Fresh Air - Tariq Trotter (Black Thought), Co-Founder Of The Roots

Episode Date: November 7, 2023

Tariq Trotter, aka Black Thought, reflects on his difficult childhood in Philly, his decades-long friendship with Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson, and 50 years of hip-hop. Trotter's new memoir is The Upcycled Self.Also, TV critic David Bianculli reviews Rob Reiner's new HBO documentary about Albert Brooks.Learn more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

This is Fresh Air. I'm Tanya Mosley. Tariq Trotter's life, as he remembers it, starts with a fire. He was six years old, deep in play with his army men, those popular plastic figurines from the 70s, when he decided to flick a lighter to add drama to the war scene. When the tip of the lighter got too hot for Tariq's little fingers, he reactively tossed it, the curtains and carpet erupting in flames before engulfing the entire house. And Trotter's new book, The Upcycled Self, a memoir on the art of becoming who we are, the Grammy Award-winning rapper and co-founder of the hip-hop group The Roots, examines the shame of that moment, as well as other harrowing events growing up in Philadelphia,

intertwined with joyful moments like discovering music and meeting his fellow bandmate Amir Questlove Thompson. Known by his stage name, Black Thought, Trotter is the lead emcee of The Roots, which he and Thompson founded after meeting his teens in high school. Here's one of their first hits from the album Things Fall Apart, You Got Me, featuring Erykah Badu. I've been a who I saw What love I went to with my own fears Baby, don't worry, I'm the way you got me Somebody told me that this planet was small We used to live in the same building on the same floor

And never met before until I'm overseas on tour And peep this Ethiopian queen from Philly taking classes abroad She's studying film and photo flash focus record Says she's working on a flick and cut my click through the score She said she loved my show in Paris at Alice in Montmartre And that I stepped off the stage and took a piece of her heart We knew from the start that things fall apart Intent to shatter, she like, that it don't matter when I get home

Get out of through letter phone, whatever, let's link, let's get together Did you think not, think to throw her home or forgot? Time passed, we back in Philly. Now she up in my spot. Telling me the things I'm telling her is making her hot. Started building with her constantly round the clock. Now she in my world like hip hop. They keep telling me.

The Roots serve as the house band on NBC's The Tonight Show starring Jimmy Fallon. And in addition to his music, Trotter is also a theater actor and writer, having co-written the music and performed in the off-Broadway play Black No More. Tariq Trotter, welcome to Fresh Air. Thank you. Thank you so much, Tanya. Thanks for having me. This memoir is about you going back through your life to understand who you are. And that fire that you accidentally started at six years old, you write that it became the basis of all that you are. But to say that it changed you isn't quite right.

It actually shaped the person that you are. What did it shape you into? I think, you know, the fire and that whole experience at such a young age, it changed me in that it jump-started. It was the beginning of me having to grow up fast. When I go back in my life and I trace through those watershed moments, I mean, you know, I was six years old, so there was no way at six for me to really understand the gravity, you know what I mean, of it all and how that's the sort of thing that could carry through life, you know? At the time you were living with your mother and your half-brother in a house that your mom had done this amazing job making a home in North Philadelphia.

She did not blame you or scold you, but it was clear that it had changed your family's life. There was very much a before the fire and an after the fire for your family. How, in those immediate days and weeks and really years, did things change for you all? It really destabilized you. Yeah, it definitely, it was the beginning of just a more unstable period in our lives. One of the things that, a revelation that occurred post-fire, like right after the fire, was just the fact that I didn't get in trouble.

There was no doubt in my mind that I was, you know, going to get it. You know what I mean? I knew that I had really done it this time, and I was expecting, you know, some, if not multiple, manners of punishment, right? And, you know, there wasn't really a reprimand. Like, you know, my mom, I mean, obviously now as an adult and as a parent, you completely understand that the only concern would be for your kid's safety. But in that moment, I felt like, wow, you know, she's she's let me slide with this one.

