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Squeeky answered bluntly, “It really wasn’t a competition, it was an issue with them re-making my music. In a 2012 interview, Memphis Flyer writer Louis Goggins asked Squeeky why he’d never collaborated with the Triple 6, and whether they were explicitly competitors.
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The trespasses became more egregious when the future Three 6 Mafia members teamed up and began placing self-produced music on their tapes – or, more accurately, music cribbed from Squeeky’s mixtapes. Juicy acceded and, after a hurried, whispered discussion, 211 and Skinny Pimp demanded a princely sum: 30 dollars. In the same interview with Hot 107.9, Skinny Pimp claimed that 211, armed with a Tec-9, and he, armed with a toxic Jheri curl, once called Juicy J to demand money for this offense. This didn’t engender a wellspring of goodwill – they were essentially bootlegging their older, more established competition. Squeeky would argue convincingly that his hegemony was only broken not through superior artistry, but theft and mimicry.Įarly editions of DJ Paul and Juicy J mixtapes were just that: their mixes of others’ music, notably the work of Squeeky and company. Sound… To me, Squeeky was the first one to have that gangster sound with the bass.”įor a brief moment, much of Memphis’s premier rap talent was backed by Squeeky’s SP-1200 and Roland keyboard: 8Ball & MJG, Skinny Pimp, Tom Skeemask, DJ Zirk (and Zirk’s 2 Thick Family), Al Kapone, Ruthless Ass Niggas and Criminal Manne all passed through the producer’s Orange Mound bedroom studio. Skinny Pimp told Atlanta’s Hot 107.9 that “Squeeky is the first producer I ever heard make those hard beats with ts-ts-ts-ts, so everybody really came up off of Squeeky’s Squeeky’s thundering, rat-a-tat beats define the early era of Memphis rap. If Spanish Fly was a blunt catalyst for musical change, DJ Squeeky was the precision instrument. Boundaries were pushed, if not entirely shattered. In isolation, his rigid rapping style was no revolution – it owes a lot to New York – but his hammering 808’s and lurid subject matter catalyzed a shift away from Yankee sensibilities. Fly’s work is Memphis, but Memphis at the very beginning of its transition to darker, subterranean grooves. On the claustrophobic “Getting Away With The Medicine,” Fly raps about a dope-dealing paranoiac running from the police over Geto Boys and Isaac Hayes samples – like Scarface, the unnamed second-person protagonist is “pushing rocks on the block.” “Smokin’ Onion,” which borrows the motley “oooh” chant from the Beastie Boys’ “The New Style,” is a tribute to – you guessed it – smoking weed. And if you want to argue that DJ Zirk, Blackout, La Chat, DJ Sound, Shawty Pimp, Tom Skeemask, the Gimisum Family and Lil NoiD should be here, well, you’re not wrong. Below are a few names that are indispensable to any discussion of Memphis rap – more lodestars to help you chart the constellations. In the twinkling Memphis rap cosmos, though, they are just the brightest of seemingly endless celestial bodies. Of those rappers who came of age in the early and mid-’90s, a few became stars: Three 6 Mafia, 8Ball & MJG and, to a lesser degree, Project Pat. It happened in tumbledown shotgun shacks, in dizzying roller rinks and in parking lots jammed with peacocking young men and their thudding subwoofers. It was lo-fi music from an embattled city made for – and by – people on the margins. Helpfully, if you wanted to book an artist, their phone numbers were usually printed on the tape.
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These crackling, sibilant tapes were often unmixed, unmastered and free of art of tracklists, though they contained plenty of too-wild-to-be-true confessions. If you wanted to know approximately which crimes your nearest dope boy was committing, you could buy a cassette for that, too. In Memphis in the early 1990s, if you needed to know exactly which songs your pals gangsta-walked to on a balmy Saturday night, you could buy a cassette of the mix.