From Basement Beats to Orchestral Notes

Symphonic hip-hop is not a remix. It is a reinvention. I felt it the day I stumbled upon LL Cool J and the Los Angeles Philharmonic’s Coachella performance from April 2025 online. Frisson sparked goosebumps that rose on my arms. As the gospel choir chanted a low, rhythmic “Ohhh, ohhh, ohh,” LL Cool J strutted onto the stage, settling into a classic hip-hop stance while the maestro swayed with the orchestra, pulling them into the steady groove of the drums. Then, with rebellious conviction, LL Cool J declared, “Don’t call it a comeback,” and I was transfixed. It was a colossal power I never imagined sharing the same stage, yet there it was, holding equal impact. His powerful, unapologetic rapping, paired with the orchestra’s passion and precision on “Mama Said Knock You Out,” knocked me out in the best way.

This moment isn’t confined to American stages. Maestro Fresh Wes, pioneer and godfather of Canadian hip-hop, had already orchestrated this vision decades ago, blending sharp lyricism with bold commentary on race, colonization, and solidarity. Even his stage name nods to formality. His 1989 debut Symphony in Effect, featuring the platinum-selling hit “Let Your Backbone Slide,” relied on funk, soul, and breakbeat samples rather than live orchestration. Still, Maestro continued to evolve his sound, later embracing orchestral and rock influences in works like his 2013 album Orchestrated Noise. At the 2024 Juno Awards, he was inducted into the Canadian Music Hall of Fame. He opened his performance with sampled orchestral motifs before delivering a powerful medley of his classic tracks, including “Beethoven’s Fifth,” “Underestimated,” “Stick to Your Vision,” “Conductin’ Thangs,” and “Let Your Backbone Slide.”

That legacy lives on today as a new wave of artists step onto the stage with symphonic collaborations. UK expat LTtheMonk, now based in Hamilton, Ontario, performed his title track “New Commer” with a 10-piece ensemble from the Hamilton Philharmonic Orchestra on October 9, 2024, at The Cotton Factory as part of FRESHUP Fest. He described the collaboration as “one of the most memorable moments in my career to date,” explaining:

“Performing my music with a 10-piece classical orchestra… the blending of the classical and hip-hop worlds was special. In our culture, hip-hop has often been considered ‘low art,’ while other forms of music such as classical have been regarded as “high art.” Hip-hop’s impact on society has been oversimplified, leaving out the massively positive societal impacts hip-hop culture has had, and the artistic brilliance that the poets and producers who create rap music have put on record.”

His performance with the orchestra not only bridges musical genres, it critiques the very boundaries between them, reminding us that classical music isn’t inherently “higher” art. That is a colonialist notion. Hip-hop, born in the streets and rooted in Black expression and innovation, carries just as much complexity, sophistication, craft, and emotional depth.

I first discovered LTtheMonk through his insightful commentary on Black history. His deep, informed knowledge caught my attention long before I explored his music. As a descendant of African Nova Scotians, it was wonderful to hear him give voice to our Canadian history. When I later discovered his music and orchestral collaborations, I saw how strongly his work aligned with the ideas in this essay. LTtheMonk’s self-coined genre, New Monk Swing, blends hip-hop with R&B, dance, and pop influences in a genre-defying sound. His work amplifies hip-hop’s complexity, history, and cultural power, proving it belongs on every stage.

Starting from loops, samples, and crate-dug records, hip-hop’s raw innovations are now realized in orchestral form. What was often born out of necessity, layering sounds to create depth and texture, has evolved into cinematic performances with orchestras, choirs, and full-band arrangements. These collaborations not only expand the music’s emotional range, they signal a long-overdue recognition. Hip-hop, once dismissed as raw or rebellious, is finally receiving the respect its artistry has always warranted. It is not about validation, it is poetic justice.

This intersection was birthed through hip-hop. It was never about creating something new, but revealing a connection that has always existed. Hip-hop has long sampled classical music, strings, horns, and choirs pulled from dusty records to give tracks texture, drama, and soul. This fusion was born not from abundance, but from lack. Artists who could not afford the rights to so-called “high art” flipped it into something revolutionary, and that act itself was innovation.

While some tracks sample classical compositions directly, most draw from soul, funk, and disco records already rich with orchestral textures. In the 1960s and 70s, artists like Isaac Hayes, Curtis Mayfield, Diana Ross, Barry White, and Stevie Wonder infused their music with lush strings, horn sections, and cinematic instrumentation. So, when hip-hop producers sampled breakbeats and melodies, they often lifted orchestral flourishes already embedded in Black popular music. The symphonic sound was already there, just deconstructed. Hip-hop did not borrow classical music as an outsider. It reclaimed what was already part of its lineage, proof that the "high" and "low" divide was always a fiction.

Still, a hierarchy persists. Touring with an orchestra is costly, and only a select few artists have the resources. Emerging voices who still rely on sampling as a tool of innovation and access are often left on the margins.

Music, however, has always been a unifying force, transcending classism and racism. Symphonic hip-hop is a testament to that power. It creates room for audiences from unlikely backgrounds to come together. In that space between beats and orchestral notes, something emerges: connection. Here, music becomes a translator of empathy, allowing people to feel and understand one another beyond language and cultural divides.

The radical potential of symphonic hip-hop lies in the encounter itself. Music has always had the power to bring about change, not just in how we listen, but in how we see one another. There is a fear that orchestral accompaniment could gentrify hip-hop’s radical edge, but that is not inevitable. Hip-hop has long been commodified and shaped by capitalism, yet this has never stopped artists from rising above with integrity.

I do not dismiss the weight of Black cultural commodification or the risk of its dilution. But within that tension lies an opportunity for music to act as a universal interpreter. There is no denying the power of music: it does not discriminate. It connects, it elevates, it dismantles. And besides, what is wrong with the sheer joy of this unlikely fusion?

Matched with reverence, it amplifies both. When a symphony joins forces with rap, it feels like a reunion, a return from being framed as “other,” when in reality they were always playing the same note. The swelling of strings and beats does not soften hip-hop’s voice. It magnifies it, carrying its brilliance and spirit into spaces it was never meant to enter, inviting classical audiences to recognize what was always there.

Yet the concert hall remains shaped by classism. Ticket prices still shut out the very communities that created hip-hop. This is where the merger must become not just aesthetic but political. It must break down barriers and bring everyone into the room, not just those who can pay for a seat.

This fusion is not a compromise or a competition. It is a crescendo. Hip-hop doesn’t ask for permission from classical traditions. It has always interacted with them, challenged them, and claimed its place on stage on its own terms. Hip-hop has always been a movement that refuses to lose its voice, whether in minimalism or on a symphonic scale. So, no: “don’t call it a comeback. It’s been here for years”.