Turntablin’

Without belaboring it, Pray underscores the fact that hip-hop and its various elements (graffiti, break-dancing, etc.) are about the construction of identity, and that discussions of race are central to that process. Early in the film, Afrika Bambaataa speaks of the mainstream’s (i.e., white folks‘) early fears that rap and hip-hop would incite harm to whites; the film itself documents a culture that has been embraced all over the world, by every hue and accent. Indeed, watching the archival footage Pray has collected of shows and parties from hip-hop’s early days in Brooklyn and the Bronx, when the crowd (to say nothing of the turntablists) was overwhelmingly black with a thick Puerto Rican swirl, and then seeing how the contemporary audience for the medium has become overwhelmingly white, is to be reminded that the most challenging aspects of hip-hop -- as with the blues and jazz before it -- are being all but abandoned by the folk who created it, handed off to everyone else in the world for less than a song.

There‘s no single point to be taken from Scratch, which is simultaneously hilarious and deeply informative thanks to the vibrant personalities at its center. History lesson, cultural critique, love letter to those who keep it real by keeping it artful -- it’s too wide and deep to be collapsed into a one-note thesis. A certain theme, though, does resonate powerfully throughout, echoed by representatives from either coast. Both Afrika Bambaataa and MixMasterMike reference intergalactic travel and space aliens as sources of inspiration. That‘s nothing new, of course, and countless others, from Sun Ra forward, have done the same thing. Still, as these two tell us how they’re trying to send and receive messages to and from the great beyond, the metaphor unveils itself. They‘re really speaking of the courage and willingness to travel deep within yourself, to listen to your muse -- to find the inner breakbeat that makes your God-self go wild.