The 500 - #118 - Late Registration - Kanye West

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album #:118
Album Title: Late Registration
Artist: Kanye West
Genre: Hip Hop, Pop Rap, Progressive Rap
Recorded: Three Studios in Hollywood, One in New York

Released: August, 2005
My age at release: 40
How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple songs
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #117, rising one spot
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Gold Digger

I love the way music transforms. How a melody can slip out of one era and reappear in another wearing a completely different outfit. How something sacred can become secular, and then become something else entirely. I think of it as sonic alchemy (although I suspect I'm not the first to use that term). For me, it defines the way one artist melts down an old sound and recasts it into something new. Eventually, a new creation exists that is unrecognizable from the original source material.

It reminds me of the way my classroom lessons evolve over the years, and how each new cohort of students finds inventive ways to remix the challenges I give them. I often call these “low floor, high ceiling” activities because the entry point is accessible to everyone, but the possibilities stretch as far as their imagination. One of my favourites, a simple rock‑blaster coding game, has been reimagined for more than a decade in ways that still surprise me.

Gold Digger, the second single released from Kanye West's sophomore studio release, Late Registration, is a fascinating tale of sonic alchemy that takes place over more than a century. It is also a musical odyssey that continues today and, I suspect, will keep going beyond my lifetime.

It all started in 1901 when American gospel songwriter William Lamartin Thompson penned the Christian hymnal Jesus Is All The World To Me. Thompson, born in East Liverpool, Ohio, in 1847, studied at the New England Conservatory of Music in his early twenties. After facing rejection from commercial publishers in New York, he founded The W. L. Thompson Music Company in 1875. It soon became a prominent gospel publishing house and allowed Thompson to retain the rights to his music -- a rarity at the time.

William Lamartin Thompson

Fast forward 50 years and the gospel quartet The Southern Tones borrowed the hymn's melodic structure and transformed it into the song It Must Be Jesus. The reworked piece became a modest hit, mainly on Southern gospel radio stations where, one afternoon in 1954, singer Ray Charles was listening to it.

It Must Be Jesus - by The Southern Tones.

Charles secularized the gospel groove, a decision that shocked some church communities at the time, and wrote the soul song I Got A Woman. Charles kept the melodic contour of the song, as well as its rhythmic bounce. He also made use of the "call and response" lyrics, a technique that he would return to with his biggest hit, What I'd Say, in 1959.

Album jacket for the single, I Got A Woman (1954).

Fast‑forward another 50 years and Kanye West is in the studio, zeroing in on a tiny slice of Ray Charles’s I Got a Woman, the moment where Charles belts out that unmistakable line, "She gives me money, when I'm in need". Kanye lifts that fragment, reshapes it, and drops it into the foundation of his beat, building a new melodic world on top of Ray’s groove before laying down his rap.

To strengthen the Ray Charles connection, West recruited actor, comedian and singer Jamie Foxx to sing the a capella (vocal) introduction to the song. Foxx had won the Academy Award a year before for his portrayal of Charles in the biopic Ray.

Movie poster for Ray, starring Jamie Foxx.

So, a Christian hymn from 1901 informed a gospel hit from 1954 which was reworked into a R&B hit for Ray Charles, which, 50 years later, was sampled in a platinum selling hip-hop classic. That sonic alchemy continues today. In 2025, American rapper Freddie Gibbs partnered with DJ/producer The Alchemist (real name Alan Maman) to release the song I Still Love H.E.R. which samples West's Gold Digger. The beat, indeed, goes on.

The 500 - 123 - Run DMC - Raising Hell

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album #: 123
Album Title: Raising Hell
Artist: Run DMC
Genre: Hip Hop, Rock Rap
Recorded: Chung King Studio, New York, New York

Released: May, 1986
My age at release: 19
How familiar was I with it before this week: Quite
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #209, Dropping 86 places
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Walk This Way

Album cover for Run-DMC's, Raising Hell.

Raising Hell was the third record from American Hip-Hop pioneers Run-DMC. It became their second of two records to make The 500 chart. Their self-titled debut at #242, and I wrote about it in October, 2023. In that post, I shared some information about their history and my earliest exposure to the hip-hop genre.

Album cover for Run DMC's self-titled first release.

Although Run-DMC had been recording since 1983 and began releasing albums the following year, my friends and I remained unaware of the trio until they swamped our radars with their genre-bending re-make of Aerosmith’s 1975 hard‑rock song Walk This Way. To say Run-DMC’s version took over the summer and early fall of 1986 would be an understatement. It was unavoidable. The track blasted from car radios and battered cassette decks slung over the shoulders of high-schoolers and pre-teens. It seemed to air on Canada’s MuchMusic television station almost hourly, becoming indelibly stamped on my memory. To this day, when I hear it I am transported back to 1986 when the song  became a significant piece of my mental soundtrack.

