This article originally appeared in an issue of our print quarterly, The Pitchfork Review, which you can subscribe to here.

In September 1990, N.W.A appeared on “The Arsenio Hall Show” to perform the title track from their EP 100 Miles and Runnin’, closing an episode featuring actresses Annie Potts and Cree Summer. Hall granted the self-proclaimed “World’s Most Dangerous Group” a pre-performance interview, and to emphasize that this was a serious conversation and not simple promotion, Arsenio sat with them on the edge of the interview set—the “getting real” pose popularized by daytime talk-show hosts of the era like Geraldo Rivera and Phil Donahue.

They had a lot to talk about. The interview was the group’s first public comment on a letter their label had received a year earlier from Milt Alerich, assistant director of the FBI office of public affairs, in response to the release of their song “Fuck tha Police”. In the letter, Alerich informed the group that “advocating violence and assault is wrong, and we in the law enforcement community take exception to such action.” Though the letter gave a group founded upon controversy a prime opportunity to duke it out with the Feds on firm First Amendment grounds, N.W.A remained silent, only issuing a statement through their publicist that doubled as a PR blurb for their debut album: “Everything N.W.A has to say has been said on Straight Outta Compton, and there is no further comment.”

This fact notwithstanding, Hall—who, from 1989 to 1994, did more than any other single person to publicize rap to a mainstream audience—gave N.W.A a chance to explain their side of the issue. What was “Fuck tha Police” really about? “Once in everybody’s lifetime,” MC Ren explained, “you get harassed by the police for no reason, and everybody wants to say it, but they can’t say it on the spot.” For Ren, then, “Fuck tha Police” wasn’t provocation, but proxy: a stand-in for the millions of stifled screams wrenched from over-patrolled black neighborhoods nationwide. So maybe it was advocacy, but for catharsis, not the violence that Alerich and the FBI feared.

The “Arsenio”interview didn’t stop at lyrical exegesis. When Hall asked Dr. Dre what song they were going to perform, he replied, “We can’t do it, man.” Then, to the audience, he continued: “We was gonna perform for y’all, right? But [the police] said N.W.A were too radical, so we just get the interview.” The audience gasped. The LAPD shutting down an “Arsenio” gig was understandable on one hand, given that, after the “Fuck tha Police” letter was mailed, the FBI had worked with rap-concert venue owners and local cops to stifle N.W.A shows around the country. Still, though, to witness it happen on television was shocking. Hall took control, promising to “huddle up” and figure something out before sending the show to break.

Upon returning from the commercial, the action picks up backstage, where it appears that the worst has happened. N.W.A are scuffling with several police officers, the action captured vérité-style by a handheld camera. Any initial shock wears off very quickly, as the group breaks free from the (actors playing) cops, ascends a flight of stairs, and emerges amidst Arsenio’s crowd as the host’s booming voice introduces the performance proper. Once “100 Miles and Runnin’” takes shape, it becomes clear that two televisual genres have been remixed to serve N.W.A’s promotional needs. A late-night talk show—the province of celebrity promotion—had temporarily mimicked “COPS”, which had debuted on Fox just a year and a half earlier.