Lawrence.com

With the possible exception of The Roots, rap is not a musical style typically associated with live bands. Early pioneers of the genre couldn't afford traditional instruments and created new forms of music by turning record players into whole bands, spinning vinyl into orchestras. Seven Fold Symphony is here to put the music back into rap, a strategy that begins in the rehearsal room.

Seven Fold's practices are held in a cramped, no-frills basement in Kansas City's Midtown area. Beer and cigarettes provide plenty of fuel for the musicians who careen along loosely, stumbling into songs rather than drilling them into the ground.

Jams often begin with a stuttering backbeat courtesy of drummer Adam McKee or a handful of fluttering notes from organ grinder Dan Bergner, whose Hohner clavinet quickly elevates the group to higher ground. Soon enough, two guitars, bass, congas and saxophone (played by Nick Janner, Nick Dykes, Dave Freeman, Tim Mackie and Bull D respectively) are filling in spaces between the grooves, and Seven Fold is up and swinging. Moments later, the group's two MCs  Negro Sco and Brother of Moses  are freestyling, offering spontaneous nuggets of lyrical wisdom and playful improvs from their own life stories.

The music starts getting heated and sweaty as the band moves through an off-the-cuff setlist, alternating lengthy blue-note excursions, flowing Groove Holmes jazz-funk and stripped down hip-hop, following the rhythms wherever they lead. The freestyles get increasingly wicked, too, though rarely straying into the knavish curse-fests so often associated with rap.

"We're not just up there babbling, we're sending a message," Sco explains. "Positivity, keeping it conscious, stopping police brutality. It's family-oriented. I can rock a crowd for the youth. Keep it G-rated  Barney and Pooh bear. We want to rock all people. In this day and age, you have to keep positive. There's no room for negativity as far as I'm concerned."

The science of sounds

Formed in 1998 as Seven Fold Spirit, the nonet has steadily built a local following with a brand of hip-hop that strays far from the flossy trappings of commercial acts. Chart-topping gangsta rappers are particularly deplored by the group, which insists that hip-hop's real heart beats far below the Billboard/MTV radar.

"It's all trends," Sco declares. "Glamour, jiggy, Benzes, gold D's, gold fronts, half naked women on the album cover  that's what sells, that's what gets 'em platinum, Top 10 Billboard. I don't want Top 10 Billboard. I don't want to appeal to the masses. I want to appeal to the underground heads, and, believe me, the underground is vast."

Seven Fold  who lists subterranean acts like Aceyalone, Hieroglyphics, Abstract Truth and Freestyle Fellowship as influences  possess a dedication to non-commercial sounds that is unimpeachable. For years, the Seven Fold MCs refused to use written, memorized rhymes, insisting upon freestyling every song at every show.

"We were just wilding out, having a good time," Sco recalls. "The real heads can tell when an MCs freestyling and kicking something he wrote. The masses, they don't know, it's just rhymes to them. There's big names that go on the radio shows and they're flowin', you're thinking they're freestyling, but then you hear the album and it's on the album just over someone else's beat. Freestyling is a true art. To come up with rhymes off your mind and on the spot takes some serious thought. It's hard if you don't practice. You got to constantly keep a word coming: 'What rhymes with that?'"

"Freestyle was the initial spark of everything," Moses explains. "I was freestyling way before I was ever picking up pens and pads. If you don't freestyle, you ain't a real MC. The page is a prison; look at the bars."

Recently, Seven Fold has begun to rely more upon the written word, committing lyrics to paper for the first time in its three-year history. Though the spontaneity of its early shows has been reduced slightly, a newfound sense of cohesion has more than made up for it.

"We realized we had to get more organized," Sco says. "Over the last six months or so, we started buckling down and spittin' writtens. That allows me and Bro Mo to know what's going on. It sounds a lot cleaner. It's hard to recite something that you got memorized. You gotta have your cadence right, your delivery's gotta be on point with the beat. When you're freestyling, anything goes."

This philosophy is readily applied to Seven Fold's music as well. It's one of the few rap acts in the area to eschew digital audio tapes (DATs), CDs, turntables, samplers and drum machines in favor of a live soundgarden that's as organic as the produce department of a health food store.

