hey guys,check out the news about hip hop and old school music

one of the most influential hosts on hip-hop radio is a man named Peter Rosenberg. He is thirty-four years old and stocky, with a few days of stubble and a you-can’t-fire-me-I-quit approach to baldness. Hip-hop is an industry of calibrated personas, and Rosenberg, who was reared in an upper-middle-class Maryland suburb, tries to project confidence without too much self-seriousness. “I will go toe to toe with almost anyone in terms of knowledge, trivia, and love of this music,” he told me. “That said, I don’t try to front like I’m cooler than I am.” He performs d.j. sets under the name Peter Rosenberg. He has called himself “the Jewish Johnny Carson,” and in particularly nebbishy moments—while ordering a salad with dressing on the side, or calling his wife to inquire after the health of their dog, a Corgi mix—he interrupts himself to say, “I am so hip-hop.”

Every weekday, between 6 and 10 a.m., Rosenberg co-hosts “The Morning Show” on Hot 97, the iconic New York hip-hop station. Between midnight and two every Monday morning, also on Hot 97, he hosts “Real Late with Peter Rosenberg,” one of the few remaining showcases on commercial radio for underground rap—or, more contentiously, “real” hip-hop. He has interviewed, mentored, or publicly harangued every living rapper who matters; and though he occasionally texts with such stars as Drake and Macklemore, he cares more about maintaining friendships with a dozen or so m.c.s—Action Bronson, Bodega Bamz, Joey Bada$$—who are talented but one hit shy of celebrity. Rosenberg interviews these rappers’ rappers on the radio, and commissions new verses from them for mixtapes that he distributes online. He also invites them to perform in showcase concerts that he hosts at South by Southwest and other festivals. Often, a song that he endorses—a “certified Rosenberg banger,” as he sometimes says—fails to crack the Top Forty. At other times, he acts as an emissary between the margins and the mainstream. He says, “Since I have a foot in both worlds, an artist can play me three tracks, and I can go, ‘This one only hip-hop heads like me will appreciate. This one could be big, but it’s corny. But this one could reach a lot of people, without you sacrificing who you are.’ ”

It has become a commonplace among rap snobs that kids these days don’t appreciate complex lyrics. Rosenberg frequently aligns himself with the purists, defending old-school craftsmanship against the encroachment of pop hooks and lowest-common-denominator rhymes. Some people see his interventions as a sign of trouble—if hip-hop were healthy, would it need a defender, much less a white one from Chevy Chase? Others are grateful for any traditionalist voice on hip-hop radio. “I’m a motherfuckin’ fan of this dude right here,” Busta Rhymes, a rapper who combines verbal dexterity with commercial appeal, said upon meeting Rosenberg for the first time. “He’s the only motherfucker on the motherfuckin’ megahertz frequency that’s still trying to implement that filthy-under-the-nail, holy, sacred and pure, unmixed, undiluted, un-tampered-with, real hip-hop