P.M. Dawn
Biography
In the early 1990s, when hip-hop was still largely defined by hard-edged beats and confrontational postures, two brothers from Jersey City emerged with something altogether more ethereal. P.M. Dawn – Prince Be (Attrell Cordes) and DJ Minutemix (Jarrett Cordes) – crafted a sound so dreamlike and introspective that it seemed to float in from another dimension entirely, one where rap music could be as much about spiritual contemplation as street credibility.
The Cordes brothers' journey began in the housing projects of Jersey City, where they were raised by their single mother after their father's death when Prince Be was just seven. Their musical awakening came through an eclectic mix of influences that would later define their singular approach: their mother's gospel records, the psychedelic soul of Sly Stone, the experimental hip-hop of De La Soul, and the lush romanticism of Prince, whose influence was so profound that Attrell adopted his stage name in homage.
What set P.M. Dawn apart from their contemporaries wasn't just their willingness to incorporate live instrumentation and dreamy samples, but Prince Be's almost mystical approach to lyricism. Where other rappers boasted about their prowess, he pondered existence, love, and spirituality with the earnestness of a seeker. His delivery was conversational rather than aggressive, floating over beats that borrowed as readily from The Beatles as from James Brown.
Their breakthrough came with 1991's "Of the Heart, of the Soul and of the Cross: The Utopian Experience," an album title that perfectly encapsulated their ambitious scope. The lead single "Set Adrift on Memory Bliss" became an unlikely hit, built around a hypnotic sample of Spandau Ballet's "True" and featuring Prince Be's stream-of-consciousness musings about love and loss. The track's success was remarkable – here was a rap song that sounded like nothing else on radio, yet somehow connected with audiences hungry for something beyond the genre's increasingly rigid boundaries.
The album's other standout, "A Watcher's Point of View (Don't Cha Think)," further established their template: lush, layered production that created sonic landscapes rather than mere backing tracks, and lyrics that read like poetry rather than traditional rap verses. Critics were initially puzzled – was this hip-hop? R&B? Some entirely new hybrid? – but audiences embraced the duo's refusal to be categorized.
Their 1993 follow-up, "The Bliss Album...? (Vibrations of Love and Anger and the Ponderance of Life and Existence)," pushed their sound even further into experimental territory. Tracks like "I'd Die Without You" – featured on the "Boomerang" soundtrack and reaching the top ten – demonstrated their ability to craft genuine pop songs without sacrificing their artistic vision. The album was a commercial success, but it also marked the beginning of a period where their uncompromising approach would sometimes clash with industry expectations.
Prince Be's philosophical bent wasn't mere affectation; he was genuinely interested in exploring consciousness, spirituality, and human connection through his music. This made P.M. Dawn pioneers of what would later be called alternative hip-hop, influencing everyone from OutKast to Kid Cudi. Their willingness to be vulnerable, to admit uncertainty, and to prioritize melody and atmosphere over traditional rap metrics opened doors for countless artists who felt constrained by hip-hop's more rigid conventions.
However, their journey wasn't without controversy. A 1993 incident at a KRS-One concert, where Prince Be was physically removed from the stage after making comments about "hardcore" rap, highlighted the tension between their peaceful philosophy and hip-hop's more confrontational elements. Rather than derailing their career, the incident only reinforced their position as thoughtful outsiders willing to challenge the genre's assumptions.
Throughout the 1990s, P.M. Dawn continued releasing albums that, while never quite matching their early commercial success, maintained their commitment to musical exploration. Prince Be's health struggles, including diabetes and a stroke in 2005, slowed their output but never dimmed their artistic vision.
When Prince Be passed away in 2016, hip-hop lost one of its most unique voices. His legacy lives on not just in P.M. Dawn's catalog, but in every artist who dares to be introspective, melodic, and spiritually curious within the rap framework. In an era of increasing musical cross-pollination, P.M. Dawn's early experiments in
