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Thomas Hobbs knows when itâs time to bounce.Â
Fresh after releasing 1996âs The Awakening LP, Lord Finesse celebrated by taking a group of friends out for steaks at a high end Manhattan restaurant. Decked out in camouflage streetwear, the heralded Bronx-based rapper and producer says his crew received mean mugging stares from the other, mostly white, diners.
Not that he cared too much: âI finally had money, but I wasnât going to change who I was!â the 55-year-old veteran tells me. âI wanted to show the rich people that a kid from the Bronx belonged in those types of establishments,â Finesse adds. His confident drive to stay true to his roots growing up amid the sink-or-swim Forest Homes projects has long defined the fabled DITC co-founderâs discography.
Itâs a mindset perhaps best reflected by âHip 2 Da Game,â where a cocky Finesse raps: âYou canât mess with the rap Lord / thatâs like saying you can dunk when you canât touch the backboard.â His precise words are chanted out in pure disgust: the energy of a cigar-smoking mogul swatting an irritating fly with a carefully rolled up edition of the morningâs New York Times. âRap without Finesse is like life without Oxygenâ he continues in his trademark tenor.
All this elevated shit-talking is a continuation of the âdozensâ playground verbal combat style learned from childhood, a rapping style that can make you feel like youâre sitting in the front row for a comedian whoâs dunking on your bad outfit choices. Finesseâs gusto was prevalent across underground classics like 1990âs Funky Technician and 1992âs Return of the Funky Man, which, alongside The Awakening, represent Lord Finesseâs only solo albums as an emcee.
Raised by his grandmother, Finesse came of age at the Augustine Catholic School. Watching his grandma struggle to pay the fees to send him through a more middle-class education led to a deep guilt. âMy grandma sent me to Catholic school because she wanted me to stay out of trouble and to have options,â he says.
âBeing around kids who grew up in stable households, and had all this money, felt weird though,â Finesse continues. âI also didnât want to put my grandma through the struggle of paying for my education anymore! I felt guilty, so I begged her to put me through public school. When I left [school], thatâs when my music really started to take shape.â
One of his fellow classmates was the equally influential beatmaker Diamond D. They went on to form the Diggin in the Crates crew (other members included AG, Showbiz, Fat Joe, Buckwild, and O.C.) Another key Finesse musical partner was DJ Mike Smooth, with whom he won a contract to Wild Pitch Records, then the home of DJ Premier.
Finesse, though, may be best known for melding Big Lâs multi-syllable-heavy rap style into something even more durable. When speaking about the late Big L, Finesse, who is wearing a humble black hoodie and sports a face dotted with stubble, lets his guard down.
âBig L said in a verse that battling him was like fighting a gorilla in a phone booth,â Finesse beamed. âWho the fuck thinks of stuff like that? His wit was insane.â I compare Finesse and Lâs relationship to mentor Yoda teaching a young Luke Skywalker how to be a Jedi. He agrees.
Finesse was one of the key New York innovators of his era. The bong-bubbling, deep aquatic funk sonics of âGameplanâ sounded a lot like Sly and the Family Stone jamming live from the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. Generation after generation of independent emcees fed off this sound to help nourish their own respective styles. Sampled by Mac Miller (âKool Aid and Frozen Pizzaâ), Chance the Rapper (âBrain Cells Demoâ), and Lil B (âWorking Man Remixâ), the crackly âHip 2 Da Gameâ beat, for example, and its dusty, therapeutically stoned atmosphere, practically helped birth the âlo-fi rapâ aesthetic as we know it today.
Whenever you hear a contemporary boom bap beat driven by an eccentric soul sample, itâs likely the producer was a student of the way Finesseâs gully beats often sounded like they belonged in an off-shoot episode of The Twilight Zone.
Though Finesse is an architect of a beloved backbone of rap music, heâs something of a recluse. After that golden solo run in the 1990s, he faded more into the background to become strictly a producer. âI donât usually do a lot of talking,â Lord Finesse, real name Robert Hall Jr, explains, âbecause my music does that for me.â Still, the more we talk, the more he relaxes.
Lord Finesse has a new album titled The SP1200 Project, Sounds & Frequencies in Technicolour out now. With the rippling basslines and devilish loops, the instrumentals for new songs like âLo-Fi Cinemaâ and âElectric Impression 2â are bait for the replay button. The project proves Finesse can still work magic behind a sampling machine, particularly on highlight âThe Plot In Progress,â where the drums roll through like a car chase in a Blaxploitation movie.
