MC Hammer: The Rise, the Pants, the Bankruptcy, and the Legacy
On February 12, 1990 — the same day Nelson Mandela walked free from Victor Verster Prison — a 27-year-old kid from Oakland named Stanley Kirk Burrell released his third studio album and accidentally changed pop culture forever. By August, it was selling 100,000 copies a day. By the following spring, it had gone diamond with over 10 million copies sold in the U.S. alone. Please Hammer, Don’t Hurt ‘Em remains the best-selling rap album in history, and MC Hammer remains one of the most fascinating cautionary tales — and unsung cultural architects — in American music.
From Oakland Parking Lots to Capitol Records
Before the pants, before “Stop! Hammer Time,” before the bankruptcy, there was a kid doing splits in a baseball stadium parking lot. Hammer — born Stanley Burrell in 1962 — grew up poor in East Oakland, one of eight children. At age 11, he was dancing outside Oakland A’s games at the Coliseum when team owner Charlie Finley spotted him and hired him as a clubhouse assistant. The A’s players nicknamed him “Hammer” because they thought he resembled Hank Aaron. Reggie Jackson helped coin the nickname. That origin story — poverty, hustle, a chance encounter with the right person at the right time — would define everything that followed.
After high school and a three-year Navy stint, Hammer came back to Oakland with music on his mind. He borrowed $40,000 from two former A’s players, Mike Davis and Dwayne Murphy, and launched Bust It Productions. His 1986 independent debut, Feel My Power, sold 60,000 copies — enough for Capitol Records to notice. They signed him in 1988 with a $1.75 million advance. Two years later, they were watching him become the biggest thing in American pop music.
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U Can’t Touch This: The Sample That Broke Hip Hop Open
The key to understanding “U Can’t Touch This” is understanding what it borrowed and what it added. The foundation is Rick James’ 1981 funk monster “Super Freak” — that unforgettable opening bassline riff, looped and flipped into a hip hop engine. Rick James initially hated it. He later sued for copyright infringement. They settled out of court, with James receiving a songwriting credit and a cut of the royalties that probably set him up for the rest of his life.
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The Retro Almanac
A monthly roundup of "on this day" highlights from that month, decades back — plus first dibs on new retro merch drops. No spam, just the good stuff.
