From Motown classics like The Temptations, Stevie Wonder and Smokey Robinson to the high-energy Detroit Rock City acts of Bob Seger and Iggy Pop, Detroit has long been a melting pot of musical innovation.
No better time reflects this than the early ’90s when the then-underground genres of techno and hip-hop bubbled under the surface of Motor City culture. Later that decade, Detroit received recognition for the latter, finally putting the city back on the map. But while acts like Eminem were dominating pop culture, acts such as J Dilla and Slum Village were dominating the underground scene with their seemingly endless supply of infectious sample flips and drum loops — a timeless sound that still thrives today.
Fast forward to now. Detroit rap has earned a much different reputation — a grimy, offbeat sound that demonstrates the attitudes of a Detroit destroyed by Coleman Young, with harsh corruption and heavy gentrification. It doesn’t always fall easy on the ears, but it creates a perfect representation of the culture that birthed the art — an integral part of history.
Art is a mirror of culture, and Detroit’s is changing — no artist best epitomizes this change better than stoop lee. Sound isn’t the typical Detroit hip-hop sound: He replaces the hard, heavy beats with simple but effective drum flips, the asynchronous flow with a smooth, ’90s hip-hop-esque delivery and lyrics about drug and gang activity with lyrics about cartoons and nostalgia. It shows a softer Detroit, a side rarely represented in today’s culture. In late March, I had the chance to interview, attend his rehearsal and show in Detroit to get to know Ade Olaniran, the artist who goes by the stoop lee persona. Originally intending to explore his artistic come-up, I instead discovered a side of Detroit I never knew existed: a side with immensely talented musicians doing what they love because they love doing it.
I originally found out about stoop lee from his opening at alternative artist Sampha’s show in Detroit. I didn’t go, but I had to wonder what musician could possibly open for Sampha with a Detroit crowd. I listened to a few songs and thought they were good, despite never revisiting them. A week passed; the Instagram algorithm did what it does best, and stoop lee quickly appeared all over my feed. I found out he was from Detroit, so I re-listened — I started to enjoy his laid-back sounds and sharp beats — and I had to know more. Another week passed, and I got a text that a photo editor on The Michigan Daily got in contact with Olaniran to do a photo essay. My curiosity got the best of me, and we were off.
Stoop lee’s sound is simple but effective. He’ll often pair infectious drum flips with keys to back his easygoing lyrics about relatable life experiences: old Nintendo games, ’90s cartoons and simpler times. These things fill the majority of thematic content across his trilogy of EPs: Yellow Version Tape, Blue Version Tape and his most recent Red Version Tape. For stoop lee, finding this sound is easy — his sound is him. “It brings me a lot of fond memories,” Olaniran told me, and this approach is seen everywhere. The song that caught my eye originally, “Cerulean City,” is named after a Pokémon song, his most streamed is “SWEETBABYRAE,” named after the staple of family barbecues and “DUNDEE” is themed after the 1986 film, “Crocodile Dundee.” His work lives in nostalgic relatability and thrives in these connections with listeners.
While he credits Detroit’s 98.7 smooth jazz station for introducing him to jazz classics from Sade and Luther Vandross, as well as Motown Swing, an easily recognizable influence throughout his work is one of Detroit’s very own: J Dilla. As a drummer himself, he frequently incorporates looped drum and soul samples into his sound. The use of these simple sounds creates music that sounds easy to make and thus, easy to listen to.
A characteristic difference between stoop lee and his sound’s originator is instrumentation. While J Dilla frequently used drum machines to loop tracks together, stoop lee believes strongly in the power of live instrumentation. Despite stoop lee’s smaller following and limited budget, he always finds a way to bring live instruments to his sets, citing “I think just having those elements really just brings a life to the music,” he remarked. “These days, people love such things that are, you know, maybe too perfect. I just feel like music that kind of has that humaneness in it is super important.”
This “humaneness” starts in his creative process. He describes his mindset while making music as a “building process,” where he receives instrumentals from fellow musicians and has a good ear for creating sonic, cohesive collages of sounds, leading to a finished project that is fuller than his one-man artist status might suggest.
Although listed as a solo act, my meetings with stoop lee quickly revealed that he thrives in group settings. His group, The Culdesac, is his go-to for adding needed “humaneness” in his live sets. Mostly composed of Detroit musicians he’s connected with since emerging from the scene, he has found himself in a collective of compelling, talented musicians that assist in forging his unique sound. When writing songs, he writes in the genre that compels him; when adapting for the live stage, he gives that creative freedom to his Culdesac bandmates. “Sometimes it’ll start off very hip-hop in the recording, and then it gets very jazzy as we, you know, switch it to a live setting,” he said. “I feel like a lot of that is kind of on them with their creativity.” And, as evidenced by their performances, they deliver.
In today’s media age, finding an audience can be just as daunting as creating quality art. Instagram is one of his main platforms, but he doesn’t let the noise of social media influence him; instead, he views it more as a tool to reach his audience. In fact, he attributes much of his fanbase’s growth since September to his well-curated social media pages — a new standard for small artist marketing.
After our interview, Olaniran agreed to let me sit in for him and The Culdesac’s rehearsal for their upcoming concert. I arrived at the rented home studio about two hours before practice started, which gave me ample time to meet stoop’s cul-de-sac. People slowly filed into the dimly lit basement and exchanged their respective dap-ups over random topics — Justin Timberlake’s Tiny Desk, Studio Ghibli (originally heard as ‘Studio Gerbil’), the difficulties of playing a piano facing the wrong way (accompanied by various attempts to play their piano backwards). Pretty standard from a group of friends hanging out with instruments.
