Audio By Carbonatix
With a head of dreads neatly pinned back and a golden brown complexion, local MC Ephniko has heard all kinds of guesses about his origins. “It’s like folks can say ‘I’m white’ or ‘I’m Asian’ or whatever, but me, I’m just ethnic,” the 28-year-old explains over an ice-cold Corona. His cadence is all New York, laced with a twinge of an accent from his native tongue, Spanish. “In my family, I got folks with blond hair and green eyes and others that are dark-skinned with kinky hair.”
Often calling himself alternately “Ephnik” — the more American-sounding version, let’s say — and the Spanish-sounding “Ephniko,” Eph, as most call him, truly embraces his Latin American background. His debut album, Escribo La Que Vivo (I Write What I Live), was released independently just a few months ago and can be found in select local music stores as well as in countries such as Colombia, Venezuela, Mexico, and South Africa. The sound is an international smorgasbord, with Latin rhythms mixed with African drumming, layered over a classic early-Nineties hip-hop beat. The rhymes comprise bilingual poetry, detailing the beautiful struggle of the immigrant dream and the trials and tribulations of modern-day revolutions. And, of course, the occasional rite-of-passage battle rap. “The album took three years to make and is definitely a reflection of who I am,” he says. “The title says it best: ‘I write what I live,’ and so far I’ve lived a very interesting life.”
Born Alvaro Cuello in Barranquilla, Colombia, Ephniko and his four older sisters were raised by his mother and aunts in the capital city of Bogotá. With so much estrogen in the house, Eph began sneaking out to hang with his boys. He reveled in the city’s streets, doing what many rebellious preteens do. “I was part of this skateboard crew,” he recalls. “There were like 60 or 70 of us; we’d just skate around the city, listen to Metallica, try to do graffiti — you know, child’s play.” Eph grew up on salsa and cumbia — hip-hop was a rare find during those days, he says. His first real introduction to the genre was through Run-D.M.C. and that group’s signature abrasive lyrics over heavy guitar riffs. He was hooked.
A turning point came for Eph at age 13. He moved with his mother to Fairview, New Jersey, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the birthplace of hip-hop, New York City. Access to more of that music was now only a matter of hitting the radio dial. “When I moved, that was like early Nineties. That was when some of the best hip-hop was coming out that time,” he says. “You’d turn on [New York hip-hop FM station] Hot 97 and you’d hear cats like Rakim, Biggie, Nas, Wu-Tang. New York was the place for hip-hop, and no one could argue that point.”
Unfortunately Eph’s proximity to the hip-hop mecca soon ended when he and his family moved to Cape May in South Jersey, a place where there “were not a lot of folks like me,” he says. “That was definitely a period in my life when I starting questioning a lot of things, you know, the so-called American Dream,” he explains. “I experienced a lot of racial tension, grappling with identity, trying to fit in. I was in high school, so all these issues kind of struck a chord. I started writing about my experience for the first time, but in rhymes. Hip-hop was so crucial back then; it kept me sane.”
He clearly remembers picking up Cypress Hill’s Black Sunday when it was first released. “That album got played so many times,” he says, laughing. “It just bugged me out ’cause they were these Mexicans rapping in Spanish. It was dope.” It inspired him to begin writing in both Spanish and English. “I never really set myself to be like, ‘Yeah, I’m gonna be an MC!’ I was more of a poet that just heard my poems over hip-hop.”
In fact Eph’s first live performance was at an open-mike poetry slam held in New York’s Hell’s Kitchen. “It was very beatnik, people dressed in all black, smoking trees,” he says. He quickly became a regular at other open mikes throughout the city, at times performing with musicians and DJs. Also an active break dancer during those days, Eph admits he was more into b-boying at the time.
Not until he moved to Miami did he take hip-hop as a career seriously. After several visits to the Magic City during Winter Music Conference, in 2001 he returned permanently. “South Beach is like a writer’s paradise,” he says. “There are so many stories down here. I’ve never seen so many crazy people in my life until I moved to South Beach.
“Back then, the underground hip-hop scene was pretty live here in Miami,” he notes. “There were a lot of hip-hop jams; MC battles; places like Hialeah, Kendall; a lot of things were popping off.” Eph met fellow MC, Orion, and the two began working together, bonding through their love for New York hip-hop and their bilingual proficiencies. They eventually released a mixtape called The Movement, a compilation of local talents who were making moves.
As Eph began to become more vocal and visible in the Miami hip-hop community, he decided to leave the Sunshine State temporarily for a pilgrimage through South America. He and local photojournalist Noelle Théard embarked on a four-month journey through the continent’s various countries, witnessing what he describes as “a Third-World hip-hop revolution.”
“Hip-hop in Latin America is so pure,” he says. “There’s none of this bling and materialism; it’s about struggle, the hustle, of real life living in poverty — now that’s real hood!” In places like Colombia and Bolivia, Ephniko’s music and style were strongly embraced by the local hip-hop contingents. He performed everywhere for everyone, from ciphers of 10 to shows for crowds of 10,000. Théard documented it all with a photo essay that the Miami Herald published online along with audio and video of Eph’s music. The final project has garnered countless accolades and has transformed into a lecture series that will premiere at Miami Dade College in February.
“Hip-hop is a global movement. I’ve been to places like South Africa where cats be spitting in Zulu. It’s sick!” he says. “This Third-World hip-hop thing is very powerful, and folks in the States need to recognize.”
As Eph finishes another Corona, he seems transfixed by the possibility of a new world order powered by a hip-hop revolution. His speech begins to quicken; his body language becomes sweeping. But then he relaxes. “You know what, I’m just an artist obsessed with originality,” he says. “All I want is people to hear my music and just vibe from it, whether it makes them feel like dancing or community-organizing. I hope I’m not asking for too much.”
