A Love Supreme

10/08/1998 3:00 PM, LAUNCH
Miles Marshall Lewis

"What is a Quest if the players ain't willing?"

Over the past nine years, the artistry of A Tribe Called Quest has affected varied sections of the music world populated by Janet Jackson, TLC, Deee-Lite, Mariah Carey, Busta Rhymes, D'Angelo and others. As the most popular manifestation of the Native Tongues aesthetic (whose proponents include the Jungle Brothers and De La Soul), Phife, Tip and Ali blended the streetwise with the Afrocentric, creating a reputation for dedicated perfectionism that often enlivened hip-hop culture on a whole. Bridging hip-hop with jazz through samples of Coltrane and Roy Ayers, as well as actual participation from former Miles Davis bassist Ron Carter on The Low End Theory, Quest fortified the perception of hip-hop standing autonomously as its own musical form. A Tribe Called Quest have chosen to disband the group with the release of their final album, The Love Movement, and the legacy they leave behind will undoubtedly place them as one of the greatest groups in the history of the culture.

"Welcome to the movement, the fifth with a movement..."

The late pop artist Andy Warhol once said that in order to be a superstar, you first have to have a uniform. And in the sense of Erykah Badu's gelés or Busta Rhymes's eclectic Bushi ensembles, A Tribe Called Quest have never had a uniform--a salable trademark look or marketable image. That may explain why, after five albums in eight years, MTV Unplugged, Lollapalooza and Tibetan Freedom Concerts, Quest have yet to go platinum. According to SoundScan, The Low End Theory sold 918,000; Midnight Marauders, 911,000; Beats, Rhymes And Life, 714,000; People's Instinctive Travels And The Paths Of Rhythm predated SoundScan. Quest's position as superstars of hip-hop culture, however, cannot be measured by sales alone. With their fifth and final album, Quest join Run-DMC, Public Enemy and Gang Starr as a hip-hop collective whose body of work qualifies them as true veterans.

Bypassing actor Val Kilmer and talk show host Montell Williams on the first level of Moomba, a celebrity-specked Greenwich Village eatery heavy on ambiance and artfully-arranged entrees, Q-Tip ambles up a flight of stairs and quickly takes a seat at a back table with Phife and Ali. Under the faint, cozy lighting of the restaurant, menus are perused, and dishes quickly ordered--plates of wild mushroom-encrusted scallops, Indian-spiced seared monkfish.

Wearing designer vanity spectacles with a fuzzy white Enyce cap, navy blue Phat Farm windbreaker and jeans, Q-Tip appears congenitally open to commencing the interview. Dressed in a sleeveless white ribbed T-shirt with Adidas sweatpants, Ali seems characteristically more aloof, disposed to get down to the business at hand. Sitting to Q-Tip's right at the round table is Phife Dog, garbed in jeans and a fresh pair of Nikes, with basketball cap and jersey both emblazoned with the logo of the Philadelphia Sixers. He remains silent for the vast majority of the interview, saving his insights for our impending weekend in his transplanted home state of Georgia.

As the final cornerstone in the Native Tongues foundation to blow up the spot, A Tribe Called Quest have become the foundation's most commercially successful act, while aesthetically rivaling De La. With the level of excellence Quest established on their first trilogy of albums, expectations for the group's output have oft times bordered on unrealistic. Beats, Rhymes And Life, recorded during a period of internal strife and creative transition, was comparably disappointing. Both Quest and fans realize that with their latest opus, The Love Movement, quite frankly, stakes is high, and the pressure to end their career on a high note is palatable. This point is discernible even during this interview, conducted prior to their public announcement of their dissolution.

"You know what," the usually reticent sound-provider Ali offers. "I think even if we had come with what everyone expected, it would never have been enough. Because expectations were so high, it was unattainable. We did it, it's out of our system, and we moved past it. This album is really evidence of that." Phife chimes in agreement, with what is ominously his only comment at Moomba. "If I didn't like it, I wouldn't be sitting here doing this interview now to promote it as far as putting it out. So we definitely satisfied."

A Tribe Called Quest has acquired a reputation for being a bit cagey with journalists, citing the customary explanation of having their words twisted to accommodate the agendas of various writers. Phife seems slightly guarded at the table, and one seriously doubts he'd be cooling his heels in Atlanta if he felt The Love Movement were less than the bomb. Show business doesn't work that way; the trio came out steadfastly promoting their last effort, despite its status as the least satisfying Quest record.

"Beats, Rhymes And Life wasn't really received that good," Q-Tip admits. "I guess it's because people put us up against the standards of production that we proved. So it's easier for us to go to a newer level, because now the pressure's off of us."

But is the pressure truly off? The Love Movement is a crucial album for A Tribe Called Quest, due to its last-hurrah status, as well as the heavy fan dissatisfaction with Beats, Rhymes And Life--an album that was reflective of a growth period for the rap vets. Nevertheless, in other music genres, albums of this nature are still appreciated and command strong sales (Prince's platinum output between Purple Rain and Sign O' The Times, for example). As a result of Beats, heads wonder if Quest can restore their street buzz, their hotness. But this dilemma brings other issues to light.

