Blowing up

Verse and the rise of Tulsa's hip-hop underground

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The needle drops. 

A smooth, soulful, sample-laden beat lulls you into a dreamy head-nodding groove until you’re nearly hypnotized. Then Verse comes to the mic—his delivery deceptive, dripping with laid-back charisma but firing like a machine gun, relentless—and he pummels you:

Black Wall Street down the street around the corner

Which means you’re in Tulsa motherfuckin’ Oklahoma

Most of us grown up feelin’ like the city don’t want us

What don’t kill ya on the inside, only make ya stronger

Thus begins “Sooner State,” the opening track from 2013’s “The City That Always Sleeps” by Tulsa rapper Verse (aka Derek Clark), and those opening seconds perfectly capture his style—a flow that seems at once effortless and tightly crafted, a vibe that seesaws from mellow to forceful and back again, lyrics with undeniable heart and substance.

Watch the video for "Sooner State."

Verse is a breakout star in Tulsa’s current hip-hop renaissance, which began around the turn of the decade with MCs like Algebra and Dr. Freeman, who formed hip-hop collective Oilhouse with Mike Dee, Victor, Sur’Ron and DJ Nutter and began playing shows at venues where hip-hop had rarely been seen. 

“Before that, there was a shitty culture around live rap performances in Tulsa,” Verse said. “They had all these pay-to-play shows at clubs, where you had to sell a certain number of tickets to get your slot, or pay for whatever tickets you didn’t sell. It just wasn’t legit.”

That culture began to change when Algebra (aka Dan Hahn) started booking gigs opening for his friends’ rock and punk bands at Soundpony.

“Two bands in particular—Scales of Motion and Lizard Police—are almost solely responsible for exposing me to the scene that I found very difficult to break into,” Algebra said. “They got me on shows when I had zero booking power or marketability at all.”

Eventually, thanks to a positive reception from regular patrons, those opening slots led to some dedicated hip-hop gigs, and that’s where Verse crossed paths with Algebra.

“The first hip-hop show I saw at Soundpony was Algebra,” Verse said. “I remember hearing a beat or two that sounded like some shit I wanted to rap on, which was completely foreign to me. I had never seen anywhere in Tulsa where people were receptive to that type of hip-hop. He was just standing there rapping, and it was dope, and everyone was nodding their heads and just chillin’. It was the type of hip-hop I like to listen to, and I couldn’t believe it was happening in Tulsa.”

Verse and Algebra struck up a friendship, and Verse began to join Oilhouse onstage every chance he got. Algebra said that at the time he was weary of adding too many members to the group, but with Verse he didn’t give it a second thought.

“I can honestly say I was hooked on Verse after the first four or five syllables I heard,” he said. “I’m not sure I had ever heard local music as honest and brave—and created with such mastery of the craft. He came to a show at one point and we put him and [frequent Verse collaborator] Pade on the mic, and it was all history.”

Finding the beat
Verse grew up in Gilcrease Hills and went to Central High School. He began writing rhymes and producing his own beats around 8^th grade, and he and his friends performed at church camp talent shows and youth lock-ins—anywhere they could find a mic and an audience.

He put together mix tapes for his friends at school under the moniker DJ Versatile. “That ended up sticking as an artist name, and I had a friend who started calling me Verse, just for short,” he said.

During high school, Verse and his friends Mike West and Keno formed a group called The Fam and started recording songs and burning CDs to sell at school. A DJ for the radio station KJAMZ 105.3 got ahold of one of their songs, “Country Crunk Shit,” and gave them the thrill of their young lives by playing it on the radio. 

But even with a small taste of success, Verse drifted away from performing as high school ended. He continued to write and record periodically but barely stepped on a stage for another decade—when he met Algebra that night at Soundpony.