Album jacket for the single, Walk This Way, by Run DMC

With time and maturity, I can emphatically declare I now prefer the Run‑DMC version over the original by Aerosmith, although as teenagers my friends and I weren’t nearly so generous. We mistakenly believed the hip‑hop trio from Queens was “stealing” the earlier riff we loved.

As self‑styled rockers growing up in the predominantly white city of London, Ontario, we were generationally and geographically removed from hip‑hop. We didn’t recognize it as a rising art form, nor did we understand the concept, or legality, of borrowing and interpolating riffs and samples from the works of others.

As we edged toward our twenties, I think we felt a bit threatened, even left behind, by this new sound. To us, the song seemed as though Run‑DMC was trying to cash in on a great piece of someone else’s achievement. We considered it wrong and unfair. However, I would later learn that the “borrowing” is permissible and compensated.

A screen capture from the Walk This Way video. In the shadowy
background is Jason, "Jam Master Jay" Mizell. At front, from left
to right are Joseph "Run" Simmons, Steven Tyler, Darryl "DMC"
McDaniels and Joe Perry on guitar.

Truth be told, the picture does not reveal the whole story about the recording. Two members of Aerosmith – singer Steven Tyler and guitarist Joe Perry – actually needed a Walk This Way collaboration far more than Run-DMC. It would serve to revitalize their careers. In 1986, Aerosmith was struggling. Badly. By the mid‑’80s, the group were starting to be seen as washed-up, "has-beens". They were battling declining sales, internal instability, and addiction issues. Their recent albums were underperforming, they had lost cultural relevance, and the band was no longer a major commercial force.

Aerosmith's 1985 release, Done With Mirrors, was a commercial
failure for the once reliable group.

Conversely, Run‑DMC were entering 1986 on the verge of a historic breakthrough. They were already hip-hop’s hottest group, and culturally ascendant. They had strong sales from their first two albums – the aforementioned debut and King of Rock from1985 - had made them a global hip-hop phenomeno. Their third album, Raising Hell, was already shaping up to be a major success. Run‑DMC did not need rescuing and, rumour has it, they nearly declined the opportunity to record the Aerosmith cover.

Members of Run DMC and Aerosmith in the studio, on
March 9, 1986, when Walk This Way was recorded.

I've been trying to figure out why I now like the Run-DMC version of Walk This Way better, and I think it comes down to the guitar playing of Perry and the incendiary solo that finishes the five-minute song. Comparing the guitar solo in Aerosmith’s 1975 Walk This Way to Perry’s re-recording for Run‑DMC’s 1986 crossover smash is a bit like comparing two eras of music history.

Joe Perry (1986)

The original Perry guitar solo on Walk This Way, found on Aerosmith’s Toys in the Attic (#229 on The 500) is longer, looser, and unmistakably rooted in the band’s  blues‑rock swagger. It has a raw, improvisational grit typical of their mid‑’70s peak. By contrast, Raising Hell producer Rick Rubin has said  the Run‑DMC version needed a tighter, more streamlined solo. It had to be "one that could live inside a hip-hop arrangement without derailing its rhythmic momentum."

Album cover for Aerosmith's Toys In The Attic record. (#229 on The 500).

And that intentional refinement wasn’t accidental. Rubin pushed Perry hard during the 1986 session. As Rubin recalled, Perry’s first attempt didn’t cut it. Rubin told him directly that he didn't think it was great. Punctuating the criticism by saying; "I feel like you could do better!’’ It was only after that blunt assessment that Perry delivered the final take, one that was shorter, sharper, and engineered to serve Rubin's radically new context.

Rick Rubin (1986).

From Perry’s perspective, the collaboration was far more than a re‑recording session. He later described the remake with Run-DMC as “a high point” for Aerosmith and “an artistic spark” during a period when their career had stalled. Perry’s solo wasn’t just a performance; it was part of a cultural moment that helped relaunch Aerosmith and blasted hip-hop into the mainstream. Well, not the mainstream of my teenage circle of friends. It would be some time before we came around to accept...and now love...the collaborated version between two future Hall of Fame groups.