With The Love Movement, many reviews have already blamed Tip, Phife and Ali for becoming stagnant, for failing to deliver an album that ranks alongside the earlier classics of their career. Fans continue to expect nothing less than The Low End Theory, Quest's crowning achievement of eight years past, while ignoring the fact that innovation is what made the album so phat. Hip-hop pundits who lambaste Quest for anything less than a duplication of Low End scoffed at the innovation attempted on Beats. On that ground, one wonders who is actually to blame if Quest appear to be musically running in place.

"I'm sure Jordan thinks about how people think of him, not to compare ourselves to Michael Jordan," says Q-Tip. "But I guess we try to have something to live up to. When you do something good, you want to continue to make people happy. But we try not to think about it that much where it'll affect the group, where it takes us out of being ourselves. Because that's when you start getting gassed, petty with your shit. We too much in the game for that."

As the first group in hip-hop besides their Native Tongue brethren to convincingly sound like they were getting some play (think "Bonita Applebum," "Butter," "The Infamous Date Rape," "Hot Sex," "Electric Relaxation"), The Love Movement is no great thematic departure from Quest's proven steez. The overall results tend to be a mixed bag; The Love Movement is quality output, but not captivating on a whole in that vintage A Tribe Called Quest fashion.

"In lieu of Tupac and Biggie's passing, a lot of the music is turning towards a very vain type of music, in a sense of materials and things of that nature," says Tip. "People love to do things for the love of money, or for the love of fame, or for the love of possessions. And we're getting far from doing things for the love of the love. For the love of that emotion, love."

He raises his nasal voice over Lenny Kravitz crooning "Black Velveteen," which blares from the restaurant's sound system. "Associated with love is a relationship, so we have a few songs that deal with that, and we have some songs where I freestyle. But our freestyle is intertwined with certain tidbits of information. We try not to make it too heavy. We try to keep it light, and something that people can relate to.

"We concentrated a lot on the music on this album," Q-Tip maintains. "I feel like this album is different than all of them. It's more back to us, like our whole vibe. Our whole feeling on it is strong, and definitely went into it."

At this point, an understated Puerto Rican beauty approaches the table to give Tip some sugah. It's Angie Martinez--New York City Hot 97 radio DJ, Grammy-nominee-by-association for Lil' Kim's "Not Tonight (Ladies' Night)" collaboration, and Q-Tip's love interest. (Ali, incidentally, has recently celebrated his first wedding anniversary with his wife, Christine Ott.)

"Sorry," he apologizes, not appearing caught out there in the least. "So, it's like we definitely turned a corner."

Evidence that producers Jay Dee, Ali and Q-Tip (collectively known as the Ummah) attempted to move Quest's music forward crops up on the sublime cool-out instrumental "4 Moms," the reverberating hollow echo effect on "Pad & Pen," and the electric guitar notes lacing "Da Booty." But will lovers of The Low End Theory buy it, literally and figuratively?

"It's more of a newer sound," Ali concludes, defending the musical evolution that's more easily allowed and accepted in genres outside of hip-hop. "To me, it goes back to the confidence of the second album, because we tasted what it was to be in the music business, and we knew what our job was. Whereas the last one, we went through a few things that was like a rebirth. And we're confident. I think that's what this music and everything about this album really shows.

"Now if you say my style is wack, that's where you're dead wrong..."

Apparently, workers at the door of Atlanta's Club 112 aren't fans of the Philadelphia Sixers. Dressed in the jersey and cap of the Pennsylvania ballers, the sports fanatic Phife Dog, with two of his boys and myself in tow, is denied entrance due to his attire. Yes, they know who he is. But if they make an exception, everyone will want special favors.

So we return to the parking lot, preparing to trek back to Phife's tony split-level home on Martinique Court, which he purchased in 1993. But the South is unequivocally the locale of some of the nation's finest women, many of whom stood patiently on the lengthy line outside Club 112, and for this reason, Phife's partners insist on returning to the nightspot after he switches gear at home. Our conversation therefore resumes in the interior of a gray 1998 Buick Regal rental, speeding south down Interstate 85.

Perhaps it's Phife's dour mood, sparked by bouncers at Club 112, that opens up a flood of serendipitous information; perhaps the impending breakup of the Quest has him especially meditative. But the initial inquiry made was to clarify the lack of chemistry between Phife and Q-Tip on Beats, Rhymes And Life.

"At that time, I really didn't want to be in A Tribe Called Quest no more," Phife reveals. "During Midnight, when we was on the road, we had a little rift over some petty shit. I wouldn't say that I fell off as a MC, but my attitude kind of fell off towards it. When you gotta work with somebody day after day and your attitude is fucked up, you're not gonna do your best work. We had our little rift, and I really didn't wanna be down no more.

"I'ma tell you why I'm still in A Tribe Called Quest," he continues. "It's because, before I'm an artist, I'm a fan of A Tribe Called Quest. If I was to leave the group today, I would still buy Q-Tip's shit. I would still buy whatever Ali produce--D'Angelo, Tony Toni Toné. Whatever he does on the side, I'd still buy the shit. It's more to it than just getting up and leaving. But I feel like I've been disrespected in a lot of ways, from management to label to niggas in the crew sometimes talking behind my back."

