Hip-Hop's Changing Flavor -- Seattle's 3-Year-Old Rap Mag Has An Audience That's Both Global And National

"OK, guys . . . let's hit the agenda."

Alison Pember, 24, is publisher of The Flavor magazine. Every two weeks, she emcees the monthly's general meeting. Tonight, as always, the one-room office in the University District is crammed - with valued staff who are ventilating opinions. As votes are tallied on each part of the publication (Who gets the next cover? Who rates an interview?), hands are raised. And so are voices.

"Sure, I'm votin' for 'im! We went to school together!"

"They may have dope beats, but their lyrics stink."

"Hey, man, what are we gonna do about censorship? 'Cause Bob Dole and his guys are still slammin' on us!"

This is life at Seattle's hip-hop magazine, three years old and available around the world. This week it makes a jump in size to that of the city's other alternative papers, The Stranger and The Rocket. It will also double, then treble, its current print run (10,000).

A global reach

But, unlike other locals, its target audience is both global and national. The Flavor aims for all of rap's buying public: demographically, 15- to 34-year-olds, two-thirds male and one-third female. "The Flavor," reads its new media pack, "offers you the OPPORTUNITY to ADVERTISE in the magazine read by YOUR TARGET MARKET.. . . Don't be caught SLIPPIN'. . ."

Few magazines cover the swaggering world of rap music. And there is certainly no other run by a team of women - especially women who are white, black and Hawaiian. This week, as the magazine transforms itself, its editors juggle jobs ranging from waitressing to motherhood.

Like other Flavor staffers, they represent part of the city rarely seen in the spotlight. Most locals know them as faces behind a counter, handling the plates of food at Mama's or showing patrons to seats at The Neptune. Yet as a team they are leaders in a global field: making a product appreciated far away. Says the co-owner of one London record shop, "Those guys are on the case. Our shoppers buy that magazine like they buy records."

And The Flavor is an appropriate local export. Its focus, hip-hop music, is ultra-interactive. Not only do all its players boast digital savvy, but the whole genre is ruled by constant change. Needing to reflect this, says Pember, caused the format change. "Hip-hop is a consumer-created music; it mutates every day, almost every hour." Moving up in size and shifting to all newsprint paper will bring The Flavor greater capacity - and tighter deadlines.

Right now, The Flavor staff numbers close to 60, some of them correspondents based in other cities. They are Hispanic, black, Chinese and Greek, with names ranging from Toby and Chris to Novocaine and Maximus Clean. Unified by beats and bytes, they make up a human Internet, buzzing with gossip and wired to primary sources.

Reflecting the culture

One reason for these strengths is a magazine policy; no one has to be a trained writer to contribute. What The Flavor wants, as its title would suggest, is a reflection of the whole hip-hop culture. Polishing the actual copy is the task of its editors: Pember, Rachel Crick, Sarah Honda and Trae Abraham. Art direction is handled by Pamela Kreider, who once ran Montana radio's "only rap show."

The Flavor's roots come from a high-school newsletter, edited by Pember and a friend, Pei Jeung. But it was spurred to life by Pember's job at Tower Records. She joined the record store's staff in 1990, just as grunge ascended.

But rap music, too, was a Northwestern commodity. KCMU launched a rap show called Shock Frequency - and local artist Sir Mix-A-Lot's LP went gold. Rap groups started to blossom all around the area: names like Brothers of the Same Mind, The Emerald Street Boys and The Elevators.

Pember thought the local scene needed championing; she told a close friend about plans for a hip-hop magazine. That friend, Jenny Peet, laughed at it as a fantasy. One week later, Peet died unexpectedly of meningitis. Says Pember, "That did it. I was committed."

She had a year's savings earned juggling two jobs. And she had a willing partner - Rachel Crick - to share the load. Thus, with 1992, the magazine arrived.

It was first published from her parents' Shoreline home, with volunteer help from an ad hoc staff. They ranged from Tower work mates to recruits from West Seattle's High Point housing project.

Pember's father, Don, a specialist in media law at the University of Washington, made himself available for legal consultation. And her mother, Diann, helped transcribe interviews. Says their entrepreneurial daughter, "Sometimes it was hilarious. Like, do we spell `gangsta' with `er' or an `a'?"

Underground exposure

From the beginning, The Flavor was both free and national; it gave Seattle rap a truly global context. After Issue 2, the ads came rolling in. Says Chris Risdon, who started selling them, "We were street-level, printing only 10,000. But we always went to big record companies. We dealt with them as professionally as Spin would." For those labels, the underground exposure was perfect.

It was also perfect for the local hip-hop artists, many of whom soon became peripheral staffers: DJ Supreme of Rugged Entertainment, DJ B-Mello of Point Blank Promotions, KCMU radio jock Mike Clark. Trivia expert Carl Johnson added a hip-hop crossword. Other recruits spanned a rather stunning gamut of resources. Strath Shepard brought a degree in federal Indian policy; distributor Spyridon Nicon came with one from barber college.

Not everyone, of course, endorsed the coalition. "There was lots of local resistance," remembers Alison Pember. "Lots of `what are white girls doing with a hip-hop mag?' "

Conflicts still arise: over ads that feature guns or misogynistic stars. But the basic glue - respect - holds up well.

Scott Griggs, 32, is The Flavor's eminence grise. He feels the magazine's success is due to focus: "If you put us all in a room and we didn't love hip-hop, things might be different. But having one thing in common makes us look for more.' "

----------------------------------- A SELECTION OF FLAVOR STAFF MEMBERS -----------------------------------

Carl Johnson. A "hip-hop encyclopedia," Carl writes The Flavor's crossword: raunchy, racy and extremely cultish. Only one has ever been completed correctly, by Sarah Honda. It won Honda her current role as an editor.

Son Duong. Duong joined six months ago as an art assistant. His true love is video. Originally from Vietnam, he recently went to Ho Chi Minh City - where his mission was to raise hip-hop consciousness. "I told them they didn't have to know the words. Just feel the beat. The language is international." Trae Abraham. Born in London, Trae is a partner with DJ B-Mello in Point Blank Productions. The Trae company runs promotions for labels from Tommy Boy to Priority - plus a Wednesday night hip-hop club at RCKNDY. Trae has a 5-year-old son, Anthony, and handles all The Flavor's regional coverage.

Delon Williams. At 17, Delon is the youngest staffer - but he has worked for The Flavor almost two years. His ambitions: graduate from Roosevelt and then become a DJ.

Rachel Crick. For years, as a Sony employee, Crick had to moonlight behind a string of pseudonyms: from Mix Master Rachie Rache to Mrs. Beasley. But she has always handled all Flavor pre-production: smoothing links between the companies, interviewers and artists. Skilled at manning a telephone for hours on end.

Mike Clark. One of Seattle's real rap historians and the father of Michael, 3, and Macerio, 1. Clark is one of The Flavor's oldest linchpins. On radio, he hosts Rap Attack each Sunday from 6 to 8 p.m. on KCMU, 90.3 FM.

Truth. Real name: James Brown. Works as a longshoreman for the Port of Seattle and as part of Tribal Productions, the hip-hop collective. Staff writer at The Flavor, Truth is considered "a permanent all-round resource."