Hot 97: Still blazing - or just a hot mess?

The nation's first hip-hop station battles its landlord, hip-hop advocates and Power 105.1

BY GLENN GAMBOA AND RAFER GUZMÁN | Newsday Staff Writers

May 18, 2006

When Hot 97's landlord began eviction proceedings earlier this month, the influential hip-hop station didn't keep it quiet, as most businesses would. It turned it into a promotion.

The station began running a promotion joking that since its landlord claimed that Hot 97's presence at 395 Hudson St., had made their Greenwich Village block too dangerous, the station would be coming to your neighborhood.

Soon, there was also a theme song, appropriating rap mogul Diddy's "Bad Boy For Life" and transforming its chest-thumping chorus into, "We ain't goin' nowhere. We can't be stopped now 'cause it's Hudson for life."

At Hot 97 (WQHT/97.1 FM), when life hands you lemons, you take them and start whipping them at life's private parts.

"We're staying," morning show host Miss Jones said on the air last week, after a judge ordered that some of the landlord's restrictions on the station went a bit too far. "Y'all better move."

Of course, it's not all settled yet. State Supreme Court Judge Bernard Fried will hold a hearing Friday about the eviction. And Brian O'Dwyer, who represents Hot 97's landlord, the New York City District Council of Carpenters, said he is pleased the judge understands how serious the situation at the building is.

"Over the course of the last few years, they have fostered a culture of violence - three separate shootings, 50 acts of violence on the premises," O'Dwyer said. "It's gotten worse rather than better. It's not a coincidence that they're known throughout the community as 'Shot 97.'"

Eviction and other battles

Regardless of how the eviction hearing turns out, the location of Hot 97's studio is only one of several related challenges the station faces. Hot 97 lost its ongoing battle with hip-hop rival Power 105.1 (WWPR/105.1 FM) in the most recent ratings book. And there is growing sentiment within the hip-hop community against the station's brash, in-your-face attitude, and what some say is its glorification of violence.

After all, the station was fined $240,000 last year for its "Smackfest," on-air contests where women slapped each others' faces for cash. And there still are local activists calling for the firing of Miss Jones, whose real name is Tarsha Nicole Jones, after last year's controversial "Tsunami Song," which mocked victims of the Southeast Asia disaster.

"Hot 97, whether it's been shootings or the many other things that they've done, and Emmis as the parent company, have done a lot to destroy the essence of an amazing cultural art form," said Rosa Clemente, spokeswoman for R.E.A.C.Hip-Hop, one of the community groups seeking Jones' ouster. "I really think that's happening, and that's very, very sad. But I also understand that it's about making money for these people."

Barry Mayo, senior vice president of Hot 97's parent company Emmis Communications Corp. and the station's general manager, disagrees. "Those people have it turned around," he said. "We get no royalties. We don't start any beefs. That comes from the outside in. We are a reflection. We play the music."

However, Mayo said Hot 97 will do what it can to stop violence associated with hip-hop. For example, last month's shooting of Brooklyn rapper Gravy outside the station - the incident that sparked the station's landlord's move for eviction - has led to a ban on his music.

"I fault him for bringing that drama here," said Mayo, adding that any other artists who get involved in violence in or around the station will get the same punishment. "We deplore and feel horrible about any kind of violence. On any given night, there are people going in and out of this building - my people. The last thing that Barry Mayo or anyone at Hot 97 wants to see is anybody get hurt - any tenants, any people who live in this fine neighborhood, or, God forbid, any of my people. To think that we wouldn't do anything we could to decrease or eradicate any violence is just crazy."

Hot 97's landlord, however, is worried that the station's reputation and the notoriety of incidents - the shooting of a member of The Game's entourage outside the building as part of a beef with 50 Cent last year, and the 2001 shootout between the entourages of Lil' Kim and Capone-N-Noreaga - will lead to more of them.

"It's become a badge of courage to get them known," O'Dwyer said. "The last incident involved a rapper that was an unknown. There were 11 shots fired. It's not too hard too imagine a passerby getting hit by one of those shots."

Emmis officials point out that the incidents all took place in an area outside their control. "It happened seven floors down, outside of our building," Mayo said. "I can't police the streets."

The station has agreed to pay for additional armed security outside the building when stars arrive for interviews, as well as a direct phone line to the New York Police Department. But the biggest change may come from the artists themselves, Mayo said.

"I believe that, like rock music, like pop music, [hip-hop] goes through certain phases," he said. "I believe you will find hip-hop again going through another phase, away from this negative and violent stuff. Frankly, and this is my editorial comment, I hope so because it's destructive. It's not good for our community or for the young folks coming up. I need to make it clear, it's not Hot 97 that's promulgating this stuff."

Fighting a ratings war