[Si] TV

• ‹ previous
• 1 of 2
• next ›

What is hip-hop? At its essence: the mating of pen to pad; ear to street; voice to beat.  Sometimes, the sheer physical spectacle of the voice is enough to arrest us: Chuck D, Biggie, Tupac. Elsewhere, we look beyond the immediacy of the words to what they represent-namely, who is speaking. In that light, it's a good thing that L.A.'s rising native son Omar Cruz is bilingual, because he's got a whole lot to say.

 The son of a Colombian father and Mexican mother, Cruz shook his baby rattle to the anthems of his parents' respective homelands: churning cumbia rhythms and suave, south-of-the-border soul. By age 10, the soothing Spanish sounds had been augmented by an amalgam of street cadences spat by N.WA, Big Daddy Kane, Rakim, and the Beastie Boys. For Cruz, the transition was organic. His father, however, was unmoved. "He overheard me reciting the lyrics to N.W.A's "Dopeman," Cruz recalls, "and actually washed out my damn mouth with soap!"

But Cruz's father, Alberto, knew illicit lyrics were the least of his concerns. He needed only to look around to see N.W.A's grisly portrayals mirrored in his family's day to day. According to Omar: "When I was 6 years old, we moved to the Washington and La Brea area, which was really fucked up at the time. I'd go on the balcony and just see hookers and the crack trade all the time; crack was really big in the 80s. Then when my sister was born, we moved to deeper into the hood: the Slawson/Crenshaw area, which is considered South Central.  Every night, I bullshit you not, you would hear gunshots-- some nights closer than others. Helicopters too. Every car that drove by slow, you kinda had to make sure it was friendly. It was deep, but you'd get accustomed to the shit. It was just that type of environment."

Cruz enjoyed some regional success, particularly after a chance meeting with 50 Cent's DJ Whoo Kid, who made room for a Cruz freestyle on a compilation album. His appetite whetted, Cruz stayed hungry on the self-aggrandizement tip. The otherwise mundane task of moving CDs at a car wash paid dividends in 2004, when Cruz, still known as Blunts LLA, encountered Luis "LuLu" Torres, impresario behind a new label, B.Y.I (Beyond Your Imagination) Entertainment. The two developed instant rapport and set about culling a niche in what they deemed the vacuous hip-hop game.

Cruz paired up with B.Y.I's touted resident producer, Rome; both men shared a vision of new Latino sonics in hip hop. Drawing soulful vocals, and plodding, reverberant organ plunks from the romanticas of Cruz' childhood, Rome laid the foundation on which Cruz erected his statuesque lyrics.  In 2005, the cooperative efforts birthed the heralded City of Gods mixtape, jolting the streets and turning heads at industry powerhouse Interscope/ Geffen. The followup CD, Blow, arrived closely on its heels. With the streets watching, and the Latino population firmly on his back, Cruz eschewed the Blunts LLA nickname for something more emblematic. Omar Cruz melds his own first name with that of his since-deceased maternal grandmother. Rather deftly, the Cruz nomenclature simultaneously honors a woman he cites as a major influence, and his larger Latino heritage. "Latinos are proud people, period," Cruz notes. "We're gonna represent where we're from regardless. That's the nature of the beast." And Cruz exhorts that poor representation is as damaging as no representation at all: "I really dislike the way Latinos are portrayed in movies, if we're even included at all. They might get some stereotyped attire correct, but we've been pushed aside for so many years. We need to be more visible, so people can see the different styles and types of Latinos that fill the urban lifestyle. I'm aware of the doors that I'm opening. People do remind me that I'm doing it for our people. So I take that real seriously."

Along the way, Cruz found kindred spirits in Latino L.A. legends, photographer/director Estevan Oriol and tattoo artist/designer Mr. Cartoon: the creative forces behind the renowned Joker Brand Clothing line. "They've been mentors in the game, as successful Latinos who've crossed the same boundaries and obstacles facing me now. I've learned a lot from those dudes; they've been through a lot, they've achieved a lot, and they're still grinding," Omar opines. "On top of that, they're amazing artists as well. Their art is known worldwide; I'm trying to get on that level.  They saw my commitment and dedication and wanted to jump on, which meant a lot to me, because they've never co-signed an artist before."

Their allegiance was apparently well placed; Cruz rang in 2006 with his Cruzifixion mixtape, hailed by Scratch magazine as "Hood-Certified," the publication's highest praise. Riding the groundswell, Omar followed his thirst for verisimilitude to Interscope/Geffen: "My main concern was that whoever I was reporting to understood my culture and what needs to be done to break someone like me," Cruz says of the label courtship process. "The title of Latino MC is both a gift and a curse. I take pride in the identity, but I also want to be recognized for my skills.  If you're good, people will be receptive. There's room for all kinds of styles. Interscope understood all that, how to properly package me."

Part of that package included this year's street heater: 2007 B.C. (Before Cruz). More EP than mixtape, 2007 boasted the Interscope and Geffen insignias alongside the now- resonant B.Y.I imprint.  With major-label endorsement, and bi-coastal camaraderie courtesy of DJs Skee and Big Mike, Omar Cruz is officially on the map. His forthcoming debut album on Interscope/Geffen, apocalyptically titled Sign of the Cruz, is a metaphorical eviction notice to the game's unwelcome houseguests. But while the end result is straight malice, Cruz's doesn't operate with ugly agendas: "We didn't make songs to appeal to a certain market or medium," he asserts. "We just made songs that describe who I am, where I'm from, and where we're going as a people.  I don't have ‘yes' people around me to tell me everything I drop is dope. On the contrary, I've had to rewrite songs over and over till I got ‘em right. That makes me a better artist, and at the end of the day, people are gonna appreciate the record because they're gonna hear that quality. It's not just a bunch of songs put together to propel one or two records into the radio mainstream. That makes everybody accountable, including me."

With L.A. and his Latin heritage draped over his shoulders, like twin banderas from his parents' homelands, Cruz swaggers into the national consciousness. When asked to encapsulate the identity he projects, the identity thus far derelict, Cruz is calm, but fuerte: "L.A. been quiet. It's the resurgence of an L.A. sound that hasn't been prevalent in a minute. It's gonna be the perspective of cats you deal with every day but whose stories you don't get to hear. Lot of motherfuckers cop drugs from us, lot of motherfuckers do business with us, lot of motherfuckers play ball with us, and see us in the streets. You've seen us but you haven't heard us. You don't know us. This comes from that background and culture."

Sounds like a day of reckoning is upon us. Omar Cruz. Short name, long shadow.