But, you know, I think I came to like the revelation was the amount of grace, you know what I'm saying, that my mother was able to show in those moments, right? You know, that felt as if such a display would be impossible. You talk about how much you had to grow up after that fire. You got your first job at seven years old? Yeah. Yeah, I did. Seven years old? Yeah. Yeah, I did. Seven years old, I was working at an ey, which, you know, often I would be traveling alone or with, you know, another young five or six year old kid.

It really speaks to the time because. It really does. It does, you know, because we would just be out there back in the day. Your parents would go to work and just, you know, go to school. I hope you make it. My trek to school, it was a couple mile walk. And, you know, this was, you know, the winters in the 70s and early 80s when it was the real deal, you know, super cold out. But yeah, anyway, this guy, this optician, where I would often stop to ask him if he could repair my glasses before I got home from school. I think he just, you know, sort of felt the vibe.

He, like, he read the room of sorts and was, you know, he realized that I was a latchkey kid who was often, you know, headed home from school to an empty house. And he provided, you know, an alternative in saying, hey, would you accept these responsibilities? And would it be okay if I talk to your mom and, you know, figure something out? And he spoke with my mom and she was with it. I had a job.

You write about these times so vividly, and you also write about some heavy things that allow us to understand and see you more clearly in addition to the fire that forever changed you, you also lost both of your parents at a very young age. Your father was murdered when you were a baby, and your mother was murdered when you were a teenager in a very brutal way. I'm guessing for a very long time, you did not lead with this part of your life. Did people in the entertainment circles and around you know these things about you? I mean, you know, my closest friends definitely, you know, know about my history and, you know, what my life has sort of been like. But no, I think I'm guarded in that way. I'm such a private person that it's

almost as if you weren't there at the time. There's no way that you'd have any idea. I've never worn my lived experience as that sort of badge or on my sleeve in that way. What do you think that's about, holding it so close to you? You know, I think it's one of those last bastions of, you know, of self, right? I think as artists, there's a dance, there's a negotiation that takes place. And, you know, we give so much of ourselves. And that's what becoming an artist and embracing the arts is about. It's And, you know, we're this, we give so much of ourselves and that's what becoming an artist and embracing the arts is about. It's about, you know, giving more of yourself. Not that I've never intended to become more personal and more vulnerable and accessible

as an artist, but it's the sort of thing that I was holding on to for the right moment, you know what I mean, for when it made the most sense. And that's right now. You didn't find out right away that your mother had been murdered. You had been living in Detroit and with relatives. You were a teenager and you'd come back to Philly and you couldn't find her. And so you went out to search for her. And one of the places you went to after calling and driving around was the morgue. And that's where you found her. Yeah, yeah. You know, not me personally, but that's where our family found her. And it was, you know, one of the sad, you know, just realities of life, you know, in Philadelphia.

And at the time that, you know, I was growing up in Philadelphia, I mean, you know, just in the middle of the 80s crack epidemic. And then, you know, immediately after, you know, just the crack epidemic and everything that took place, we had normalized lots of trauma and lots of things that we had gotten used to seeing and experiencing every day. It just wasn't necessarily okay and wasn't necessarily normal. And one of the normal things for us was that, you know, that's what you do. If, you know, someone doesn't show back up home at the end of the night or the next morning or you're trying to track somebody down, first you check the hospitals, you know, see if, you know, maybe they've gotten hurt and wound up in the hospital. Then you check, you know, the jails, see if they have been arrested. And then you check the morgues. And we, in that order, that's what we always did.

And that was the process. And then my mother, you know, she would always turn up after a couple days. And this particular time, I think it was something that we all felt, you know, just an eerie feeling. It felt different. And once we had found out that there was a Jane Doe that had turned up, like an unidentified or unidentifiable body. I think we all knew that or felt that that was my mother. And then my grandmother and her sister went and they confirmed at the morgue. When you found out your mother was killed, you were in high school