The 500 - #129 - Remain In Light - Talking Heads

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album: #129
Album Title: Remain In Light
Artist: Talking Heads
Genre: New Wave, Art Rock, Funk Rock, Post Punk, World Beat
Recorded: Compass Point, Nassau, Bahamas, Sigma Sound, New York City, USA
Released: October, 1980
My age at release: 15
How familiar was I with it before this week: Very
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #39, rising 90 spots
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Once In A Lifetime

Back in Grade 11, I made one of the smartest moves of my high school career, signing up for a course called History Through the Arts. It was taught by an educator who would become one of my favourites, Mr. Richard Woods. He was a teacher who brought passion, humour and creativity to every lesson, using a carousel-style slide projector to display photographs on the classroom screen as he shared stories about each one. 

Ai created image of Mr. Woods teaching our class in 1981.

His class was like a time machine, guiding students through prehistoric cave paintings all the way to the splendor of the Renaissance. And thanks to Mr. Woods, I can still tell a Doric column from an Ionic or Corinthian one, in case you're looking for a ringer on your pub trivia team. Here's a handy mnemonic. (D)oric - (d)ull and plain, (I)onic - (i)ntricate and scrolly, (C)orinthian - (c)omplex and leafy.

A few weeks into the course, Mr. Woods let us know that we could sign up for a trip to Italy during March Break, with him as our chaperone and tour guide. We would depart from London, Ontario on the last day of school, fly to Italy -- by way of Belgrade, Yugoslavia -- and then spend  eight nights visiting Rome, Florence, Pompeii and Capri, before heading back home. Flights, accommodations, buses and meals were included for a paltry $1,100. My parents were willing to split the cost with me –  my part time job as a custodian at a local recreation centre making my share challenging but achievable.

Byron Optimist Centre, London, Ontario.

The trip was a whirlwind. Mr. Woods, seasoned from shepherding other classes through this adventure, crafted an itinerary that struck the perfect balance. There was enough structure to hit the must-see art, historical and architectural masterpieces, but plenty of breathing room for my cohort of teenagers to wander and feel the essence of Italy.

Ai image of 80s teens looking across Vatican City.

Day three started way too early. We stumbled into the hotel lobby at dawn, bleary-eyed and clutching whatever caffeine we could find, ready to board a bus for Florence -- a three-hour journey northwest from Rome. The first stretch was quiet, just the sound of yawns and the occasional sigh of regret for staying up too late, and consuming wine (a legal option for us).

Someone unearthed a cassette tape and slotted it into the bus stereo. Just one tape. I still have no idea who brought it or why, but it was Remain In Light by Talking Heads. And so, for the next two hours, we listened to the world beat, afro-funk, new wave of David Byrne and company...on repeat. Nobody complained. Nobody switched it off. I suppose, we all just silently accepted that this remarkable record would be forever linked in our memories as the trip of a lifetime. 

The highway trip from Rome to Florence.

Remain in Light was the fourth studio album by New York art-rock pioneers Talking Heads. Teaming up with producer Brian Eno, the band drew heavy inspiration from Nigerian afrobeat legend Fela Kuti, layering polyrhythms, looping grooves, and electronic textures to create something groundbreaking. Lead singer David Byrne famously broke through a bout of writer’s block by embracing a stream-of-consciousness approach to lyrics. He also pulled ideas from the hip hop scene around him in New York and African political literature. The result? A record that didn’t just set a new standard for recording, it sounded like nothing else on Earth.

Talking Heads in 1980 (l-r) David Byrne, Chris Frantz,
Tina Weymouth, Jerry Harrison.

Although I was a 16-year-old hard rock devotee when I first heard the album...on repeat...half a dozen times...I knew instantly it was something different and important. From the hip-hop-inspired grooves of Crosseyed and Painless to the sing-along magic (and existential malaise) of Once in a Lifetime, Remain in Light demanded my attention.

Album jacket for Once In A Lifetime single release.

Despite spending more than a week in Italy, I came home with only one photograph. I hadn’t brought a camera, but a trip-mate snapped a shot for me of the bronze statue of Perseus with the Head of Medusa by Benvenuto Cellini. The masterpiece stands proudly in the Loggia dei Lanzi in Florence. While it is the only personal picture I have of an incredible teen-age experience, my recollections are vivid, linked as they are to the soundtrack of the Talking Heads. Like Perseus defeating a mythical gorgon, the New York art quartet were at the peak of their powers.

The only shot I can find from my trip.

Thanks for the memories, Mr. Woods. As an educator myself, I now understand the commitment you made to make your lessons so engaging...not to mention, giving up your March Break to spend it with a bunch of, sometimes drunk, teenagers.

The 500 - #134 - Ready To Die - The Notorious B.I.G.