"When you just have your beats on a DAT or you're relying on vinyl or whatever, you're limited," Sco insists. "What happens if your CD starts skipping onstage? When you got live beats, the music's coming right there, it's the essence. We just ain't got beats and rhymes; a live band goes a long way."

Missouri beef

Though Seven Fold has been singled out for its political activities (benefit shows and protests are part of its regular agenda), the band is quick to dismiss the "political" label.

"I've been the victim of police brutality," Sco says. "I've had loved ones killed by the police, so I can relate and speak upon it. But I wouldn't say we're a political band."

Interestingly, the local music press has had a mixed reaction to the Klammy-nominated ensemble, praising its social awareness while slagging its musical and lyrical prowess. The cool reception doesn't seem to faze the group, who blew up two particularly negative reviews  one praising Seven Fold's musicians but criticizing its MCs, the other saying the exact opposite  into a giant poster that hangs in front of the band as it rehearses.

"I don't claim to be the best lyrically, but I'll get heads moving," Sco says. "I'll rock a crowd and get people feeding off the energy. Some cats on the mike are just timid, like they're scared and nervous. You gotta work the crowd, work the stage."

Their Kansas City location gives the members of Seven Fold a unique perspective on the area music scene, which they claim suffers from a lack of venues, a lack of knowledge and a general lack of concern on all sides.

"It has potential to blow up," Sco says. "But as far as KC, gangsta rap is just dominating the scene right now. They don't want to give the positive stuff a chance. (Gangsta rap) does reflect the society and neighborhood you grew up in, but I didn't grow up in poverty so I can't relate. I got old and got placed into poverty, being on my own, struggling as an adult."

Though hip-hop can be found in Lawrence clubs during most weeks of the concert calendar, KC's rap scene is often limited to small venues in the city's seedier areas.

"Westport's catering to the yuppie Johnson Countians," Sco declares. "They're scared, man. Scared of hip-hop and rap because  I hate to say this  my fellow black folks get together and start wilding out. (They) want to pull out guns and shoot up the spot. They act ignorant to the culture and it (expletive)s it up for the positive brothers like myself. We're trying to keep it positive, but they're gonna put us in this category with these knucklehead gangsta rappers."

Case in point: At a reggae festival a while back, the band opened for a popular KC gangsta rap act that nearly ruined the show for everyone involved. Seven Fold, which occasionally drops its MCs and doubles as reggae band Raw Ingredients, played a fun-loving set only to be shooed off the stage by the thuggish antics of its peers.

"It's a Bob Marley fest," Sco says in disbelief. "You don't say, 'Let's get (expletive)-ed up' in the name of Bob Marley. There's old people in the crowd, there's kids there! You gotta know what to say, where to say it and when to say it. You gotta feel your crowd, and some cats don't know how to do that. They ain't got no control when it comes to performing, they just get on there and just wild out and say a bunch of (stream of expletives). I cuss, don't get me wrong, but I cuss to stress a point not just to fill a word in. That's wack. There's more to hip-hop than what you see on MTV, but no one wants to be original anymore. They're all cadence clones.

"They all sound the same. The delivery, the vocabulary. That's not my style."

Pay to play

Seven Fold, which averages three to four shows per month, also is peeved at the lack of funding for up-and-coming acts in the area, insisting that artist's should be compensated fairly, regardless of status.

"We're not money hungry, but we do want to get paid," Sco says. "We can only do so many free shows. We did a benefit recently and they gave us $75. They're not giving us our worth. Seventy-five dollars ain't cuttin' it."

Though Seven Fold currently has an EP in the works, the band balks at the notion of signing to a major label.

"They mold you into a puppet," Sco declares. "A record label is just a middle man as far as I'm concerned. I can distribute, promote and market my own stuff. The Internet's the best thing to happen for MCs."

Though Seven Fold Symphony will undoubtedly remain the king of local underground hip-hop, don't be surprised if its staunch resistance to commercial marketing becomes a calling card of sorts  a welcome relief from the glamour and glitz of gangsta rap. Whether the band will ever hang gold records next to its negative reviews remains to be seen, but the group undoubtedly will find a home among area music lovers looking for something different.

"I'm a hip-hop addict, addicted to beats and lyrics," Sco enthuses. "I hear some good hip-hop, I get goosebumps. I rhyme because I love it. I'm not trying to make a million off my rhymes, but I'm not gonna stop doing it either."