Listen To Your City

On Saturday, December 4 2020, one of my closest friends passed away from a heart attack. I don’t mean to start this article off so grim, but I feel that gives context to my story, and the timeline of hip hop in Indianapolis. In order to get a grasp on any scene or community, or to truly appreciate and understand it, it’s important to explore its history.

As a Black teenager growing up in a small rural town in northern Indiana, I cut my teeth with the local DIY misfits, throwing shows at little pavilions and old fire buildings in the early 2000s. It was no easy task growing up in a county where the founder of the White Aryan Resistance held his headquarters, but I prevailed. I found counterculture at punk and hardcore shows, filling my weekends with anti-racist and anti-establishment propaganda by like-minded teens who were outcasts and losers in the eyes of the townees. Ultimately I was searching for more. 

I moved to Indianapolis in hopes of finding and learning about who I really was and where I came from. Landing at a community college downtown, I became fascinated with the history of the Black experience. Charles Mills, Langston Hughes, Angela Davis, and W.E.B. Dubois were among a small group of writers I couldn’t put down. Afro literature and underground hip hop were injected into my veins. I found solace going to the local record store on Massachusetts Ave, getting completely lost in a city where I’d barely scratched the surface. I began to write rhymes and came to find out I was really good. 

I’m positive this is when the article really begins. My chapter in the history of the Indianapolis hip hop scene starts here.

After college, I began flourishing as a rapper, gaining traction playing shows in the city and all over the country. But I think my own renaissance happened in the 2010s. At the time, I was living in Fountain Square, a neighborhood six minutes southeast of Monument Circle, in the center of Indianapolis. There, I found another oasis, filled with musicians of all genres in one square block.

The sounds of multiple band practices would echo through the air on any given afternoon. Rent was a mere $200 a month, if you gathered a couple of like-minded artists, and there was still room to leave some brush strokes on the canvas. House shows were out of this world, and the music venues were within walking distance of each other. I was getting closer to what I was searching for.

Chreece is a portmanteau from the combination of cheers and peace. It was a slurring together of two words that would leave a mark on the history of the Indianapolis hip hop community. I was attending a mixed-genre billed show at a local Pizza King when it dawned on me that maybe I could curate and facilitate a hip hop festival in my own neighborhood — and not just any festival, but a celebration. A celebration of some of the most electrifying individuals in the city and from all over Indiana. 

Before I go any further, It’s important to express the cultural significance of the history of Black music in the city of Indianapolis. Eleven minutes northwest of the Fountain Square neighborhood is Indiana Avenue. In the 1930’s, The Ave was a mecca for Black music and culture. This pivotal neighborhood would host some of the most prominent Jazz musicians in the country: Cab Calloway, Duke Ellington, and even Indianapolis’ own Wes Montgomery, to name a few. Indiana Avenue was a beacon for Blackness, where folks would foster a community filled with Black-owned business, newspapers, and churches. Unfortunately, due to segregation and the rise of urban blight, the neighborhood began to change in the 1960s. Despite that, one can't deny the effect Indiana Avenue and its legacy will have on generations yet to come.

In 2015, I began to see my own generation's rise of Black music in Indianapolis. The rap scene was on fire and began to take significant shape. I felt like it was time to celebrate the sound for one day, in the neighborhood where I found so much inspiration. Chreece began and remains, a one-day festival shining a light on the many sub genres of Naptown hip hop. 

The city has different sounds and different scenes, all within I-465. From trap rappers to avant garde internet rappers to true school back packers, you can tell that this city has influence from all over the country, but one person can’t say definitively that the Naptown sound is from anywhere else. It’s just us. 

On the last weekend before Labor Day in 2015, more than 2,000 people gathered in one Southeast neighborhood, in hopes of navigating eight different venues, all within walking distance of each other. Over 60 rappers, DJs, producers, and dancers played to venues filled with some of the most electrifying sounds in the world.  

In 2018, my pals J Brookinz and Indianapolis icon Ron Miner, aka Indiana Jones, joined the team in hopes to take the festival to new heights. We began to gain more attention from the city, as well as the country, as we brought more national acts to the neighborhood. I will never forget walking around the fountain, soaking up all the sounds and the Black joy exuberating from building to building—-people dancing in the streets in unison, celebrating together for one day.

I’ve been listening to Kendrick Lamar's latest release, Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers, on repeat. The first track, “United in Grief,” has been resonating with me the last couple of months. “I grieve different, Everybody grieves different.”

This is the part of the article where I come face-to-face with my grief. In 2020, my iconic close friend Ron passed away unexpectedly. If you’re a native of Indianapolis, there are some days you wake up here in the city, yearning for something more. More importantly, there are days where the city seems like paradise on earth. Indiana Jones wore this city like a badge of honor. And, at the same time, he made you truly believe in yourself. Just as Chreece was at an all time high, our ship came crashing down with the loss of one of our own heroes—all while we were already struggling under the weight of the pandemic.

Today, I woke up with hope for the future. I can confidently say that I am ready to bring the festival back to Indianapolis in August of 2023. 

I want to end this with a call to action. And I’m only doing so because Ron would appreciate it. Festivals like Chreece are important to Midwestern cities like Indianapoils. Black music is the lifeblood of major American city’s cultural offerings. So it’s important that we take care to preserve the history of these grassroot movements and protect the culture at all costs.  

Sometimes, when I wake up  I’m weary. But I can't let go of something that means so much to so many.  When you’re creating something from the ground up, whether it be a painting, or a song, or a delicious dish, folks will be able to taste, hear, or see your sincerity and intentions. Take a moment and REALLY listen to your city. Listen to the people on your block, in the grocery store, at a poetry night, or even at a tire shop. You just might find what you’re looking for.