at least one of hip-hop's most visible ambassadors to the music world at large. He puts together events from Dave Chappelle's Block Party show to Jigga's recent Reasonable Doubt concert. You might see him helming D'Angelo's landmark Voodoo, or playing drums for Pharrell on The Tonight Show, or backing up funkateer Bootsy Collins and honky-tonk fiddler Charlie Daniels on the new Monday Night Football intro. Meanwhile, Black Thought never much pursued side projects. He started work on a solo album a few years back, but ended up turning the material into what became the Phrenology album. "For me to put my shit out wouldn't have counted towards us gettin' off of Geffen," he says. "So I just said Fuck it."

Right now, as he climbs back in the whip and sets off for North Hollywood--ostensibly to see his peoples at a studio, but that falls through and he settles for a turkey footlong at Subway--Black Thought is busier than he's ever been. He and Danger Mouse are midway through a collaboration they're calling Dangerous Thoughts, and he's doing a Gangsta Grillz mixtape with longtime Philly homeboy DJ Drama, along with ongoing projects with producers Bink Dog and Kareem Riggins.

Still, what these ventures all have in common is Thought rhyming as a man alone. With a very few exceptions, like rhyming alongside guest MCs on Roots records or dropping sixteens on Strong Arm Steady mixtapes, he's on the mic for dolo. The way he sees it, he's not the most attractive collabo partner. "When you're one of the best MCs," he says, "a lot of people don't wanna fuck with you, because you're gonna make them work hard. If you feel like they might outshine you, why pay that dude to be on your track and shit?"

As if on cue, Talib Kweli's "Wack Niggas" comes through the car's speakers. Consequence, Common, and Kanye all spit guest verses, and Thought suddenly says: "Certain joints, I'll be feelin' like, Why didn't they fuckin' call me to get on that? Why am I not on this song? Why am I not on the Common album? Like, What the fuck? What happened? These are my homies!"

Later that day, sound check complete, ?uestlove stands in his hotel suite, Treo in hand, trying to track down the band's trainer. That's right, trainer-when you're on the road 200 nights a year, contract-rider food can add a paunch, so the crew travel with a fitness expert paid to whip them into shape.

While he waits for his turn at the gym (keyboardist Kamal got first, Quest got next), the afroed beat-keeper speaks on Game Theory. First off, it's dark. "Razorblade dark," as he puts it, in stark contrast with their previous album The Tipping Point. From the opening "False Media," with a voice intoning Chuck D's classic line from "Don't Believe the Hype," it's clear that the Roots are dealing with their serious side. And it only continues with tracks like the bluesy "Bread and Butter" and the mournful "Clock With No Hands."

Reasons for the darkness abound. For one, Black Thought's son was with his mother in New Orleans when Katrina wreaked her holy havoc. "There was a time period where we didn't know where in the hell they were," says Quest. "That was hell week. That definitely changed the course of our attitude." The February passing of Detroit producer Jay Dee, too, a close friend and frequent collaborator, didn't exactly bring levity to the recording process.

"And also, there's just getting older," Quest continues. "And I don't mean grumpy, look-at-the-whippersnappers-on-TV getting older. I'm talkin' 'bout real age. Really, really getting older, you kinda just see shit way different. So that pretty much reflected itself on the record."

One of the more surprising things about the album is Black Thought's display of what can only be described as vulnerability. For six albums now, he's been stony, impersonal braggadocio personified, but certain tracks on Game Theory offer what might be a listener's first glimpse into his inner life. "Pity The Child," with its timpanies and orchestral strings, is a perfect backdrop for tales of Thought's bleak past: his father was killed when he was a year old, his mother when he was in 11th grade. "Certain joints are a lot more personal, self-reflective," says Thought. "Than I may have pulled out before."

?uestlove, in fact, thinks that's the key to the album. "Mostly, this is Tariq's ongoing evolution." He says. "Once you've mastered battling about your MC prowess, what do you do? I think Tariq has come to grips with his life. I slowly see him starting to open himself more and more and more. But how do you exploit someone whose parents were brutally murdered? Like, 'Whew, that'd make a great song!'"

No one expects the Roots to sell ten million albums. The question is whether or not Def Jam can make a group of aging hip-hop musicians commercially viable in today's platinum-or-bust atmosphere. Maybe it's a matter of carving out a niche.

"We already know that we don't fit too easily into what the marketplace is," says ?uestlove. "But there's a drastic change in the hip-hop boat that we came in on versus the hip-hop of 2006, and I think certain black audience members have basically resigned themselves to the fact that maybe the Roots are all that they have left. I never thought that we could play a 5,000-seater in Washington DC and sell out in a week, and I'd see people who looked like me in the audience. I kinda thought those people outgrew hip-hop at the age of 25."

The Roots' stage show is legendary for its duration (three hours plus is nothin'), for its variability (they switch up their playlist every tour), and for its surprises (this particular night in LA would feature appearances by GZA, Special Ed, and Mos Def). By Thought's own admission, touring affords the group a lifestyle album sales alone would not: "I rely on these shows to Iive how I wanna live. For me to be able to do anything I wanna do right now, at this time, I gotta stay on the road." Their longevity as a live act isn't a question-just their longevity as a force in hip-hop. And how Def Jam acts is a big part of that.

"Jay's a fan and expresses his adoration," says Thought. "But none of that shit means anything at the end of the day. The only thing that matters is, are you gonna have a presence? Are you gonna promote my shit the way you cosign and promote these other artists? I'm hopin' that in a perfect world something'll be different now that we're on Def Jam. But we're not in a fuckin' perfect world. So who knows?"

Quest agrees. "I know it's pessimistic to say," he says with a laugh, "but I pretty much have lowered expectations for any project I'm involved in. Lowered expectations is the reason none of us have gone postal in the last 14 years. You have to learn patience, and sometimes it isn't all good."