BY DREW DRAIN
I spent the last couple of weeks out in San Francisco on a business trip, my first ever chance getting the chance to soak up the atmosphere in the Bay. Between meetings I threw on my headphones and walked those steep streets, from the Mission to Fisherman’s Wharf to the Fillmore, listening to the sounds that once came out of this city. The fog rolled in, the Muni cars screeched, and the beats from the 1990s Bay Area scene seemed to echo through it all. And as I was walking, I kept thinking about Eric Swisher (you really should check him out, especially if you enjoy any of this music or ever been on a skateboard), the homie who first put me on to cool hip hop back in the day. Without him, I might never have gone digging for these sounds.
The Bay Area in the 1990s was like a sonic playground with no boundaries. Every neighborhood, every city, had its own style. Oakland had Too $hort laying down slow, funky game about street life and hustle. Vallejo had E-40 twisting the English language into something brand new, inventing slang and breaking up syllables like jazz. Mac Dre was holding it down too, mixing humor, storytelling, and street wisdom in a way that later gave birth to the whole hyphy movement.
MC Hammer brought a pop sensibility to the mix, putting Oakland on global stages with dance-heavy performances and flashy videos. And then there was Tupac Shakur, who spent his early career right here in the Bay, learning the ropes from Digital Underground. That crew, led by Shock G, was like the funhouse mirror of hip hop: funky, weird, theatrical, and brilliantly musical. Digital Underground were the first to put Tupac on stage as a dancer, and later gave him his first verse on “Same Song.” From there, the world saw what the Bay already knew: this man had something special.
The Bay’s diversity was wild. You could have Digital Underground throwing a P-Funk party, Too $hort giving raw street sermons, Hammer dancing across arenas, and Hieroglyphics dissecting syllables in cipher sessions. Somehow it all coexisted, proof that creativity does not need uniformity.
In the early 90s, the Hieroglyphics crew was taking shape in Oakland. While the mainstream was chasing radio play and platinum plaques, Hiero was focused on lyricism, flow, and creative freedom. The crew included Del the Funky Homosapien, Casual, Pep Love, Domino, DJ Toure, and the Souls of Mischief quartet: A-Plus, Opio, Phesto, and Tajai. Together, they formed a self-sustaining circle of rhyme, production, and vision.
Souls of Mischief’s 93 ’Til Infinity became an instant classic when it dropped in 1993. That song still captures everything the Bay underground stood for: intricate wordplay, smooth beats, and a laid-back confidence that felt deeply local but universally cool. Del’s earlier solo records, especially No Need for Alarm, cemented the Hiero sound: quirky, funky, and packed with sharp bars. His cousin Ice Cube might have brought gangsta rap to the masses, but Del chose a different lane, one full of imagination and wit.
The Bay’s underground scene was built on the do-it-yourself spirit. These artists were not waiting for A&R approval. They pressed their own vinyl, booked their own shows, and moved product hand to hand. Hieroglyphics eventually formed their own label, Hiero Imperium Records, after being dropped by majors. They toured the world, sold merch out of trunks, and built a fanbase that never went away. That independent hustle was the same spirit that drove E-40’s self-promotion and Mac Dre’s street-level empire. Different sounds, same grind.
What makes the Bay so fascinating is how these totally different styles shared the same soil. Digital Underground’s wild funk, Too $hort’s slow-roll realism, Hammer’s polished pop, Hieroglyphics’ backpack intellect, E-40’s linguistic invention, Mac Dre’s comedic charisma, and Tupac’s poetic fury all came from the same place. That kind of variety showed how deep the creative pool ran. The Bay never tried to copy Los Angeles or New York. It built its own world and invited you in if you could keep up.
The 1990s Bay scene is a masterclass in independence, creativity, and authenticity. Every artist was doing something unique, and together they created one of the most diverse musical ecosystems hip hop has ever seen. The underground, especially Hieroglyphics, proved that lyricism and integrity could build a career without major label support. The mainstream artists proved that you could take Bay flavor to the world stage. And the fact that Tupac came up through Digital Underground says everything about how much range and depth this scene really had.
Walking through San Francisco with 93 ’Til Infinity and Same Song in my ears made the city feel alive in a whole new way. The Bay’s underground spirit still hums through those old beats, through the fog, through the rhythm of the streets. The sounds that came from here were never meant to fit in. They were meant to stand out.
Much love again to Eric Swisher for lighting that spark back in the day. If you have never explored the 1990s Bay Area hip hop scene, start now. From Digital Underground to Hieroglyphics, from Too $hort to Mac Dre, from Hammer’s stages to Tupac’s mic, it is a history of style, skill, and self-belief that deserves to be heard.
Peace and scratches
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- DREW DRAIN
Andrew (Drew) Drain is originally from Point Pleasant, WV, and he now resides in Chapel Hill, NC with his daughter. Drew works as a financial risk management professional to pay the bills, but his real passion is photography. He started taking photos of his daughter playing soccer as a way to resist the urge to coach her from the sidelines. Time behind the camera developed into a love for photography that he has paired with his love for sports and live music. Follow Drew’s Instagram, @Drew.Drain.Photo or his MaxPreps galleries, to check out more of his work or contact him if you need photos of your favorite athlete or performer.
Read Drew's posts here.
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