By Gabrielle Nomura  |  Photos by Chad Coleman

March Scene, 2011

Fifteen years ago, Jason Chen was a skinny Taiwanese-American kid in the Bridle Trails neighborhood copying down the lyrics to “Gangster’s Paradise” on the radio.

Since then, he’s accumulated a few things: a diploma from Sammamish High School, a degree from University of Washington and a career-type job in Seattle’s International District, but the 25-year-old Eastsider never outgrew his love for hip-hop music.

He’s grown up and graduated in that department too: from eager listener to full-on emcee (known by his stage name, “Know Choice”). Chen’s opened for some of Seattle’s most well-known acts: Blue Scholars, Common Market and even big-name headliners such as Gift of Gab and Zion I. Seattle Weekly gave Chen props for his stage presence (especially the former Bboy’s dance moves). NW Asian Weekly commended him for his lyrics about race and defying stereotypes, too.

Like the many other non-black rappers who pervade the local hip-hop scene, Chen often wonders how to approach his music without stepping on turf historically reserved for African Americans.  After all, hip-hop is an urban art. It’s been the outlet for cries of people living in poverty and oppression, an art that Lauryn Hill called, “The spiritual movement of the blacks.”

Chen, a Bellevue-born artist, has to work harder to be taken seriously than people who rap in Seattle–the region’s dominant hub for hip-hop music, and the city where most of the venues and opportunities are. Chen is from the Eastside, not the East siiiide. And while growing up a racial minority is not necessarily easy, his story is not predominately of struggle and hard times, but of a moderately-affluent upbringing in suburbia.

“I used to be embarrassed that I grew up here, some of my friends growing up were like bougie frat boys.” Chen says. “But in my heart, I can’t escape that I’m from Bellevue. Now that I’ve grown up, I embrace that I’m from here.”

That took a while.

In the hip-hop world, pride for one’s hometown is a big deal: A hometown can be an inspiration for a song. When a rapper mentions the local area code on stage, it’s an easy way to pump up a crowd and inspire pride for where one comes from.

Jason wrote a song about his city. But instead of being meant to make the audience go crazy, it’s an honest story of his sometimes difficult relationship with Bellevue: “See, I was raised in a red town, where I rep now/ In a neighborhood where it’s a lot less brown … Me and my city think so differently … [But] It’s part of who I am, it’s my history.”

Bellevue-raised rapper Michael Akrish, 26, says being from an affluent city makes some people not sure whether they’re worthy of being able to rhyme.

“In Seattle, there’s often a negative connotation with Bellevue because of its wealth,” says Akrish, who, with a mom who worked for radio station KUBE 93 and a DJ father, grew up listening to alternative hip-hop artists such as Talib Kweli.

Michael Akrish goes by his last name, "Akrish" in the hip-hop scene.

This negative connotation presents an opportunity for Akrish and Chen to make songs that break that stereotype. While some of their high-school classmates did indeed drive new BMW’s and owned boats, others lived on food stamps and ate free/reduced lunch at school. It presents an opportunity for songs about middle-class, heterosexual, male privilege, and even about the struggles they’ve encountered: Akrish’s road to recovery with alcoholism and witnessing of a friend’s death, Chen’s encounters with racism in public school, like being asked by a teacher, “You’re Asian. Why aren’t you good at math?”

Negativity associated with Bellevue also presents challenges, like being hesitant to tell someone where home is, for fear of being looked down upon or not taken seriously in an urban scene.

Not all Eastside rappers feel that way.

On a Friday night in February at Club Broadway in Everett, the words: “When I say four-two, ya’ll say five …” echo from rapper Neema Khorrami’s microphone. Khorrami was born at Overlake Hospital, but grew up in Kenmore. Still, he feels like he’s part of the Eastside. And he’s not ashamed.

Neema Khorrami, formerly/also known as "Unexpected Arrival."

Khorrami at Club Broadway in Everett, one of many venues he's performed at as a professional rapper.

Nor have his suburban roots seem to have affected his street cred. The 29-year-old veteran (who’s known as “Mr.10K” on Twitter for the feat of having sold 10,000 CDs out of his trunk in a little less than a year) has perfected his act. Clad in a Seahawks jersey and black fitted cap, he raises his blue cocktail in the air, inspiring the audience members to raise their beers and mixed-drinks in the spirit. When he says bounce, the people dance. Hands raise above heads, pounding up and down to the heavy beat that Khorrami shouts his lyrics over, expressing himself with the moving gestures, points and hand motions, that only a rapper looks cool doing.

For novices, Khorrami looks like success. He doesn’t have a day job, he raps for a living. He’s owner and CEO of his own record label “The Art Music,” and his upcoming release “The Essence” was picked up by national distributor SMC Recordings/Fontana Distribution. He only uses “Mr.10k” because it’s got a nice ring to it. In reality, Khorrami has sold more than 40,000 CDs since 2002. He’s a crowd-pleaser and a hustler – both good things.

“Hip-hop to me is an art form that I love,” Khorrami says. “It’s a lifestyle. It’s the way I carry myself. But it’s an art, first and foremost and I’m an artist.”

As far as local hip-hop goes; Bellevue, Redmond, Issaquah, Kenmore; everyone, no matter where they’re from, is entitled to a chunk of that Seattle hip-hop scene as long as they’ve got talent and drive, Khorrami says.

Chen may not have the grimy roots of a “proper” rapper, but he certainly has the drive.

At his friend’s home recording studio in Shoreline, Chen spits a song with precision. With his jaw inches away from the microphone, he smiles for a split second when he messes up. Then it’s time for yet another take. The baseball player on the logo of his Mariner’s cap bounces up and down as Chen dances to the sound in his headphones.

As he lays down the vocal part of the song, the beat bumps in the control room next door, where his friend, Luke Redford, facilitates the recording on the computer and plays back the vocals for Chen to listen. Chen’s vocals hit the amplifier and compressor, which squishes everything and eliminates the high sounds for a more even audio. It’ll take about five hours total for Redford to complete the final product.

The week after the recording session, Chen performs as a guest in another emcee’s show at a bar in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, taking the stage with a husky-smooth voice and a smile that makes girls in the audience blush. A few weeks later, he’s rapping with one of the groups he performs with, That1Show, at the Nectar Lounge. Recording, performing, hustling to get it all done – thus is the life of someone walking down the road paved by the high-top Nike sneakers of local veterans like Khorrami, Macklemore, Grieves, Sabzi and Geo. And when Chen finally reaches hip-hop glory, he’ll tell everyone exactly where he’s from.