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album: #134
Album Title: Ready To Die
Artist: The Notorious B.I.G.
Genre: East Coast Hip Hop
Recorded: The Hit Factory and D&D Studios, New York, New York.
Released: September, 1994
My age at release: 29
How familiar was I with it before this week: One song
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at position #22, rising 112 spots
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Big Poppa
Few things in hip hop engage me more than razor-sharp wordplay, intricate multi-syllabic rhymes, and storytelling that feels cinematic. Add in lyrics that carry political or social weight, and you’ve got my full attention.

If you’ve been following this series, you know I celebrated Eric B. & Rakim’s ability to rhyme across the bar line in my January, 2024, post on Paid in Full (#228 on The 500) and Eminem’s linguistic acrobatics in October, 2023, when I explored The Marshall Mathers LP (#244). I’ve also unpacked the groundbreaking social commentary in Public Enemy’s Fear of a Black Planet (#302); Illmatic (#402) from Nas or the raw bullhorn of protest found in N.W.A.’s Straight Outta Compton (#144). Meanwhile, I've also become a fan of clever sampling, especially the work of Erick Sermon and Parrish Smith on their first release, Strictly Business (#453).

Album covers for records mentioned above.

When it comes to pure smoothness, few can rival the late Christopher George Latore Wallace, better known as Biggie Smalls, The Notorious B.I.G., or simply Biggie. He delivers all of that and more. His verses aren’t just lyrics; they’re vivid narratives woven into rhythm, making Ready to Die a masterclass in clever, seemingly effortless rap. Biggie’s command of internal rhyme and multi-syllabic wordplay is matched by his breath control and rich vocal tone, allowing him to glide through complex lines with ease. Layer in his knack for striking imagery and streetwise slang, and the result is music that flows with smooth confidence.

Biggie’s work has only grown in stature over time. As noted earlier, Ready to Die jumped more than 100 spots in Rolling Stone Magazine's 2020 update of 2012’s The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, landing in the Top 25. That said, not every track has aged gracefully. Some songs reveal the raw edges of Biggie’s youth...he was just 21 when he wrote them. The 14th track, Friend of Mine, leans heavily on crude humor and explicit sexual detail, tarnishing his lyrical brilliance. Respect, the album’s 13th cut, brims with sexual bravado, ego-driven bluster, and violent imagery, relying more on shock value than the sophistication Biggie displays elsewhere. And then there’s the awkwardly titled Me and My Bitch, intended as a love song but now jarring and undeniably misogynistic by today’s standards.

Biggie with his wife Faith Evans. It is unconfirmed if she
was the inspiration for his love song Me And My Bitch, but 
the timelines match-up. They married in August, 1994.

The Notorious B.I.G. released only two studio albums before his life was tragically cut short in a drive-by shooting in Los Angeles on March 8, 1997. Both records earned spots on Rolling Stone’s 2012 and 2020 editions of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. I’ll keep revisiting Biggie’s catalog, but I suspect my go-to will be the 2007 Greatest Hits compilation, released on the tenth anniversary of his death. It pulls together standout tracks from both studio albums, along with select posthumous material, that offer a powerful snapshot of his legacy in one collection while side-stepping some of his less mature tracks.

The 500 - #138 - The Chronic - Dr. Dre

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album: #138
Album Title: The Chronic
Artist: Dr. Dre
Genre: West Coast Hip Hop, G-Funk, Gangsta Rap
Recorded: Death Row (Los Angeles, California)
Released: December, 1992
My age at release: 27
How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple songs
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #37, moving up 101 spots
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Lil' Ghetto Boy

"Fo shizzle, my nizzle!"

There was a time when that phrase was the height of cool. In the early 2000s, the Grades 7 and 8 students I taught tossed it around like a linguistic VIP pass. Though they lived in a predominantly white, working-class neighbourhood their speech was steeped in the slang and swagger of West Coast hip hop. It was language that had traveled straight from a recording studio in California to our Canadian classrooms on cassette tapes, CD's and music videos. One student, especially fluent in the culture, even gave me a nickname. I wasn’t “Mr. Hodgkinson” to him. I was “Mitta H.” “Mitta,” of course, being his hip hop remix of “Mister.” Thinking back it still makes me laugh: his slightly pudgy, freckled face delivering lines with the confidence of a seasoned MC.

"Mitta H? Can I axe you sumthin' real quick?"

"Mitta H? I ain't gonna lie, I didn't do the homework, but lemme explain."

"Mitta H? I can't stay, I gotta bounce."

