Fist City: Rockwell Knuckles aims to punch through St. Louis hip-hop's glass ceiling

"St. Louis might have five or six hip-hop clubs, and two or three may cater to quote-unquote backpackers," says Smith, referring to the disparaging term used to describe underground artists who peddle their CDs on the street. "That means you see the same 75 to 100 people on any given night. They have to find a new way to promote the music scene."

"We have to outsource," he says, "And when we outsource, that's how we get our success. But we got cats who ain't got the money to do that. So the music is falling on deaf ears. Eventually they get tired of it and quit."

"That's all it takes, is the initiative to get up and go," argues Gotta Be Karim. "Black Spade taught me that. We all broke, but once you get past the fact you don't have money, you just got to get up and go."

Knuckles says he's staying put for the time being.

"Honestly, I'm not sure where I'd go," he says. "There's no Shangri-La at this present moment."

Eventually Rockwell ran out of money and returned home from California, leaving his friend Wafeek behind. He'd been back, living at his mom's house for less than three months, when his life changed dramatically and unpredictably.

On the evening of July 5, 2004, lightning struck the roof of his bedroom, causing it to catch fire. Virtually all of his possessions were burned. There was little damage to the rest of the house.

"I'm sitting there with nothing," Knuckles recalls. "There's some pretty sweet symbolism right there. The good Lord is like, 'Start fresh, chief.' After that I started working on solo stuff.

"That's a lot to grasp: Lightning strikes your house," he adds. "It puts a lot of things in perspective. It makes you want to get your shit together and handle your business. Your mind can really wander after something like that happens. Plus I had to buy a new copy of The Last Dragon, a new Breakfast Club, a new Clockwork Orange, a new Goodfellas. All the important ones."

He cycled through several jobs — driving a dry-cleaning delivery truck, working as a clerk in a law office, canvassing for the 2004 election — all the while writing songs on his own for the first time in his brief career. He produced a 29-track mixtape called The New Standard and released it in late 2005. He performed constantly, scoring opening gigs for the likes of the GZA, RJD2 and Brother Ali. In early 2007 he began writing songs for what would eventually become Northside Phenomenon.

The album, released on Amazon.com and iTunes in November, is a testament to Knuckles' coming of age.

"It's more his voice, his vision, where he's coming from now," says Grand, Knuckles' friend and former Pangea cohort. "He channels all that through his music. Whether that be a good feeling or a bad feeling, pain or happiness, that's all channeled through his music."

No song is more indicative of his newfound songwriting maturity than "Hello Morning," a straightforward but charming love song about breaking up and getting back together backed by jazz trumpet, keyboard and a simple drum-and-bass rhythm. Complete with a Stevie Wonder-esque chorus, it's a drastic departure from run-of-the-rap braggadocio.

With its prevalent guitar-heavy beats, the album is also indicative of the artist's diverse musical taste. Knuckles drops references about everything from Outkast, People Under the Stairs and UGK to John Lennon and Prince. He is almost certainly the first person to ever rap, "Roll up on the block...bumpin' 'Hey Jude.'"

Patrick Marshall, a music critic at the tastemaking hip-hop Web site The Smoking Section, writes of the album, "Rocky's storytelling skills and command of language make [his] struggles more pertinent and the pictures more vivid."

But Marshall, a Washington University graduate who keeps up with St. Louis hip-hop, is virtually the only critic to have taken note of the album. Knuckles has performed only once since its release (in November at Integrity at Blueberry Hill).

"The fact that I was able to write about it on a national level was just kind of falling into his lap," Marshall says by phone from Chicago. "If he got it into the hands of the right person, they could be saying, 'This is somebody we could take a chance on.' He needs to be doing that. Whether he can do that from St. Louis it's hard to say. It sucks, you know, it's kind of where art and salesmanship coincide. Being popular in hip-hop today is a strange phenomenon. Just because you're popular doesn't mean you're talented."