and you had this good friend, Amir Questlove Thompson. What did that friendship mean to you through that time period? Through that time period, Amir and my friendship was huge. It was an anchor for me. The ways in which he and his family were there for me, they really had taken me in. The dynamic was already one in which I would spend days, weeks at a time at his place and vice versa. You know, we were inseparable in that way as creatives. But the fact that I was able to pour myself completely into my art and that the music was there for me when I needed it to be and, you know, just that Amir and his family was there for me. It was huge. It was just the perfect, you know, safety net to sort of keep me on the right trajectory because I was very much at a crossroads and I could have processed that trauma and the experience and the loss in a different way and, you know, just been, you know,

at a very different place today. The Roots was also one of the first rap groups to play live music. There are so many elements of jazz. Was it hard for you guys in the beginning? Did record companies know what to do with you? Yeah, no, record companies had no idea what to do with The Roots. So yeah, we looked different. We sounded, you know different you know i spoke and performed differently both uh malik and i uh the other mc you know rest in peace malik be the other mc in the roots um you know spoke differently than um you know folks did from places that were you know trending more um in the culture like you know there was a specific way that rappers in the west coast or from the south or even from new york you know, trending more in the culture. Like, you know, there was a specific way that rappers in the West Coast

or from the South or even from New York, you know, said things. And from Philly, we just, we sounded different. There was no, there wasn't, Philly wasn't the incubator for us that it's been for some other artists at different points in time. When I look at you guys, I mean, you're not just a band. You're like a collective. Absolutely, we are. Yeah, I mean, so in any given iteration,

there are almost like a dozen members, but there's also all of these other connective tissues around Philadelphia of other artists that you all introduced us to. So you all basically set that foundation, that culture that we know of, like this Philly sound of neo-soul hip-hop. Yes. Yeah. Yeah, we did. It began with just jam sessions that we would have at Amir's house or at, you know, our manager, again, rest in peace, Rich Nichols at Rich's place.

And we wound up arriving at a residency at a place called The Wetlands here in New York City. And then after doing The Wetlands for a while, it became so, you know, testosterone-fueled and it was just so male energy dominant that we wanted to create another platform just to give, you know, female energy and, you know, just to give that, you know, the feminine a place to, you know, to showcase and perform. And that's from that the Black Lily was born. And then that's really the beginning of the Black Lily was, you know, it ushered in an era. Can you describe a Black Lily?

Yeah, what that is. Yeah, well, you know, a Black Lily was the answer to the initial, like the original Roots jam session where it's lots of improv. It's almost, you know, think of like an upright citizens brigade or something for, you know, but that is for the comedian, right, for the sketch comedian having to, you know, just to learn to improvise and create and entertain on the spot. That's what the Black Lily was. It was an incubator for artists like the Jill Scotts and Kindred Family Souls and music soul childs and beliles of the world. Your rap cadence, it's always been instrumental, if that makes sense. MCs before you, they had maybe like a louder bombastic kind of projection and you're much more melodic. How did you come into your style? Did you, did you ever emulate some of those earlier

guys? You, you talked about Cool Mo D when you were really young, but. Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I did. I've definitely emulated, you know, all, all, all the greats, you know, if we're talking cadence, then it began, it began with the, you know, all the greats. You know, if we're talking cadence, then it began with, you know, Melly Mel, right? And the way that, you know, the Melly Mels of the world sort of spoke. There was a cadence that was, it was almost, you know, like your uncle at the barbecue, right?

You know, really accessible, easy to follow along. But even in that, you know, Melly Mel was the first artist to, you know, really accessible, easy to follow along. But even in that, you know, Melly Mel was the first artist to, you know, he rapped. His cadence was very different from like, say, okay, we begin with the Sugar Hill Gang, right? The way that, you know, the hip, the hop, the hippa to the hippa, the hip, hip, the hop. You almost got a smile to rap in that cadence, right? And Melly Mel came out and he was, you know, talking about the Bronx and rapping about what was, you know, really going on on songs like, you know, The Message. And he was emphatic in his expression, you know what I mean?

