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MCs of fun, seriously

By Khalil Hegarty
August 8, 2003

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I need another drink in my system and the crack is wearing off, so if I sound a little crabby, excuse me," jokes Foreign Legion's Marc Stretch.

For an underground hip-hop artist, Stretch (aka Marc Govan) isn't a particularly serious character. Where most MCs are hell-bent on portraying their street credentials, Govan's more than happy to make jokes about it. The same applies to the rest of the Californian-based trio comprised of himself, fellow MC Prozack (Zach Turner) and DJ Design (Keith Greigo).

"I got some midget prostitutes that I had to check on earlier in the day," he continues, laughing. "They were a little short with my money, but you gotta expect that from midgets."

Like recent visitors and fellow Californians Ugly Duckling, Foreign Legion need to be taken with a grain of salt. Their onstage antics are the stuff of hip-hop legend. During their last show in Melbourne, they hit the stage at the Corner Hotel on a trio of matching dragster bikes. At one show, Stretch - a 190cm, 140kg African-American - showed up with a large backpack, from which Prozack emerged, mid-rhyme. Among other things, the group have performed dressed as Batman, the Joker and Commissioner Gordon; Obi-Wan, Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker (complete with light-sabre battle); and as faux-druids (in sheets stolen from their hotel).

"The costumes are just costumes," says Govan. "I wanna have a good time at the show. Sometimes I'm just like, `I wanna be the Hulk today'. It's good fun. If you can't have fun at a hip-hop show, there's something wrong with you."

It's a refreshing attitude; where the underground "backpack" faction of hip-hop prescribes deadly seriousness, and the chart-topping camp is instilled with entrepreneurial fervour, there's little room left for humour. But Govan points out that hip-hop light-heartedness isn't out of the ordinary.

"I don't think it's strange, but I think it's strange to hear it on the record," he says. "There's people like Guru and Premier. On records, those dudes sound so serious, but they're the coolest motherf---ers in person. They make jokes all day."

Playtight, the group's most recent album, reinforces this outlook. Nothing is sacred, whether it be fellow hip-hoppers, club etiquette, or even their own problems with substance abuse. These aren't meaningless gags; they're true stories simply told in a humorous way. There are few elements of gang violence or political agendas, but alongside the party jams and jovial self-deprecation are tales of everyday struggles with relationships, co-habitation issues and even depression. In the three years between their brilliant debut album, Kidnapper Van: Beats To Rock While Bike-Stealing, and Playtight, the group were in something of a hip-hop limbo.

"We were touring, Zach was in rehab, I took up yoga and started playing semi-professional football, Design took up art and shiatsu massage," Govan explains. "Everybody's been taking their time and expanding themselves. Really, when it comes down to it, the music is a total reflection of your time.

"I can't even say there's an exception with gangsta rappers, because a lot of those dudes are in a situation where they see a lot of that shit. People always talk about Ice Cube, and that Ice Cube's dad was a doctor and his mom was a lawyer. But he surrounded himself with all that South Central madness, so that's what came out in his music."

It's no surprise that Govan's background is relatively conventional. His father was in the military, and as a consequence his family often relocated throughout the US. As a child, it wasn't hip-hop that motivated Govan; it was sport.

"I've been playing football since I was about six years old," he recalls. "When I got to high school I started playing basketball, because the football season was over. I ended up going to college to play basketball. I got outta college, met a girl, fell in love, put on about 140 pounds, stopped playing basketball and started playing football again. I was still writing rhymes, still playing football and working for a major telecommunications company. Before, I looked like Chris Rock and now I look like The Rock. It's like I added another person."

It was around this time in 1997 that Govan formed a relationship with Design and Prozack - albeit through nefarious circumstances.

"I met them at this place called Cat's Alley Grill, and I was buying coke," he says candidly. "Zack hooked me up. I nearly bought it from an undercover cop. I'd be in jail right now if it wasn't for him. He totally saved my ass. We started hanging out, and when we were high, that's when we would rhyme."

Somehow, out of this intoxicated relationship, the Foreign Legion style sheet emerged, a straight-up hip-hop sound that avoids the preaching, the braggadocio and over-the-top party-anthem sentiments.

"We've managed to be that square peg that fits," quips Govan. "We've made something that people can really listen to and enjoy. We get a lot of people at our shows who are like, `I don't even really like hip-hop, but I really liked your show and I really like your album'."

So what is it that strikes a nerve with the general populace?

"I don't give a shit, basically," says Govan. "It's about being secure. When it comes down to it, I know that my stiffest competition on the microphone is standing right next to me, so I can afford to be a smart-ass. I know I'm fat. It ain't nuthin' to me. I know I look like I just did a drive-by or I just got outta jail. But it doesn't bother me, because I know I'm a dope MC."

He may be comfortable with his self-image, but Govan is reluctant to reveal his age.

"I can't tell you that!" he says, laughing. "Then you'll know how old I am. No one's supposed to know how old a rapper is. I'm old enough to know, but still young enough to not give a f---."

Perhaps it's the one thing Govan isn't open about, but funnily enough, the MC is looking forward to a hip-hop career stretching deep into his autumn years.

"I got plans for hip-hop, dawg!" he exclaims. "I wanna be the Frank Sinatra or Mel Torme of hip-hop. I wanna be able to do lounge acts. I want there to be a rap oldies station. I want this to be for my kids. I want it to be everybody's music."

Foreign Legion play at the Prince of Wales, St Kilda, tonight. Playtight is out on Night Train through Inertia.




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