Hip-Hop Pioneer Memorialized

Jason Mizell, known to his fans as Jam Master Jay, was shot and killed last Wednesday night, but his memory lives on at places like the corner of Merrick Boulevard and 90th Avenue and at The Greater Allen Cathedral in St. Albans. Barely hours after the news of his death spread throughout the Jamaica neighborhood where Mizell, 37, owned a recording studio, a shrine was erected to embrace the DJ of the pioneering rap group Run-DMC. Pictures of the hip-hop hero and handwritten notes lined the shrine.
The tiny makeshift memorial has attracted a large turnout from adoring fans and the media. For many, Mizell was a symbol of a time when hip hop was little more than a local phenomenon in neighborhoods like Hollis, Queens, where Mizell grew up with Joseph Simmons and Darryl McDaniels. Together in 1982 the trio formed the group Run-DMC and would literally change hip-hop forever.
In 1986, the group released "Raising Hell," the first platinum selling rap album. The albums hit song, "Walk This Way," collaborated with the rock group Aerosmith, made them household names and the unofficial representatives of hip-hop for the mainstream public.
The groups of onlookers paid their respects even though Mizell and Run-DMC had been out of the limelight for some time. But their reasons for coming were clear: Jam Master Jay signified an era in their lives when life was perhaps simpler and the music of hip-hop wasnt just about gunplay and being a "player," as it is in most hip-hop songs today.
"He was a brilliant young man, very talented, who had achieved a great level of success while at the same time being a pioneer," said Star, the shock-jock disk jockey of the hip-hop station Hot 97. "I dont know if what happened is hip-hop related. You have people getting killed every day over other stuff. You have people who want to take hip-hop down. Not enough is known to say that what happened is because of hip-hop."
Mizell was reportedly shot in the head while he was in a lounge at his recording studio. Police are still searching for his killer, who fled the scene. An officer from the 103rd precinct admitted that rumors are circulating concerning suspects in the investigation, from a man to whom Mizell owed money, to someone with whom he was fueding. Currently, however, "its all a lot of speculation," the officer said. "We dont have anybody yet."
Packs of fansyouths, perhaps aspiring rappers, alongside adults who were probably teenagers when Run-DMC was at its peakcongregated in front of the shrine singing Run-DMCs lyrics. Together, they tried to make sense of the latest rap icon to be inexplicably gunned down execution style.
Thirty-nine-year-old Linden Jacobs, who lives on Merrick Boulevard, a short walk from the shrine, noted how Mizell was one of the few celebrities never to leave what should have been a well protected neighborhood.
"The strangest irony to me is that heres a man working on his rap music right here," he said pointing to a building not far from the shrine. "Theres a church right across from the studio. Theres a church down the block. Theres a police precinct a half a block looking over this, and theres Day Top [day care center] right here. When you have all this operating right here, and then someone can walk in and take a mans life so violently, its got to bring us out to pay our respects."
With rap lyrics increasingly becoming contests to see who can spew the most vulgar and vicious lyrics, and society arguably mirroring the suggestions and exploits made in these songs, Jacobs wondered if the culture of hip-hop wasnt hamstringing itself and somewhere to blame in all of this.
"Theres a perception that hip-hop is violent," he said. "But then again, hip-hop is so much of life and is so much an imitation of these guys lives and their culture. I think the violence just follows it. And it isnt just killing the best of the artists, its also killing the culture."
Joe Berardicelli, one of the few Caucasians to visit the memorial, made the trip from Bay Shore, Long Island, to pay reverence to one of his earliest heroes. "Ive been a fan since 1984 when they came out with their first album," Berardicelli said. "I was into Run-DMC way before Walk This Way came out, although that blew them up onto the pop scene and resurrected Aerosmiths career."
He admittedly doesnt listen to rap music as much as he used to. He described himself as an "old school kind of guy," turned off by the violence and misogynistic attitudes toward women popularized in rap music today.
"Theres a tremendous difference between old school and new school," he said. "Basically hip-hop is not what it used to be. Its like night and day. Hip-hop, years ago, was uplifting. It was fun to listen to and, depending on who you listened to, it could actually educate you to some extent. Today hip-hop, if youre not into smoking, drinking, getting into adult activity, stripping or ecstasy and all type of drug use or thugging it out then youre not nobody. Years ago that stuff wasnt glorified. Now you have people flashing guns in videos."
At his funeral Tuesday, at The Greater Allen Cathedral in St. Albans, fans of all ages turned out to pay their respects. Grandmothers stood with their kids alongside hip-hop fans blasting Run-DMC from radios. Mizells death seemed to touch a demographic not defined by or confined to age, sex or color. "He layed down the foundation of hip-hop," said a young man named Sincere La standing outside of the cathedral. "Hes a trend setter. He was the father and we were the sons."
Sixty-year-old Margaret Singleton-Berton conceded that her daughter was a bigger fan of Jam Master Jay then she was, but felt it important as a sign of solidarity to show her face along with everyone else in attendance. "He was a part of our community," she said. "I was curious about what was going on here. I admit I am also here to see some celebrities, but the main reason I came was because he was a good rolemodel for our kids. Thats important."