Broken glass everywhere. And you could, it was visual, you know what I mean? The way that the emphasis he put on his words made it possible for you to see what he was talking about. And then you had the, you know, Run DMC and those guys came along, right? You know, through, I guess the connective tissue would be Curtis Blow, right? Who was, you know, the first sex symbol, solo rap star. But, you know, again, he didn't rap in the way that, you know,

the Melly Mells or the Sugar Hill Gang did. And he introduced us to Run as his DJ, DJ Run. And then when Run DMC came out, they were almost the antithesis to everything that was happening on the scene before them. I feel like that's what Def Jam and, you know, the people who were associated with Def Jam and Russell Simmons and Rick Rubin at that time, they all were yelling and screaming. They came out and it was like, we're're not gonna rap the way these other guys rap like it was public enemy beastie boys uh uh you know even you know tila rock ll cool j run dmc who they weren't def jam artists but they were part of

that movement um and then you had artists like uh you know rock him and big daddy kane and coogee rap who came out and for them it was more it was about more nuance and in particular um I think that's you know it goes for Rakim who you know many of us like uh Tyler Kweli, Yassine Bey, Nas, myself um there's a long list of us who sort of trace it back to you know to him you know I mean yeah to the to the influence of Rakim. He was one of the first MCs who said, I know everyone else is screaming and yelling to get their points across. Everyone else is going to be super emphatic. I'm going to articulate my instrument as such. I'm going to use my voice like an instrument. And, you know, he had a jazz background. I think Rakim, you know, grew up playing trumpet or sax.

And his brother also was a jazz musician, his older brother. And he approached his cadence and his storytelling and his songwriting from that perspective. And I think that was, you know, some of the earliest signs of that. And that's what, you know, it's a tool that I still employ today. Well, to give an example of your instrument, how you use it, I want to play one of your more recent songs, which is a personal track about your life and family. And it is called Fuel. Let's listen to a little bit. I had the whole world, it wasn't enough for me It got me feeling like the Lord lost trust for me I made a means to an end when there were no winds I burned bridges, I swore to be eternal friends The last ones I ever intended to turn against Until we grew our separate ways like fraternal twins

So to the chosen few with whom I need to reconcile My mother's mother, my only brother, my second child I've always loved you, although that was rarely said aloud. So take forever, I guess better late than never proud. I'm gonna breathe in the fellows. That was Fuel by Tariq Trotter, also known as Black Thought, the co-founder of the rap group The Roots. He's written a new memoir titled The Upcycled Self.

We'll continue our conversation after a short break. This is Fresh Air. America the beautiful Go ask Geronimo What's the worst they could do to you I bet my mama know I bet my father know Your honor throw the book at us Even if justice wasn't blind This message comes from Wise, the app for doing things in other currencies. Send, spend, or receive money internationally

and always get the real-time mid-market exchange rate with no hidden fees. Download the Wise app today or visit wise.com. T's and C's apply. I'm Anne-Marie Baldonado from Fresh Air. You already know that our show has been around for more than 40 years. And even for us, we love to listen back to our interviews with some of the biggest voices in pop culture. Voices like this one from our latest Fresh Air Plus bonus episode. I think I had my best conversations with the dog, who was a good friend of mine and didn't challenge me in any way.

And I certainly let the family know what my needs were. But when strangers came to the house, the mute happened. That's James Earl Jones in conversation with our host Terry Gross more than 30 years ago, speaking about his childhood stutter. You can hear what that meant to Jones for yourself and hear all of our episodes sponsor-free by becoming a Fresh Air Plus supporter at plus.npr.org. Today we're talking to Grammy Award-winning rapper and performer Black Thought, also known as Tariq Trotter, about his new memoir, The Upcycled Self, a memoir on the art of becoming who we are. Trotter is the lead emcee of The Roots,

which he and Amir Questlove Thompson founded after meeting as teens in high school. The group has won three Grammy Awards and is known as one of the top rap groups of all time. The Roots also serves as the house band on NBC's The Tonight Show, starring Jimmy Fallon. In addition to his music, Trotter is also a theater actor and writer, performing in the 2022 off-Broadway play Black No More. What's your writing process? Are you putting your rhymes to paper from the start, or does it just start with an idea and a freestyle? You know, the process is different from song to song. I'm constantly jotting down ideas, a word here, you know, a couplet there. But yeah, for the most part, you know, a couplet there. But, yeah, for the most part, you know, the writing process is, yeah, you know,

I sit down and I try and think of, you know, just different ways to either add on to or to, you know, continue to articulate just my origin story. Sometimes I'll hear a bit of music, and I'll sit with the music for days, weeks, months at a time before some lyrics will come. A song will eventually write itself after the 20th, 30th, 40th time that I've decided to sit and listen to this idea. And then other times, you know, I'll get 32, 40, you know, 50 bars will just come without any sort of musical inspiration.

