There is a cinematic trope that appears throughout movies and shows: the witnessing from afar. Crowds of people gather around a television or radio with eager anticipation of an event happening away from them yet they feel close because they know someone who is involved with that event. The person held in regard is someone who has overcome beyond what was expected of them and now all have to see what else is to occur. It is the privilege of being able to testify what was seen – and also that one had to premonition to know it was coming.

Kyle-Lee Watson scores the game-winning basket in a game for the Georgetown Hoyas while his mother, mentor and high school coach watch the television coverage in Above the Rim. Hordes line the street to watch screenings of Jamal Malik as he approaches the final question of game show Kaun Banega Crorepati in Slumdog Millionaire. Crowds accumulate around a radio broadcasting the moves of Beth Harmon as she surpasses expectations in the Moscow International chess tournament in The Queen’s Gambit. Characters from Jerry Seinfeld’s life share their opinions as they sit in their homes to watch the pilot episode of his semi-autobiographical sitcom, Jerry, in Seinfeld.

In the early hours of 28 October 1993, there were people in the New York metropolitan area who stayed awake past usual waking hours to bear witness to their own historic occasion. On the campus of Columbia University, a group of rappers had assembled in the cramped studio of WKCR to make an appearance on The Stretch Armstrong Show. Hip hop loyalists frequently tormented their sleeping patterns to ensure that they were conscious for the once-a-week program that was notorious for its showcase of upcoming talent. Perhaps there was greater interest for this performance than usual. Listeners were tuned in. One of these people was Big Mel. He was “chillin’, loungin’ at the crib” at the time. He was a spectator. He would have been sitting next to his radio with eagerness for what was to come. He probably felt the excitement from getting his name mentioned as he received a shout-out on the cusp of the freestyle by Nas commencing.

The lead-up to the release of Nas’ debut album was impeccable in its execution. His appearance on The Stretch Armstrong Show was only a furthering of it. Nas had made his debut two years prior with a guest appearance on the posse cut “Live at the Barbeque” by Main Source; the potency of his opening line – “street’s disciple, my raps are trifle” – and an assortment of other pristine lines – “when I was twelve, I went to hell for snuffin’ Jesus” / “siwmmin’ in women like a lifeguard” / “my voicebox locks and excels like a rocket” – ensure that he earned the privilege of having the opening verse. The emergence of a legend was fostered. The following year saw Nas make his second guest appearance with MC Serch’s coincidentally-titled “Back to the Grill” which again has Nas cooking heat as if he was at the family cookout; his religious heresy continues here with the outrageous “I’m wavin’ automatic guns at nuns” line. The end of 1992 saw the long-awaited debut solo single by Nas, “Half Time”, as part of the soundtrack to the film Zebrahead; the exhibition is everything that could have been expected for a showing of his own.

1993 was then the year of restraint on Nas’ behalf and anticipation on the world’s behalf. Nas made no guest appearances and released no music. The murmurs continued as they had since his debut. Was he really this good? Was this the second coming of Rakim? Was the kid from Queensbridge all that he was said to be?

Such questions would were soon to be quelled on this morning of 28 October 1993 when DJ Stretch Armstrong faded “Check It Out” by Akinyele – ironically another artist who debuted on “Live at the Barbecue” – to bring in the instrumental for the Queens anthem “The Bridge” by MC Shan. Nas was here. He had made the trek into the WKCR studio alongside his brother, Jungle, and rappers Grand Wizard (later Wiz), 6’9″ and Sudan; another friend of theirs was left downstairs in the lobby as he could not fit into the studio. Host Bobbito Garcia is given the brief opportunity to interview this mythical figure who refers to himself as “the big motherfuckin’ illmatic Nas”; his upcoming album is described as being “a bunch of sciences”, he announces the star-studded production team and lays out the release plan for what was to be his second single “It Ain’t Hard to Tell”.

Bobbito then invites the rappers to give shout-outs; they are given almost 40 seconds until Stretch Armstrong fades out “The Bridge” to bring in no other than a beat that he made himself. I have always felt an affinity for the confidence Stretch Armstrong felt in this moment by knowing that he had the greatest rap prospect in the world on his show and decided to use his own instrumental. The beat was never released anywhere so there is not any connotation of Nas rapping over another artist’s beat for his appearance; instead, it is an original piece of music that stands on its own.

Nas starts immediately with a completely impromptu freestyle; he makes it through the verse using a slow pace and some loose connections. He gives way to Grand Wizard who then immediately passes to 6’9″ for a written verse with some questionable lines (never has another rapper mentioned being smacked on the ass as a baby to form a boast). Nas then comes back in blazing with what was to be used as the second verse of “Memory Lane (Sittin’ in da Park)” as a true demonstration of his talents. Sudan performs a simple but sweet tribute to their deceased friend Ill Will called “Rock-a-Bye Homeboy”. Jungle emerges for a brief prepared verse before Nas appears again for a third time – by cutting off Grand Wizard – with a seemingly repeated impromptu verse. Grand Wizard finally gets his moment: four brief lines before Stretch Armstrong changes the beat and the rappers continue over Black Moon’s “How Many Emcees”.

There are a few elements that make this eight minutes special. The first is the beat; all five performers use it perfectly in their various styles. It also happens to be a really good beat which makes it all the more incredible that it was isolated to five minutes of a radio freestyle and never released anywhere else. There is great chemistry and reactivity by all involved with no lulls longer than a few bars; Nas’ interruption of Grand Wizard’s hesitation is the only moment of pause. It could have been awareness from Nas’ attempt in his first verse to introduce Grand Wizard who does not take the opportunity and instead deflects to 6’9″ – albeit with a two-bar rhyme right as the drums come out of the beat. No rapper makes any flaws that end their verse prematurely either. Nas’ saves the final line of his third verse – “Why don’t you mic the make…” – by getting it right the second time – “make the microphone miserable?”. Five rappers perform but one stands above them all: the street’s disciple rejuvenated the anticipation that was to be finally satisfied seven months later when Illmatic was released.

We are all witnesses to history being made whether it is a conscious decision or not. The act of spectating is one to be treasured. Who knows the magnitude of what will be perceived? You can ask Big Mel. He witnessed the arrival of one of the greats.