âWith the new album I wanted it to feel like Iâm scoring a movie, so the beats have to make all these pictures flash between your eyes,â he says. âA lot of people donât get to this age and still make great music. I feel blessed.â
During an in-depth conversation with the hip hop pioneer, we dissected the most important projects from his discography in the last five decades.
âIâd love to take credit for the funk samples [on my debut], but thatâs all down to Diamond D, Showbiz, and DJ Premier. I wasnât really a producer yet, only an emcee. Diamond was the one who put me onto all the James Brownâ records, while Premier was the glue that held this project together and properly structured everything. I think I was the first artist Preemo worked with outside of Gang Starr, and I learned a lot from just observing how he directed things.
Lines like âEven make the cripple want to get up and go to thisâ were an extension of this verbal combat we called the âDozens,â where kids in the hood would snap at each other with dirty jokes. It might be an insult like âyour mother is so fatâ, or âlook at how dark skinned that dude is.â I was taking that carefree energy of playground drama and adding this spirit to my own punchlines, similes, compounds, and metaphors. I wanted to make the listener say: how did he think of that shit?
Songs like âFunky Technicianâ and âBad Muthaâ needed to sound like a live conversation. âYou might get pulverized if you close your eyesâ was a line warning you about the dangers of the hood. But I felt like rapping too much about street shit was also the stupidest thing in the world. Why would you incriminate yourself? Back then, remember we didnât have Instagram, or music videos shot on iPhones! It meant the music had to be so great to even make an impression.
âGenerally, emcees had much more mystique, because the only time you saw a rapper was when they stepped on the stage. I miss that energy! I think the sound of my debut stands up today because youâre dealing with the analog era and this hissing saturation on the tape; it gives everything such a warmer sound.â
âWith the second album I was speaking more about my negative experiences in the music industry. My big regret is I didnât have DJ Premier executive produce it like he did the debut, but I kept Diamond D and Showbiz on there and Iâm proud of what we achieved. The first album was basically layered loops, but with Return of the Funky Man youâre getting full-on production with Showbiz chopping kicks and snares on the SP-1200.
âI was having more fun, doing the grandpa voice on âHey Look At Shorty.â I was also rapping more for the ladies as well (âI Like My Girls With A Boomâ). I was definitely frightened about the idea of becoming too commercial. Back then being mainstream was frowned upon and it made you a big target, open for ridicule. Once you got successful, they ainât like you anymore, so if you made a love song it still had to be raw and grimy.
âThe lyric âStep on stage with authority and confidenceâ was my mantra. Growing up in the projects, you had to be extra confident. Because everyone in the hood is going to tell you that you canât do it. At every twist and turn, thereâs gonna be someone who says: âYouâre garbage⊠my little brother raps better than you!â You have to conquer all that background noise. I had to fight a lot of wars mentally to get to a place where I could stand tall like that, you know?
âI guess a lot of the lyrics on the second album are about taking something dark and making light out of it. Growing up in the hood, we might make fun of someoneâs limp. We take the worst shit possible and laugh, because it helps us cope. Sometimes this approach worked, other times motherfuckers got offended.â
âWhen I first met Big L I would pick him up in the car and drive across the city. I knew he was talented, so I had him open up for me at live shows. If I had an interview, I found a way for Big L to become part of the interview, too. If I had a slot on a B-side, I let Big L have the most prominent verse! I did everything I could do to ensure he was heard and got put on.
âI just loved his mind and the things he would think of! Big L said battling him was like fighting a gorilla in a phone booth. Who the fuck thinks of stuff like that? His wit was insane. He had another line about a chick asking him for a ring and putting one across her whole eye. It was all about pushing the line! If Big L emerged today, they would have cancelled his ass.