Then I have to find, you know, a fitting composition, you know, the best place for these words to sort of live. So, yeah, I'm just pulling my ideas out of the ether, and I try and just remain dialed in, tapped in, attentive, alert, aware, conscious enough to, you know, to receive that inspiration and to recognize it when it comes because it's all around you. Everything is a song, right?

You know, so it's just about, you know, recognizing the gold. You went quest love. I mean, you guys have been thick as thieves since high school. But you do tell this one story of a fight that you guys had that sort of changed your relationship. You've always been thick as thieves, but it sort of put like a little something on the relationship. It did.

It did. You know, yeah, you know, we had a brief sort of a scuffle, kerfluffle, you know, a little 30 second altercation when we were young and,

you know, but we're already just starting out yeah yeah we were young we were just starting out we were you know uh displaced living in uh in london and um yeah there was there was just lots of of angst and anxiety associated with all the you know all the energy associated with um you know anyone's first time putting out um you know a record you know a new record deal and just the unknown all of the unknown that was associated with that so um yeah you know just a perfect storm of events you know it led to us coming to blows right quick and it was the sort of thing that um you know it was over i've given you know i've forgotten about it before we left the place that it had taken place.

But I think it's the sort of thing that, yeah, it stuck with him in a different way. Does he hold, is it a grudge that he's held? I don't think so. But I definitely don't think it's something that he has ever forgotten. You know what I mean? Well, he said to you, like, he's over it. And when you said you had a scuffle, you guys literally had a little bit of a physical altercation. You know what I mean? And there's a little bit, a little part of you that feels like, was it because of that fight that, like, we aren't as connected as now he's connected to other people? Yeah, yeah, I do.

You know, there's a bit, you know what I'm saying? When someone is one of your closest friends or someone who you, you know, you feel, you know, is a brother, is a friend, is a comrade, is a collaborator. When there's that many levels to one's connection with someone or to someone, yeah, you know, you can get, you know, possessive, you know, selfish, jealous. Like, all of those are real feelings and are valid, you know. So, yeah, there's been times, there are times when I feel all of that sort of thing well quest love has actually said that jimmy fallon is kind of responsible for rekindling your friendship because he says that when you all were offered the opportunity to be the house band for the show you guys had kind of lost the magic of your friendship this is like the mid-2000s is that how you remember it? I don't remember us as having lost the magic as much as, you know, we were getting tired.

I definitely recall that. I think, you know, at the point that which, you know, we met Jimmy, we had hit a stride of, you know, consistently 200 plus shows per year and all around the world and just lots of traveling. And we just started to make a little bit of money. But there was also lots of uncertainty associated with just that period. Right. There was a bit of a hamster wheel feeling. You know what I mean? Groundhog Day of it all. You know, what could we do differently? How long would we be able to sort of keep up at this or at that pace?

Those were all questions that I recall posing to myself and to Rich and Amir. But, yeah, you know, the fact that once we started doing, at the time time with what was uh late night with jimmy fallon um you know just having to spend time together every day in some way shape or form and being on stage together every day um it was different and it was uh it brought us together uh in a different way than than touring had because we reached a point in our career where we could afford separate tour buses separate you know dressing rooms and stuff like that. And though I think, you know, that definitely contributed to, is part of what, you know, contributes to our longevity, right? If you ask him today, he'll say, oh, separate tour buses. That's why, you know, the Roots is still here.