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As more and more people came downstairs, the musicians started to do what they came for — make music. At first, people rotated instruments, and everyone kept up the jam so well I wasn’t quite sure if they even started, much less what each individual’s main instrument was. During their jamming, they bounced around genres — J Dilla-esque drums and guitar, Jordan Ward-sounding keys and drums — ending with a syncopated, jazz-influenced cover of Bob Marley’s “Waiting in Vain.”
Then the group finally settled on their actual instruments, and what a lineup it was: Tim Blackman and Patrick Strong on trumpets, Barry Black on keys, Michael Tocco and Aaron Meyer on guitars, Jade Nicole on vocals, Zach Mckinney and Ryan McMahon on percussion, Sam Corey on bass with Ade rounding out the group on additional drums and vocals.
This was the last rehearsal before the big day, and the objective was to make the set as fluid as possible. Not only did the group have to adapt the songs to fit their 10-man instrumentation — something they’d seemingly already accomplished in this basement — but also hone in on song transitions and breaks for the set. From the beginning, it was clear this challenge would be no match for the talent of the musicians in the room.
Their first obstacle showed up within the first 30 seconds of the set. Ade wanted to start the show off with a bang, so he equipped the ensemble with various percussive instruments — a thunder machine, clappers, guiros and the like — but many of the group members rarely touched the instrument Ade had assigned. This hiccup proved no match for the talent in the room, and after about three minutes and two test runs, everyone fell into syncopated rhythm.
The rehearsal went on like this, playing some new songs, some old songs and a cypher over Janet Jackson, Q-Tip and Joni Mitchell’s “Got ‘till It’s Gone,” which I declined to freestyle on.
After the rehearsal, I had no doubt the live audience would amplify the liveliness of the performers — and they did. Their practice paid off: “RED INTRO” started the show with the percussion — a thunder machine, guiros and the like — leading into the song’s hasty verse and wispy refrain. The song’s outro immediately transitioned into the boisterous “DUNDEE” as Ade’s JT-influenced megaphone pumped electricity into the crowd. The blaring horns, combined with the loud “We’ll be fine” motif, brought the crowd alive before an abrupt cutoff, starting the show with the envisioned bang. Ade introduced himself as “stoop lee” and we were off.
As the lights of the Magic Stick turned a daisy hue, stoop lee introduced his third track, “YELLOW INTRO.” The high energy of the crowd turned to smooth bobs as Jade Nicole lightly sang the chorus and the instruments rebalanced the venue’s to a softer sound. As guitars bounced in and out of polished solos, I began to wonder why a live version of all of Stoop’s tracks didn’t exist.
Along with a quick lighting shift, the laidback flows of “BLUE INTRO” led into a Blackman and Strong trumpet section, rounded off with a Black keyboard solo followed by the gorgeous “GENEVA INTERLUDE.” Later, Stoop brought out opener Curtis Roach for “HOOPTIE DOO,” and despite the four inches of snow that fell that day the verses brought a summer bounciness. Led by stoop and Roach, the song transitioned into Detroit’s signature chants of “313!” — and the crowd loved it. The energy was followed with a tall order from the audience: a crowd freestyle.
We talked about the potential hiccups of crowd involvement in the show at the rehearsal. On one hand, it could be a peak of the show, showcasing Detroiters’ abilities on the mic; on the other, it could be an awkward, mood-killing catastrophe that goes on for far too long. Ade brought six people in total — three men and three women — onstage for a chance to spit. Jade started with “Got ‘till It’s Gone” over live drums, as an air of uncertainty filled the room. The uncertainty was immediately replaced with energy as the first emcee took the stage — and they killed it. While most of the men on stage spat standard high-energy, surprisingly witty freestyles, the women brought the punch, bringing jazzy belts throughout. The last even challenged Jade to a vocal showdown and held her own. After the audience spat their respective verses, the energy of the venue was at an all-time high, brimming with Detroit pride after the show of talent from their fellow residents.
The show concluded on the ethereal “Cerulean City.” Starting from stoop’s characteristic laidback flow, the instruments burst in as Jade soulfully sung the chorus. Out of all the fantastic songs of the live set, this was the best. For the second verse, stoop went into the crowd, lighting it up with phone flashlights as he cleared a way in the middle of the audience. As Ade was spitting his heart out, the crowd bobbed in and out, all backed by Jade’s gentle “Keep my head above water / Don’t wait for me.”
After the verse finished, Ade concluded with a formal introduction of his Culdesac. Each member gave a solo over the song’s beat, ending with a (much discussed during rehearsal) triangle solo by Ryan McMahon. After each member had their shining moment, the group came together for one final fortissimo, and the show was met with thunderous applause.
What was originally intended as a chance to profile Ade Olaniran, the man behind the up-and-coming stoop lee, instead introduced me to a side of Detroit I’ve never seen before. From Ade’s welcoming musical environment to the infinitely talented Culdesac, and even the audience’s incredible cyphers, this side of Detroit is one of artistry. Yes, stoop lee’s sound is a product of childlike creativity, nostalgia and talent, but it is also a product of a changing Detroit — a Detroit that many people on the outside rarely get to see.
Daily Arts Writer Nickolas Holcomb can be reached at nickholc@umich.edu.