To the degree that A Tribe Called Quest is operating within a pressure cooker in their last days, this is Phife Dog's chamber. It seems the merely competent presence of Consequence rhyming on a whopping six tracks was a source of contention. "I used to bring Consequence down here," he says. "We used to be chilling, rhyming together, chasing chicks and all of that shit. So it wasn't a jealousy thing, being that Consequence was on mad jams and I wasn't. But I felt like on the low, niggas was trying to make him my replacement in a way. This is how I felt, but I was wrong for feeling like that." (Ali responds, "You can't replace Phife--Phife got his own zone.")

With Phife, there are no pregnant pauses. He either expresses himself from the heart or remains mum, making it difficult to discern whether these revelations were planned for our private time together, or are spontaneous. Exiting to head towards southwest Atlanta, my very next query into Phife's aborted solo album sparks a response laced with more enmity.

"I had moved to Atlanta in September of '93, so I was out here doing it at Bosstown Studios," he begins. "When I started getting deeper into it, we had to go do Lollapalooza. So I figure, whoever could give me some beats, I could be on the tour writing to them, so by the time we get off, I could get busy.

"That never happened," Phife continues. "Jive was bullshitting the whole time. I guess they ain't believe in my project, so they kinda hesitated. But the least they coulda done was told me instead of keeping me waiting. Jive was throwing a measly budget in my face.

"On Violator's [management's] part, they wanna tell me, 'You're not ready to do a solo album.' I guess they said that to me because Tip is the man in everybody's eyes. That's cool, 'cause I already understand that. But at the same time, I'm wicked with mine. I don't give a fuck if the management didn't think so, if Q-Tip didn't think so, if Jive didn't think so. Release me, and let me go put out my own shit, and let niggas know that ain't nothin' sweet--it's real over here! But that's why I'm not really so concerned with doing a solo album like I used to be."

If you remember anything about the Fantastic Four, their dynamics fit A Tribe Called Quest perfectly: the intellectual leader (Ali), the lady-killer (Q- Tip), the brash instinctive impulsive (Phife) and the invisible one (the original fourth Quester, Jarobi). Phife is the most likely to speak it as he sees it, and his heated discourse is a more accurate barometer of Quest's mindset than the more perfunctory interview at Moomba.

"A Tribe Called Quest consists of four members--Phife Dog, Ali Shaheed Muhammad, Q-Tip and Jarobi. A-E-I-O-U, and sometimes Y."

From a modest apartment on Capitol Hill, in the heart of Washington, D.C., 26-year-old Jarobi White enjoys a free afternoon from his position as a chef at the Tacoma Station Tavern. As an original fourth member of A Tribe Called Quest, Jarobi provided charismatic narration throughout their 1990 debut, People's Instinctive Travels And The Paths Of Rhythm. Jarobi studied the culinary arts at the New York Institute Of Technology while his occasional partners devoted themselves to the art of moving butts. His outside commitment took prominence in his personal life, and with the release of their classic 1991 follow-up, The Low End Theory, Quest became a trio.

Having agreed to break his longstanding silence to discuss some Quest history upon the release of the group's final album, Jarobi relates his interpretation of the above spoken interlude from 1993's Midnight Marauders: "That was at the time where people were like, 'Oh, Jarobi got kicked outta Quest, and niggas is dissing him,'" Jarobi says. "Tip just wanted to make the statement. Y is still a vowel, but most of the time don't get mentioned. Like, I'm still a member of Quest but," he pauses, "sometimes."

And what were his contributions to A Tribe Called Quest lore? "I was going back and forth to school, and I didn't have that much involvement. But through the whole first three albums, I helped Tip pick out samples. When they was in the studio and stuff, I was around. But when it came time for pictures and tours and stuff like that, I was doing my own thing. I didn't really rhyme, I was just helping Tip out with the beats.

"Right now, I'm working on a project [called] Bojinka," he continues. "That's me and this cat I went to high school with, ISJ. It's rapping; it's different. It's not like the same stuff these cats are doing right now. What I'm into now, I'm into a lot of jungle. But I feel hip-hop; I live and breathe that shit. If you can imagine all the sounds and stuff that the cat be using for jungle, apply it to hip-hop. Shit that's blowin' my mind right now is Roni Size--that shit is incredible!"

Imagine, for a moment, input from Jarobi continuing to influence the current sound of A Tribe Called Quest. Now imagine an album full of tracks musically akin to "Digital," the 1997 collaboration between KRS-One and popular jungle music trailblazer Goldie, with Phife and Tip trading verses over rapid, frenzied breakbeats. Whether the result would be banging on some next shit or manifestly booty, it's an album the public will certainly never get to hear. Why? Because such musical experimentation is taboo, discouraged and nearly forbidden in hip-hop.

This creative restriction may have cost the hip-hop nation one of its most lauded outfits. A Tribe Called Quest--peace and growth, and keep questing.