But, yeah, so I think there's, you know, a gift in that, in that, you know, ability to sort of spread out a little bit. There is a gift that you have to be at every day and when you're touring when you're a musician it's you're you kind of have an entirely different life where you're on the road but you've got to be there every single day basically or every day of taping yeah five days a week we're there and um you know yeah it took some getting used to um it's just sort of you know it was it was like a giving up our touring schedule and like trading it for this uh you know the shooting schedule there um but you know the body and the mind just still you know having that desire to to you know to go right to to travel um so yeah it took a while to just get used to you know the the routine in this of it all um but again you know you talk about you know gifts and i think there's more

upside to us having this regular like this nine to five, this day, quote unquote, day job, if you will, then downside to it. You know what I'm saying? I'm able to spend more time with my family. You know, I come home to my kids every night and, you know, get to see my wife more. Yeah, in the roots, we just, the depth of our connection as musicians, as performers, as brothers, and again, just as comrades, I think is unmatched. And there's so much, like I've always wanted to have that thing with, you know, with the group,

with the crew, with the gang, a band where we're able to communicate without words, right? There's so much that's just unspoken, like, and it's a luxury to have someone that understands what it is that you're trying to articulate without it having to be said. And Amir and I have that. Kamal and I have that. It's a bond that I'm able to enjoy or experience with members of The Roots. And I appreciate it. You know what I mean? It's something that I cherish. Let's take a short break. If you're just joining us, my guest is Tariq Trotter, also known as Black Thought, co-founder of the Grammy Award-winning group The Roots.

He's written a new memoir about his life called The Upcycled Self. We'll continue our conversation after a short break. This is Fresh Air. I read somewhere that older hip-hop artists are right in this moment getting more work than younger rap artists these days. I think that's pretty interesting. Maybe it's because we're nostalgic and we're in the 50th year of hip-hop

and we want to see shows that really speak to that. The people with the money are middle-aged and they're going to these shows. But I'm really curious about your assessment of the music today. One thing that, one kind of music that it seems like every time it comes up, people have polarizing thoughts about is drill music, which for those who don't know drill music is kind of this subgenre of hip hop out of Chicago that's really popular. What is your assessment of the music today, the hip-hop world and music today? I mean, you know, my assessment is that it continues to grow. I think there's more variety out there, you know, musically than ever, right? So you talk about, you know, subgenres

and, you know, the drill musics and then, you know, subgenres that those subgenres sort of spawn. And I think there's space for it all to exist, you know? In that, I mean, I think, you know, there's lots of rappers, there's MCs. I think a rapper and an MC are two different things. But again, I think there's space for both to exist.

And how so? Can you describe the distinction? I mean, I think, you know, in brief, I think an MC is more, an MC is, you know, more concerned with acknowledgement of the foundation and that from which it came. And MC is more concerned with something, you know, cultural, with hip-hop as a movement as opposed to, you know, something more surface. I think of rapper raps, and MC, you know, has been bestowed with and, you know, has accepted the responsibility and the honor that comes with you know becoming a griot or a bard of sorts right um a truth teller one of the people who you know it's your job to let us know what's going on you know i'm saying um an mc that's what an mc lets you know what time it is you know i'm saying in a rapper raps you know i'm saying there's some mcs who rap and there's you know some rappers who rap just as well as mcs but yeah i think there is

a you know there's a distinct difference how do your kids view your music you've got a couple yeah i've got a couple kids um most of my kids are you know they like my music. They're into it. My older kids, you know, who are teenagers, 17, you know, ranging from 17 to 23 at this point. Yeah, you know, they love my music. I think they like it fine, but they're into, I wouldn't say they're into my music. I think they appreciate it. But what draws young people into music, what drew me into hip hop was that it was, you know, spoken in a language that, you know, people who were 30, 40, 50 years old didn't understand. So that's the whole point. It's about us being able to communicate, you know, with one another, you know, in an authentic way. So, yeah, I don't understand all the drill music or all the hip-hop music that young people are

