Inna City Pressure was a record that got some comparisons to Marley and Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On," in the way it described the struggle to survive and not lose your connection to God. What was happening in your life at the time you were writing it? There was a lot of violence going on at the time, in New York, and in the world. And we'd traveled to Japan, and I'd met these dreads from Tibet, who were describing what they were facing at home. I was slightly overwhelmed by the similarities in all these situations. The common theme just seemed to be, "Why would somebody do that to somebody else?" So it was almost thematic in that sense. The question that always gets asked of political artists is, where did you get your politics? Did yours come from home, or somewhere else? Some of it came from home. My mother was a black woman married to a white man in the '50s, and they faced a lot of adversity. And my mother was the first black woman to graduate from the University of Pennsylvania's medical school. But I grew up in a really tolerant household. My parents were very accepting of anyone who came into the house. You're from Philly, right? I was actually born in New Haven, Connecticut, and then we moved to Philadelphia when I was seven. And growing up in Philadelphia was good, the hardcore scene in Philly was a big influence. I had a lot of problems, especially in education, so it was important that I had that place to go. What kind of problems, if you don't mind my asking? No, I don't mind talking about it. I guess you could say that I had learning disabilities, because I just was unable to learn in a traditional classroom setting. Obviously, I wasn't stupid, but I wasn't able to succeed in the standard classroom, and that led to frustration, which meant that I ended up getting thrown out of all but one of the schools I attended. I went to almost one school a year until I was in 9th or 10th grade. And then I had periods of time where my parents wouldn't let me live at home, because of these problems, so it was kind of difficult growing up. So music and music culture ended up bailing you out? Yeah. There was a lot of uniform rebellion in the hardcore scene at the time, but the whole do-it-yourself philosophy was a tremendous influence. I think that's why I didn't waste any time pursuing my musical goals, while a lot of the guys I knew from the hip-hop scene in Philly just ended up waiting around for this record deal that never came. When you were a kid, this would have been right around the time of Bad Brains, right? Yeah, the Bad Brains were a big influence in Philly. There was a big crossover between the hardcore scene and the ska and reggae scene, and the Bad Brains were popular with everyone. They were a star that burned very brightly, but they were definitely ahead of their time. When the world was ready for them to really become successful, I think they'd become kind of burned out by the struggle. I'm sure everyone brings up Bad Brains, as they do to any black artist who's interested in rock, but considering their reggae side, the comparison to you seems unavoidable. A lot of people do mention them. And what you say is true, as far as other black artists being compared to them. It's always them and Living Color, who I thought were a lot more pop. I don't mean to dis them, 'cause they're all phenomenal musicians, but it always seemed like those guys were interested first in selling a lot of records. But I can understand the comparison, and it's flattering. I talk to a lot of people today, young guys at labels, who are huge fans of the Bad Brains -- people you wouldn't suspect. So their influence has certainly been felt. You alluded to them being unable to break through completely, though. Would you be disappointed if you knew that you wouldn't be able to go any farther than they did? I think the goal is to take it beyond … but by the same token, if I could have that same influence, I think I would be satisfied. It's funny how it works. I was jogging in L.A. once, and these kids came up to me and said, "Hey, Dr. Israel!" And I'm thinking, "Oh my God, the whole world knows me!" But then you spend the day at the Department of Motor Vehicles in New York, and nobody gives a fuck who you are. You say, "But I'm Dr. Israel," and they say, "That's nice. Get back in line (laughs)." Some days, influencing that one person is enough. Other days, I feel I've got to push harder. Did you get into Rastafari as a teenager? No, it wasn't until my mid-20s. I just felt a need to become more connected with my black roots. And it's been difficult, growing up in America and being a Rasta -- I've kind of had to adapt to feeling kind of out of place, kind of like being trapped in Babylon. But when I went to Jamaica a few years ago, and we visited a Nyabinghi compound, I had interaction with the elders there, and I was tested. And what they told me was that I was supposed to communicate with the youths of America, the ones that feel estranged, that that was my purpose in being here. 1 | 2 | 3