Roxanne Shanté still had braces when she became a local legend. The rapper was 14 years old in 1984—living with her mom and sisters in the largest public housing complex in America, battle-rapping for quarters out on the block in Queens—when her song “Roxanne’s Revenge,” a clapback to a U.T.F.O. track, blew up. In a grainy VHS clip from that year, she is introduced as “one of the hottest lady rappers on the music scene” and there she is, not exactly a lady yet, with a simple ponytail, a knit sweater of the grandma-gifted variety, classic gold hoops, and a set of rhymes as thrilling and clever as any we’ve heard in the 30-some odd years since. “Roxanne’s Revenge” went on to sell 250,000 copies and made Shanté a trailblazer for women in rap, and she wasn’t even old enough to get her learner’s permit. It is said that there wasn’t a single person in the Queensbridge Houses who could beat her in a battle.
But Shanté hasn’t exactly received the credit she deserves, a fact being (hopefully) corrected by a new biopic about her starring Nia Long, Mahershala Ali, Beastie Boys’ Ad-Rock, and newcomer Chanté Adams. Titled Roxanne Roxanne and out March 23 on Netflix, the film is a tough watch, between her mother’s heavy drinking at home, the physical abuse she suffered from the father of her first child at just 16, and the many ways she was cheated out of money (which continued as she attempted major-label success throughout the ’80s and early ’90s). But the film is also a triumphant look at a woman who feels a sense of satisfaction about her accomplishments.
Sitting across from me at a midtown restaurant, her signature ponytail still there, Shanté is excited about the movie and more importantly, her life. These days, she lives in New Jersey with her husband, performing live and MCing weddings and birthday parties on the weekend. She still loves (and is excellent at) rapping, breaking into rhyme a couple times throughout the course of lunch. When asked how it has felt to see MC Lyte, Queen Latifah, Foxy Brown, Lil Kim, Remy Ma, Nicki Minaj, and Cardi B in the decades since her debut, her eyes light up with pride. Decked out in a candy pink sweatshirt proudly bearing her name, Roxanne Shanté tells us how she became one of the first (and best) to do this.
Pitchfork: When was the very first time you strung together words that you would call a rap?
Roxanne Shanté: I was watching Nipsey Russell on “Hollywood Squares” and he was rhyming his answer. I said, “I could do that! I know I could do that!” I was about eight. I practiced the whole day, and after that I was an expert, I guess. I have Nipsey Russell syndrome: the ability of being able to rhyme about everything.
[Roxanne begins to rap about us sitting at the table]
I just took a call that was important from my daughter/I’m sitting here, I’m thirsty, I’m about to pour some water/Lemons are right here, sitting here with knives/I wanna call [her publicist] Kerry over, I wanna be nice.
What would you rap about when you were eight years old?
I don’t wanna clean my room, my sisters make me sick.
At its core, what is rapping to you? Self-expression?
It is self-expression. It’s much better than screaming.
And it’s all freestyle for you, right? You can’t plan ahead and write down lyrics?
No, not at all. I can’t even remember what I just said. It’s been 30 years and I’ve never done the same show twice. Honestly, I think I’m one of the worst entertainers. Also, the same clothes I wear during the day, that might be the same sh*t I wear on stage. I don’t have a glam squad. I still don’t know how to wear make-up. I never became that entertainer.
Does it bother you that hip-hop moved into a more image-conscious, glammed-up ideal?
No. I think it was supposed to. When I first got involved in hip-hop, hip-hop had an expiration date. They told us, “Look, this sh*t is gonna be over in 10 years.” So, a lot of old-school artists were swindled out of their publishing because they made us feel like this is not gonna be worth anything in 10 years. Hip-hop is the only genre of music that we were told you must outgrow. Like, if you listen to hip-hop, you weren’t considered an adult. If you make hip-hop, you weren’t considered to be successful. So now to see that switch, to see that everyone listens to hip-hop, that all the commercials are hip-hop-based, the most successful fashions are hip-hop-connected—it makes me very proud to know that I came in and stood there.