creating today because it's not for me i don't i don't think it's my place to to understand it but um i appreciate it and i respect it and i remember when i was a young person and you know how you know people didn't understand what i was saying if i played some of my if i played you know organics you know at the time for someone who was they may have liked the music they may have appreciated the the live instrumentation of it all like oh wow this is cool i can get into jazz music. But then it would always get to some point where they say, well, I don't know what the dude is talking about on there. That's you talking? You know what I'm saying? So it's the same thing. We've become our parents and grandparents at this

point. So yeah, I say that to say it's it's not all for us. Your kids are living a very different life than than you live as a young person in Philadelphia. And that's a positive thing. I mean, you write about it in your book. Do they know about your story and the different parts of you and how how has it felt, if so, to be able to share those things with them? My kids don't really know. I don't think they know about my story as, as much as they, you know, could or should. But again, I haven't really impressed it upon them either. Right. You know, because it's not the sort of thing that I've worn on my sleeve. They just, I mean, I don't know. You know, I guess the ways in which we protect our kids, you know, sometimes we withhold

information. And I talk about this in the book, about how I'm still, you know, trying to figure out information, receiving information about exactly what, you know, what exactly happened in the case of my father's murder. Right. So I think they're going to continue to, you know, to hear sort of again about the pieces of the puzzle that, you know, make me. And I think over time they'll get into it. I think they'll appreciate the fact that, yeah, I was able to tell this story, you know, but probably further down the line. You know, right now my kids, they feel oblivious to a lot of what's going on, a lot of what's happened in my life and a lot of, you know, what's happened in the world. And I think there is, you know, what's happened in the world. And I think there is a, you know, there's a certain level of privilege and, you know, associated with that, with that, the bliss of that ignorance, you know what I mean? And sometimes I find myself, you know, just wishing they had it, just a tougher way to go, you know? Do you feel good though, that you've been able to provide them

with that privilege? I definitely feel good that I've been able to provide them with that privilege? I definitely feel good that I've been able to provide them with that privilege in many ways. You know what I'm saying? Because I never, you know, as a kid, yeah, I didn't know what I was going to wind up doing or how long I was going to even live. Right? That's the sad truth. Lots of us didn't think we couldn't see ourselves making it past 25 or 30 just because we didn't know that many people who had, you know, and then the people, you know, it was almost as if a generation had been skipped because I knew people who were my grandparents age and I had friends and classmates who were my age. But, you know had friends and classmates who were my age, but

the drug epidemic in the 80s took a whole generation of people out of here. So it was like, you know, oh, well, you see yourself at 30, and I would say, who's 30? I don't know. Who made it to 30? You know what I mean? Tariq Trotter, thank you so much for this conversation. Oh, no, thank you, Taya. This has been a great conversation. And yeah, I'm excited. I can't wait to hear this. Tariq Trotter, a.k.a. Black soul, cause hip hop is old She don't want no rock and roll She want platinum or ice and gold She want a whole lot of sun to fold

If you a obstacle, she just drive you cold Cause one monkey don't stop the show Little Mary's bad In these streets she done ran Ever since when the heat began I told her, girl, look here, calm down I'ma hold your hand To enable you to keep the playing

Cause you was quick to learn And we can make money to burn because you was quick to learn. And we can make money to burn if you allow me to lay this game. I don't ask for much, but enough room to spread my wings and the world feeling in my name. I don't ask for much these days. And I don't mind if I don't get my way. I only want to put a thousand love up behind my lover's back. I sit and watch at the world standing where I'm at.

Put a thousand love up behind my lover's back. And I'm keeping my secrets Fine I push my seat For life It's gonna work Because I'm pushing it right If parents drop My baby girl tonight

I would name her Rock and roll Coming up, TV critic David Bianculli reviews a new HBO documentary about Albert Brooks. This is Fresh Air. On Saturday, November 11th, HBO premieres a new documentary directed by Rob Reiner. It's called Albert Brooks, Defending My Life, and it's about a subject Reiner knows well. Our TV critic David Bianculli has this review. Rob Reiner and Albert Brooks have been friends since high school. Both had fathers who were

comedians, and both made their own marks in comedy as young men on television. Reiner wrote for the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, then co-starred on All in the Family. Albert Brooks did guest spots on dozens of TV variety and talk shows, killed on multiple appearances on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show, then wrote and starred in short comedy films made for a new late-night show called Saturday Night Live. Eventually, both of them made movies. Reiner directed This Is Spinal Tap and Misery and The Princess Bride. Brooks wrote, directed, and starred in such classic comedies as Real Life, Modern Romance, Lost in America, Mother, and Defending Your Life. And now, all these decades later, Rob Reiner has directed a biographical documentary about his old friend.

