The job of a distinctive emcee is to bring something unique to the table. Some are marked with an instantly recognisable voice (Method Man); some get their swag on with outlandish braggadocio (Jim Jones); some cut jokes with razor-sharp wit (Ludacris); some spit fire with a more political lean (Mos Def); some float entertainingly through random streams-of-consciousness (Lil Wayne). With Brother Ali, Rhymesayers’ champ and a revered underground icon, the beauty lies in the narrative.

A line stands out from his classic ‘Room With A View’: “You can call me a modern urban Norman Rockwell, I paint a picture of the spot well” (a reference to the story-led visual artist who famously painted day-to-day situations). Using his words as colours and rhythmic attack like broad brush strokes, every song Ali illustrates hits deep, taking you on a journey back to his roots… back to his days on the dilapidated streets of Minneapolis as a kid with a rare skin condition (Ali was born with Albinism) trying to make his way through a cold, unforgiving world. But it’s as far from a cry of self-pity as it is a tedious preachy harangue; his songs beam with empowerment and hope.

Endless articles about Ali’s skin colour, his Muslim background, and trivial hip-hop politics abound. Brainer decided then, to focus on the talent that has

always struck the most engaging chord: his storytelling ability.

STANDING UP FOR YOURSELF

“When I was younger, I would try to do it with words. And I got really good at doing bad things to people – I got really good at destroying people with jokes. I had a lot of mean shit thrown at me, and it taught me what a true insult can do to you, so I learned how to just destroy people. Later on, I learned that if somebody feels like they can just do whatever they want and you punch them in the head, then they’ll probably never do it to you again.

“So I took on these characteristics that weren’t me; I would hear myself say these things and I would see a person cry, and I’d be like, ‘This isn’t even me doing this.’ Or I’d punch somebody and they’d bleed, and in a really dark way it would feel good; but at the same time it’d feel like, ‘This isn’t me.’ So then I went into the opposite extreme, where I didn’t know how to defend myself (or how to assert myself) without getting all the way to that point. So I just wouldn’t defend myself at all. Which isn’t right either. All I know is that there was a period where I felt like I was able to tell the truth without it being personal; I was able to say what was true, say what I felt needed to be said, and move on.