It was 1989. Hip-hop was getting tough. The prevailing sound in New York was aggressive, heavy on the James Brown breaks, and increasingly focused on the harsh realities of the street. Then came three guys from Long Island and a producer named Prince Paul. They wore flowered shirts. They talked about peace. They made a record called 3 Feet High and Rising that basically shattered every rule in the book.
Honestly, it’s hard to overstate how weird this album was for its time. De La Soul—Posdnuos, Trugoy the Dove, and Maseo—didn’t just release a collection of songs; they built an entire universe. They called it the "DAISY Age" (Da Inner Sound, Y'all). It wasn't just about being "soft" or "hippy," though the media definitely tried to box them into that category. It was about radical creativity. It was about three middle-class kids who loved comic books, Casio keyboards, and obscure soul records decided that hip-hop could be anything they wanted it to be.
The Sampling Genius of 3 Feet High and Rising
If you listen to the album today, the first thing that hits you is the sheer density of the sound. This wasn't just looping a drum beat. Prince Paul and the group were digging into crates that other DJs hadn't even looked at yet. We’re talking about Hall & Oates, Steely Dan, Johnny Cash, and even French language instructional records.
Take "Eye Know," for example. It uses a whistle from Otis Redding’s "(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay" and a guitar riff from Steely Dan’s "Peg." On paper, that sounds like a mess. In the speakers? It’s pure sunshine. They were pioneers of the "collage" style of production. Along with the Dust Brothers (who worked on the Beastie Boys' Paul's Boutique later that same year), De La Soul proved that a sampler was a musical instrument, not just a way to steal a hook.
The Skit: A Blessing and a Curse
One of the most influential—and polarizing—parts of 3 Feet High and Rising is the introduction of the "skit." Before 1989, hip-hop albums were mostly just songs. De La Soul framed the entire record around a fictional game show. You hear the contestants, the host’s cheesy voice, and the bizarre prizes.
It gave the album a narrative flow. It felt like a movie for your ears. But let’s be real: they also started a trend that would eventually plague 90s rap albums with 10-minute long, unfunny comedy bits that everyone skipped. But back then? It was fresh. It showed that hip-hop could have a sense of humor that wasn't just bragging. It was self-deprecating. It was goofy. It was human.
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Why You Couldn't Stream It for Decades
For years, if you looked for this album on Spotify or Apple Music, you found... nothing. It was a digital ghost. This is the tragic side of the 3 Feet High and Rising legacy. Because they sampled so many tiny fragments of music—over 60 samples across the album—the legal paperwork was a nightmare.
In 1989, the laws around sampling were basically the Wild West. Tommy Boy Records didn't clear everything properly because, frankly, nobody knew they had to. Then came the famous lawsuit by The Turtles. De La Soul sampled a slowed-down snippet of "You Showed Me" for the track "Transmitting Live from Mars." The Turtles sued for $1.7 million. That changed the industry forever.
It turned sampling from an art form into an accounting department headache. For thirty years, the album sat in legal limbo. Fans had to rely on dusty vinyl copies or sketchy YouTube uploads. It wasn't until 2023, after Reservoir Media acquired the Tommy Boy catalog and worked through the massive legal tangled web, that the album finally hit streaming services.
The Misunderstood "Hippy" Label
People called them the hippies of hip-hop. The group hated it.
"We weren't wearing flowers because we were into flower power," Trugoy (David Jolicoeur) once explained in an interview. "We were just trying to represent something positive." The DAISY Age wasn't about being pacifists; it was about individual expression. In a genre that was starting to demand a very specific kind of "realness" or "street cred," De La Soul argued that being a nerd from the suburbs was just as real.
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Tracks like "Potholes in My Lawn" or "Me Myself and I" dealt with the pressure of fitting in. "Me Myself and I" was actually a frustrated response to people trying to define them. Paradoxically, it became their biggest hit, cement-lining the very image they were trying to critique.
The Sound of Suburbia
De La Soul came from Amityville, Long Island. They weren't rapping about the Bronx or South Central. This gave them a different perspective. Their slang was internal. They talked about "casper" and "plug one" and "plug two." It felt like an inside joke that the whole world was invited to.
The production reflected this too. It wasn't the booming 808s of Rick Rubin. It was layered, psychedelic, and often surprisingly quiet. They used space. They used silence. They used the sound of a needle dropping on a record as a rhythmic element.
Technical Innovation: The S950 and the Art of the Loop
If you want to get technical, the sound of 3 Feet High and Rising is the sound of the Akai S950 sampler. It had a gritty, 12-bit crunch that made the samples feel warm and lived-in. Prince Paul didn't have the unlimited memory of a modern laptop. He had seconds.
He had to be creative. He’d speed up records to save memory space and then slow them back down on the sampler. This created those weird, artifacts and "ghost" frequencies that give the album its haunting, nostalgic vibe. It’s a masterclass in working within limitations. Today, we have infinite tracks and perfect digital clarity, yet very few albums sound as rich as this one did with almost no technology.
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The Long Shadow of the Plug
You can see the DNA of this album in almost every "alternative" rapper that followed. No 3 Feet High and Rising means no A Tribe Called Quest. No Pharcyde. No Outkast. No Kanye West (especially the College Dropout era). Even Tyler, the Creator owes a massive debt to the "do whatever the hell you want" energy of De La Soul.
They made it okay to be weird. They made it okay to be colorful.
Sadly, we lost Trugoy the Dove in early 2023, right before the album finally made its digital debut. It was a bittersweet moment for the hip-hop community. He never got to see the massive resurgence of the album on the charts, but his influence is baked into the very fabric of the culture.
What Most People Get Wrong
People think this is a "happy" album. It's actually kind of dark in places. If you really listen to the lyrics of "Say No Go," it’s a scathing look at the crack epidemic. "Ghetto Thang" addresses poverty and systemic neglect. The genius of De La Soul was masking these heavy themes in playful, kaleidoscopic music. They weren't ignoring the world; they were just looking at it through a different lens.
It’s also not just a "pop" rap album. While it had hits, the structure is incredibly experimental. There are tracks that are barely a minute long. There are outros that turn into new songs. It defies the standard verse-chorus-verse structure that dominated the radio.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Listener
If you’re just discovering this record or revisiting it after years, here is how to actually appreciate the depth of what’s happening.
- Listen on Headphones First: The panning and layering Prince Paul did is insane. There are little whispers and background samples you will miss on a phone speaker.
- Trace the Samples: Use a site like WhoSampled. It is a rabbit hole. Finding out that a weird bird noise is actually a sped-up soul record from 1972 makes you appreciate the "crate digging" culture.
- Don't Skip the Skits: On your first listen, let it play through. It’s meant to be an experience, not a playlist.
- Look for the 2023 Remaster: The original digital transfers in the 90s (for CDs) were often thin. The new versions have been beefed up to handle modern bass, but they kept the 12-bit grit that makes it special.
The album isn't just a relic of 1989. It is a blueprint. It teaches us that the most "real" thing an artist can do is be themselves, even if themselves involves wearing a peace sign made of flowers and rapping about potholes. In a world of algorithmic music and "type beats," we need the chaotic, brilliant, and deeply human spirit of this record more than ever.