Its title is Albert Brooks Defending My Life. It premieres on HBO, and it's terrific. The only thing wrong with it is that it's not twice as long. Not that it isn't thorough or doesn't take its time. Defending My Life starts out by having Reiner and Brooks sitting in a plush booth at an L.A. restaurant, just talking casually. It's the ease with which they converse, swapping and sharing stories, admitting very personal details, that makes this such an intimate experience. It's almost like you're eavesdropping, and the conversation is always as interesting as it is unforced. We've been friends for like almost 60 years, and it's, which is ridiculous in and of itself.

That is ridiculous. But I'm going to do something to embarrass the hell out of you at the beginning, and then we'll go from there. Okay. I've always looked up to you. I'm telling you the truth. Oh my God. I've always looked up to you, because to me, the truth. I've always looked up to you because to me,

there was nobody that did what you could do, you know, with comedy. I just, and I've always been kind of a little bit intimidated by you. Oh, look at this. It took this to finally hear a compliment. In addition to talking to the subject of his documentary, Rob Reiner also talks to fellow comics, all of whom discuss Albert Brooks in Broadcast News, and Steven Spielberg, who used to film Albert Brooks in 8mm home movies when they were younger just for the fun of it. And then, finally and much too briefly, there are the clips. And before we even get to the movies, Reiner gives us some samples of his friends' outrageously inventive and loony TV appearances. What Andy Kaufman and Steve Martin did to redefine comedy in the 1970s, Albert Brooks was doing as far back as the late

60s. One insane bit I saw on the Carson Show back then and never forgot is sampled here. Brooks sits next to Johnny Carson and unveils his new Home Comedy Kit where you use the bits of food and spices provided to perform your own celebrity impersonations He brings Carson's to tears by showing how sniffing a little dash of pepper then popping a small piece of hot potato into your mouth can lead to a perfect impression of one of the three students A hot potato into your mouth can lead to a perfect impression of one of the Three Stooges. A hot potato.

Curly is you take a little bit of pepper, a little bit of pepper. You know, Curly, the great Three Stooges, hard to do, not now. Take a pepper, put it like that. Okay, now, you begin to make a child's train noise. Woo, woo, in with a potato! Woo! Woo! Brooks tells wonderful stories about these appearances, and about SNL, and about his films. And even his kids get to tell funny stories, including one about hearing their dad's voice coming out of one of the animated fish in Finding Nemo. But there's insight here, too, as when Brooks explains his career choices as being something other than choices.

I had a very famous agent, and he said to me, I don't know why you always take the hard road. And my answer was, you think I see two roads, and I don't. If there was an easy road, I'd have a house there. I said, what do you think, I get up? I can't wait for the damn trouble I'm going to get into. I said, I don't see, I see one road. In saluting and celebrating his friend Albert Brooks,

Rob Reiner has made a delightful documentary, one that makes you want to take a deep dive into the comedy films of Albert Brooks. I urge you to do it, and to start with Lost in America, one of the funniest films I've ever seen, especially when it gets to the part about the $100,000 box. David Bianculli is professor of television studies at Rowan University. He reviewed the new HBO documentary called Albert Brooks, Defending My Life. On the next Fresh Air, Barbara Streisand and her new memoir, She Writes About Everything,

from her mother's constant criticism, her Broadway shows, and why she never did more. She also shares why she asked Stephen Sondheim to rewrite lyrics for her and why she stopped performing for many years. I hope you can join us. To keep up with what's on the show and to get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham. Roberta Chirac directs the show. For Terry Gross, I'm Tanya Mosley.