The phrase “Fo shizzle, my nizzle!”, made famous by rapper Snoop Doggy Dogg (born Calvin Broadus Jr.), gained widespread traction with his 2000 single Snoop Dogg (What’s My Name? Pt. 2) from the album Tha Last Meal. It was part of Snoop’s signature linguistic flair: a playful remix of English where he added the suffix or infix “-izzle” to everyday words, creating a kind of lyrical shorthand. In this code, a table became a tizzable, a chair a chizzair, and a house a hizzle. So naturally, “Fo shizzle, my nizzle” translated to “For sure, my friend” -- with “nizzle” standing in for the N word, which, in African American Vernacular English, is often used as a term of camaraderie and cultural solidarity.

Snoop Dogg in 2000.

I’ve long been fascinated by the etymology and evolution of slang, so diving into the origins and trajectory of “Fo shizzle” for this post was a delight. As it turns out, what sounded like a fresh catchphrase from my gregarious student in the early 2000s was, in fact, the product of a linguistic lineage stretching back over sixty years. While Snoop Dogg popularized the phrase in 2000, its roots predate him by several years. The “-izzle” infix first surfaced in rapper E-40’s 1996 track, Rapper’s Ball, where he dropped “fo’ sheezy” into the mix. But even E-40 was riffing on an earlier influence. He'd borrowed it from Frankie Smith’s 1981 funk hit Double Dutch Bus, which featured playful “-iz” speak as part of its lyrical style.

Cover for the single Double Dutch Bus, by Frankie Smith.

Smith, in turn, drew inspiration from the coded language of the 1970s African American street culture, specifically the cant used by pimps and hustlers to obscure their conversations from law enforcement, the same reason that East Londoners in the U.K. contrived Cockney slang in the 1900s. Similarly, the, slang “izzle” was a linguistic sleight of hand, much like Pig Latin, which can be traced back to the Harlem Renaissance (1918–1935), when young black girls are believed to have developed rhythmic, coded chants while jumping rope. What began as a form of playful secrecy evolved into a cultural cipher, one that would eventually echo through boom boxes, bounce off classroom walls, and land in the everyday speech of kids hundreds of kilometers away.

Girls jumping "Double Dutch" in Harlem, New York (circa 1940).

Before he was a household name, Snoop Doggy Dogg made his explosive debut on Dr. Dre’s 1992 landmark album The Chronic. With his laid-back flow and unmistakable drawl, Snoop appeared on multiple tracks, including the iconic Nuthin’ but a ‘G’ Thang, instantly becoming a standout voice in West Coast hip hop. His chemistry with Dre was undeniable and the buzz around this lanky Long Beach newcomer was electric.

Album cover for Ain't Nuthin' But A G Thang featuring Dr. Dre
and Snoop Dawg. 

The Chronic was the groundbreaking debut solo album from rapper, producer, and future mogul Dr. Dre (born Andre Young). Released in 1992, the album marked a bold new chapter for Dre, who had recently split from the pioneering West Coast group N.W.A. following a bitter financial dispute with their manager, Jerry Heller, and groupmate Eazy-E. Frustrated by what he saw as unfair contracts and mismanagement, Dre left the group and co-founded Death Row Records with former bodyguard-turned-entrepreneur Suge Knight.

Vibe Magazine cover (1996) featuring (clockwise l-r)
Snoop Dawg, Dr. Dre, Tupac Shakur and Suge Knight.

Determined to carve out his own legacy, Dre poured his energy into The Chronic, crafting a sound that would come to define an era. Drawing heavily from 1970s funk, especially the grooves of Parliament-Funkadelic (#177, #276 and #479 on The 500), he pioneered the G-funk style -- a laid-back, synth and bass-driven sound that stood in stark contrast to the aggressive, sample-heavy beats of East Coast hip hop. The Chronic became a cultural juggernaut, selling millions of copies and reshaping the sound of hip hop in the 1990s. Many consider it more than an album. Critics and fans have lauded it as a statement of independence, a reinvention of West Coast rap, and the beginning of a new dynasty.

Funk collective Parliament-Funkadelic.

Despite the six-decade journey it took for “Fo shizzle” to land in the vocabulary of my students, it took barely a year for the phrase to hit cultural saturation and promptly flame out. Like so many slang terms that bubble up from Black culture and cross into the mainstream, especially when adopted by white audiences, it lost its edge seemingly overnight. By 2005, when Michael Scott awkwardly dropped it on television’s The Office in a cringey attempt to bond with his younger, more diverse staff at the fictional Dunder Mifflin Paper Company, the phrase had gone from cutting-edge to a cartoonish punchline.

Steve Carell portraying "Prison Mike" in a classic episode of The Office.

By the early 2000s, even I was using it, but only with a heavy dose of irony, usually to mock my own attempts at being “down with the kids.” And yes, "they fo shizzle rolled dey eyes, son".