Ask any San Francisco teenager from my generation what they did after school in the ’90s and it would most likely go something like this: bumming a cig off campus, splitting a super suiza from El Farolito with friends, and turning on California Music Channel to watch videos from local rap stars who never got love from MTV.

I felt proud of hometown heroes like RBL Posse, Messy Marv and San Quinn, who sold cassette tapes out of the trunk of their cars, making a name for themselves — and Frisco — without the backing of major record labels. Back then, much of Bay Area rap reflected the violence of the drug trade and the values of exploitative capitalism. If the music was inspirational, it was about how to be a gangster or a successful drug lord. And if someone rapped about food, it was larg

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