The Joy and the Funk and the Mire

The critic dream hampton thinks hip-hop is broken. But she can't stop trying to fix it.

- Spencer Kornhaber

One sunny day in 1995, the Notorious B.I.G. sat in the passenger seat of a black Mercedes-Benz, smoking joints and talking shit. Of course, Biggie did these things on many days during his short lifetime, but on this particular day, a neighborhood friend named dream hampton was in the back seat with a video camera. Wearing Versace sunglasses and a checked purple shirt, the 23-year-old rapper-whose breakout album, Ready to Die, had come out the year before-held a chunky cellphone to his ear. He was making plans and talking about girls, riffing in his lisped woof of a voice. He laughed and brought a square of rolling paper, full of pot leaves, to his lips.

From behind the camera, hampton asked whether he intended to consume their entire bag of weed. Annoyed at the interruption, Biggie mocked her question. Hampton's voice turned sharp. "Why are you going at me today?" she asked. "What's the problem? Do we need to do something before we go on the road? Take this outside?" The video cut to static.