`8 Mile' shows Detroit hip-hop scene better than it was
In 1995, the Detroit hip-hop scene was booming, blessed with a parade of inventive rappers who played to packed crowds week in and week...
Hold up. Stop the tape.
Moviegoers watching "8 Mile", with Eminem in his first starring role, may be transfixed by the breathless onscreen action, set in Detroit seven years ago: Clubs jammed with fervent fans. Edgy rap battles between sublimely gifted emcees. A progressive radio culture eager to support local music.
Alas, for those who were there, reality wasn't so romantic. Finding good Detroit hip-hop in the mid-1990s was often an exercise in patience. Many young rappers were loathe to innovate, mimicking the commercial sounds out of L.A. and New York. Local stations mostly ignored hometown artists. Hip-hop showcases at clubs like the Shelter and the Palladium -- including nights with Eminem -- usually played to sparse audiences.
In a 1997 Detroit Free Press story headlined ``Detroit's Hip-Hop Blues,'' rapper Uncle Ill, a member of Da Ruckus, sounded a common lament.
``If you write anything about Detroit hip-hop,'' he grumbled, ``write about the lack of support.''
The creators of "8 Mile" have stressed that despite all appearances, their movie isn't an Eminem biography. Still, it's clear the film is aiming for historical authenticity: dropping the right insider names, portraying the right backstreet locales, playing the right hit tunes of the day.
It even features little-known elements drawn directly from Eminem's past, like a 1993 incident in which Em and his friend Proof were arrested for nailing a pedestrian with a paintball. (Charges were dropped when the victim failed to appear in court.)
So for those who were in the thick of things -- including acts still struggling for that big break -- comparing personal recollections with the film's larger-than-life dramatization will prove irresistible.
Director Curtis Hanson says he solicited advice from many of the locals cast in the film, including veteran rappers such as Proof and Miz Korona. ``All those people had input into the look and feel of the time,'' he explains.
But just how accurate is the final picture?
One of the biggest bones of contention may lie in the depiction of WJLB-FM. Onscreen, the radio station is portrayed as a benevolent wonderland for local musicians, and characters speak of it in reverent tones. In fact, WJLB has long been criticized and even picketed by Detroit artists who say the station ignores up-and-coming native talent.
``You know, that was pointed out, but we went with it anyway,'' says Hanson. ``There were mixed feelings about it, actually. Some felt that way and others didn't.''
Of course, "8 Mile" wouldn't be such a hot thrill ride if it stuck with reality. That would make it a documentary, not a Hollywood blockbuster. The truth is, hip-hop in Detroit, circa '95, wasn't always the stuff of high drama.
There was good music brewing, to be sure. Eminem was getting his legs, and names like Jay Dee, Truz and Bizarre were earning respect. For the most part, though, it was a tight, exclusive circle.
If Detroit enjoyed any hip-hop reputation beyond Michigan, it was for a sound often chalked up as novelty: bombastic rap boiled in hard rock and peddled by acts such as Esham, Insane Clown Posse and Kid Rock. That wing of local hip-hop, the most prominent and commercially lucrative of the time, maintained an uneasy relationship with purists on the scene, who saw it as a suburban product. The "8 Mile" version of 1995 pays it no attention.
