photo: michael raasch · cc by 3.0 ↗Caz grew up on Phelan Place, a block from 1520 Sedgwick Avenue in the Bronx, close enough to hear about Kool Herc's parties years before hip-hop had a name. He renamed himself Casanova Fly, then Grandmaster Caz, and wrote the sharpest rhymes on the block for the Cold Crush Brothers. He is also the genre's most famous ghostwriter: his manager, Hank Jackson, spent months memorizing Caz's rhymes off cassette tapes at a New Jersey pizza shop, then rebranded himself Big Bank Hank and spat them, uncredited, on "Rapper's Delight." "I'm the poster child for getting fucked over in hip-hop," Caz says now, laughing. Even his birth record is contested — sources split on his surname, Brown or Fisher, and his birth year, 1960 or 1961 — a rare gap in a life otherwise thoroughly told.
Caz says the whole idea of naming himself in rhyme came from another man's chant. Before he wrote a line of his own, he was reciting Love Bug Starski's crowd call, the way everyone at the parties did, without knowing whose it was. "When I found out it was a dude, Love Bug Starski, I was like, oh, shit!" Caz remembers. "And that's where I'm the C-A-Z, and the O-V-A-N, and F-L-Y came from. Because I didn't want to be saying nobody else's shit." Starski gave him not a style but a structure: spell your own name and make the crowd finish it.
listen forNo recording of Starski shouting "I'm the LOVE BUG!!!" survives — it lived in parks and clubs before anyone had a cassette deck running. What's audible is the model he left behind: on the bootlegged tape of Cold Crush's July 1981 Harlem World battle, listen for Caz spelling himself out letter by letter, daring the crowd to finish each syllable with him — the same call-and-response structure, aimed now at his own name instead of somebody else's.
Caz lived close enough to 1520 Sedgwick Avenue to hear about Herc's parties before he was old enough to attend one. A couple of years later he was sneaking past the door of the Hevalo, a Bronx nightclub where Herc held court, just to watch him work. "When I saw the culture, when I saw the music, when I saw the dance, I saw the DJ, I was like, this is it. This is what I want to do," Caz says. What he watched Herc do, in Caz's own words, was find "the parts of the songs" — the breaks — and build the whole party around them.
listen forNo tape survives of the Hevalo nights Caz describes — Herc's earliest Bronx sets predate cheap cassette recording by a couple of years. What you can hear instead is the technique outliving the moment: on Cold Crush's 1983 single "Punk Rock Rap," listen for one propulsive riff looped under the MCs instead of a song left to play through — the same isolate-and-repeat logic Caz watched Herc run on turntables, just extended from a funk break to a punk guitar.