âFor my âAll Blackâ beat, I agree the sax sounds a little like police sirens; Iâm proud of that. I was more proud that Big L was taking Harlem rap into a new era. Lifestylez started this shift! Before it was Doug E. Fresh and Kool Moe Dee, but after they heard Big L everyone wanted to sound just like him. I produced âStreet Struckâ, which was the last song made for the album, and âFed Up With That Bullshit.â On these songs L was more like a prophet, because the racism and police brutality he raps about is still happening in 2025. People donât really bother to study the origins or what Big L brought to the game, because he shifted rhyme patterns and cadences, period. I still donât think he gets the credit he deserves.â
âThis song is pure fucking genius. You know, I canât state that enough! I guess itâs the start of me pioneering what you call the lo-fi sound. At this point I was into making big downbeat, dark songs. Regardless, the first songs I pitched to Big were the complete opposite; they were too high energy. When he heard the âSuicidal Thoughtsâ beat, though, he was like: âNah, thatâs the one! I got an idea for this.â
âWhen you heard Biggie rap in the studio it was more like free jazz. He takes you on a trip and tells the story in such a vivid way; you can see the images [in your head] and itâs more like a narration to a documentary. Heâs talking about the pain from his childhood, so I wanted the production to have all these ominous sounds, you know? It has this slow burn build, but then the bass comes in and it turns so sinister.â
âWith The Awakening I was learning more about rap production. I had been dropped by Warner Brothers and Giant, so this allowed me to approach the music in a totally different way. I had more freedom! It was the first project I put together myself just by going to record stores and vinyl conventions and finding these loops to sample.
âIf you listen to âFool For Thoughtâ thatâs a half-filtered horn. Itâs jazz, but I made it sound more R&B-ish. Itâs hard to explain the beats fully, because I was zoning out. On âGameplan,â where I rapped, âI could be bummy and nappy headed and still pull a dime piece,â it was about speaking for the underdogs. In my hood, we started from zero! So, by rapping for the underdogs, I was showing them they could turn that 0 up to an 80 or a 100.
âThe energy of The Awakening was supposed to mirror those old Quincy Jonesâ soundtracks. I wanted to be like Morricone or Lalo Schifrin. The Awakening had to have a big screen feel and much more colour musically [than my past]; I think itâs the best album I ever made to be honest.â
âThat was originally a solo song of mine, but I guess Dr. Dre heard the beat and wanted it for himself. My beat was soulful and heartfelt. It sparks nostalgia, which I think is the reason why Dreâs talking deep [about all the people heâs lost]. People think itâs a glockenspiel in the beat, but itâs actually a filtered Fender guitar; the same shit I used on âHip 2 Da Game.â Dre added Mary J. Blige and mixed it a little, sure, but the beat is pretty much identical to the original, which I took as a big compliment.
âIâm really proud of my journey! You know, life could be a bit better, but who else went from working with Big L to producing for the head chef, Dr. Dre? My different walks through the game have all been straight up legendary, and âThe Messageâ is a big part of that.â
âThe SP-1200 is such an important sampling machine to hip hop culture. Itâs the brainchild behind so much history. Itâs so simple too, you know? I could teach you how to use it in five minutes and youâll get it right away. Here I wanted to go back to making music with that type of simplicity.
âGalactic Soulâ was originally a beat for Grand Puba. âMoog Montageâ is a flip of The Steve Miller Bandâs âFly Like An Eagle.â I wanted to show I could still flip samples [and make them unrecognisable]. I didnât want to rap on these beats, because I wanted people to appreciate the layering.â
âBeing able to have access to those Motown classics was a real honour! With my remixes I wanted to show my pure love for this music that me and my grandma grew up listening to [during hard times].
For my take on âI Want You,â I wanted Marvin Gaye to have more harmonies. In the original sessions, thereâs these layers that arenât so prevalent in the mix. The original song has more of a rocky feel with the guitar, you know? But all these beautiful harmonies are buried too much in the background. I put them front and centre. This album was me having fun and experimenting again.â
âNowadays rap producers just flip a sample and donât do much else, so I wanted to try to wow you. The song âKing of Digginâ represents the fact Iâm still digging in the crates for vinyl to sample. It never stops! This is a culture in itself. I got something like 10,000 vinyl in the crib. I look at it as my personal library. Itâs my life history! If my man gets stuck and canât find a sound, you give me a few minutes and I will go grab something that helps him.
âThe new album has a few of my old beats revisited, like âTrue and LivinââI changed it slightly, adding live instrumentation, and made it more warm like the 1970s. The title of the album represents how back in the day you had the black and white television sets, but you then used a technicolour TV for the first time and it blew your mind. Thatâs the kind of leaps I feel Iâve made [with my career as a rap producer].
âIâm still not trying to be the main star. Itâs like they donât have to always see you; the music paints enough of a picture, you know? A lot of people donât get to this age and still make great music. But I feel blessed to have all this wisdom. I want to do another rap album and also put out a compilation project. Iâm not slowing down, and retirement is not an option. If I could speak to my younger self, Iâd tell him: donât shit on your gift! People will disappoint you, but your musical gift will never let you down.â
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