Passing the Mic: A Lyrical Legacy

By: Leeshia Lee

Bear with me for a moment.

These are the stories in our local culture that never get told.

West Virginia hip hop does exist.

I have always been in love with music, writing, poetry, and rhyming. It isn’t hard to see how I ended up on the radio.

I am a fan of everything that is real hip-hop. I am from an era where music was an expression of identity. Art imitated life; we lived it. Not the other way around.

West Virginia, just like the rare jewel we know her to be, exploited for our natural resources and overlooked, music was no different. In the midst of that, legendary figures have crept out of the mountains and reminded the world that we do exist and we do put in work.

While I was on the radio, I used to throw parties and let artists perform. West Virginia had a music scene that was thriving statewide, with artists traveling for showcases and performing in other cities. The crowds would sing along to the lyrics at shows, videos were being shot in neighborhoods, and CDs were actually being pressed up and sold. Two Charleston rappers, Hugh Holla and Plenty Rock, created a legendary documentary visiting cities across the state, interviewing artists. It was ahead of its time, but a great reference point for where the musical culture in the state was headed.

The collective artist community had a village, so it was able to grow, and with the growth came the energy. The energy that what was happening in Atlanta and other major cities could happen here. That someone from here could actually blow because there was definitely not a talent shortage. I’ve heard stories of West Virginia rappers opening up for artists and stealing the show. We had a buzz.

Then the internet happened, and the music scene didn’t transition as it should. The focus shifted to the accessibility of more famous mainstream artists. It was more exciting to support the lives of another artist who was once a local artist in their hometown, instead of someone whose story we already knew.

We fell out of love with rooting for our own underdogs and became fascinated with watching everyone else pass us by.

Last night, I had a nostalgic moment. I went back in time. I heard someone say my name. I turned around, and it was Buzzy Shine, Self Made. Huntington. That’s how it registered in my mind, just like that. As if I had a mic in my hand, and I was about to call him up to the stage.

I was wondering what brought him out to Charleston, but it was a rap show, and I know it’s always refreshing to see what new talent is sounding like these days. Back then, when Self Made came to a show, they came deep. Charleston artists would invite them up, and the crowds would enjoy the merging of the two cities’ cultures that often would have tension otherwise.

Last night, I saw it happen before my eyes.

I realized that MJ, who just graduated, threw a party for the artists to perform. They showed up in jerseys, had their phones out recording, and shouted the words to their friends’ songs. The hype—they brought it back.

When the effort is shown, you have to respect it.

Isn’t this the story of how hip hop started? The simplicity of witnessing the changing of the guard.

I realized that Buzzy Shine was there to watch his son perform. Ello.

If history repeats itself, I have faith this time it will be all gas, no brakes.

The ones that are up next, they have all the tools to level out the playing field.

Most people don’t have to climb a mountain to be heard. So just get louder and louder; someone is going to feel you.

I snapped these pictures for the history books.

Until they catch on, I’ll document it out.