Track 04. "The Vibe History of Hip Hop"
KRS-One once said, “Hip-hop has no inventor. Hip-hop has no beginning. Hip-hip has no end. It is here and now and will always be,” (Relevant Magazine, 56). In The Vibe History of Hip Hop, however, the writers view it a bit differently, taking individual people, locations, and time frames to break down the history of hip-hop. In contrast to KRS-One, Vibe states that, “Rap wasn’t built in a day. It connects to an oral tradition that spans a legacy from radio jocks to doo-wop, Bo Diddley to bebop, prison toasts and idle boasts, all the way back to the African griots. More specifically, however, the birth of rap as we know it can be directly traced back to the concrete jungles of the Bronx in the late ’60 and early ‘70s, an era now fondly remembered as the old school,” (14). From there, hip-hop has expanded and morphed. It has incorporated suburbanites and discouraged some of the original aspects of its movement. Regardless, however, “Hip-hop is the voice of a generation that refused to be silenced by urban poverty, a local phenomenon fueled with so much passion and truth it could not help but reach the entire world,” (Relevant, 55). This movement has known many styles and places, and has had many leaders, all of which, the Vibe History of Hip Hop focuses on.
Starting in the Bronx, hip-hop culture took the form of four new activities: DJ-ing, break-dancing, graffiti writing, and MC-ing. All of these were birthed out of the art of DJ-ing, where b-boys (short for break-boys) would begin to break dance during the prolonged break that DJs would create during songs by switching between two records. MCs originally served as sidekicks to the DJs. House and park parties would hinge upon the DJ while the MC attempted to keep the morale of the party up by yelling commands at the crowd (like, “Say yeah!” or “Put your hands up!”). Only later did the MC take center stage, when technology began to improve upon the rough cuts of DJs, and DJs were no longer necessary. Some believe that this dethroning of the DJ killed hip-hop in its purest form. In addition, the first large-scale hip-hop hit, Sugar Hill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight,” (which many hip-hop pioneers disliked because it came from a group and a place—New Jersey—that was not involved in the culture) did not incorporate DJ scratching. The use of drum machines, house bands, and loops on early rap records gave a much clearer sound, and effectively voided the necessity of DJs on recordings. This, some claim, allowed business people to start monopolizing the industry, not necessarily needing knowledge or credibility, but instead money to pay producers and bands, as well as to pay for the technology necessary. As D.ST, a 70s and 80s DJ, said “It tore all of us apart. That’s what killed hip hop. ‘King Tim III’ was the beginning of the end. As far as the culture, it was over. ’Cause the money [took over] and the people who had no knowledge of the culture but had better knowledge of the business aspect got control of the shit and messed it up,” (74). D.ST aside, however, DJ-ing has continued to remain entwined within hip-hop culture. Though technology has evolved, singles still come out in 12-inch vinyl, and radio and television shows still incorporate DJs. These DJs may not be at the forefront of the hip-hop landscape anymore, but they are still important. In fact, it should be impressive that DJ-ing has continued so long, as “Hip hop’s Darwinian cycle of natural selection has placed its ruthless mack hand down on virtually every discipline of the culture in some way, yet it is DJ-ing which has somehow managed to transcend, reinvent, survive, and flourish throughout,” (78). When discussing hip hop today, it is commonplace to converse about how impressive a lyrical flow is, or how tight the beat is, but none of this would have been possible without the trail-blazing of the early DJs. Perhaps this is why Vibe sums it up by stating that, “DJ-ing is the essence of hip hop, the basis on which everything afterward was founded. Doubting it, to paraphrase the words of Nice & Smooth’s Smooth B, is like fronting on Jesus,” (78).
Other original ingredients of the hip-hop culture have not stood up to the test of time nearly as well as DJ-ing. Graffiti and break-dancing, though both still culturally relevant, are not so on the platform of MC-ing or DJ-ing. The beauty about break-dancing was the fact that it was not solely a Black dance, but was also Latino-accepted. This was one of the earliest examples of hip-hop culture appealing to more than just Black culture, an important aspect of hip-hop that has now incorporated suburban, white America, as well as the world at large. Regardless, the art of break-dancing has not grown into the cultural phenomenon that the music did. Perhaps the reason break-dancing has not had the longevity of various other forms of hip-hop culture is its inability to evolve. The style associated sure has been able to do so (some original b-boys wore full-body spandex suits, for instance), but the dance itself has had little progression in comparison to MC-ing, for instance. As one b-boy Richie “Fast Break” Williams recalled, “I remember when we were filming Krush Groove with Run D.M.C. and L.L. Cool J. Jam Master Jay said to me, ‘You’re still doing that shit? That’s played out!’” (58). It may have been played out so early also because it was universally accepted so early. Unlike rap music, which did not have a continuous run of popular hits, break-dancing quickly caught the public’s eye as, “New b-boy crews, as well as chapters of established ones, sprang up in such unlikely spots as Samoa, Denmark, and Morocco. Top U.S. crews headlined prestigious performances for Queen Elizabeth and Prince Charles, President Ronald Reagan’s second inauguration, and France’s Cannes Film Festival,” (58). Thus, by the mid 80s break-dancing was already phased out of the hip-hip landscape. Regardless of this loss of street-credibility, break-dancing has not gone away, and has in fact increased in its relevance since the early 90s, but even in its resurgence, it no longer has the cultural significance that other aspects of the hip-hop movement have had.
Another instance of phased-out hip-hop cultural is the large-scale disappearance of graffiti writers. Graffiti, beginning in the late 1960s and early 1970s was an outlet of artistic expression for many young, poor urbanites. What started as a simple boring tag soon evolved to mass murals throughout the New York subways and projects, with a vast array of colors and words. Much like break-dancing, graffiti was also accepted by mainstream America—to a point. Obviously, many viewed graffiti as vandalism, dirtying the building and subways, but the art community began to accept this as viable art as well, even offering art exhibits to the art form. This was not the true ideal for the average graffiti writer, however, as the streets were their playground. What is interesting is the ability of taggers to roam freely in gang territory in New York: “Since graffiti was an oddball outlet for independent thinkers, serious gangs like the Savage Skulls, Black Spades, and Savage Nomads weren’t threatened by the writers’ organizations; kids often roamed wild, neighborhood to neighborhood, free from harm, branding foreign terrain like a ranch hand does choice cattle,” (37). Others argue that graffiti is not hip-hop at all. In the mid to late 80s, “heavy metal-loving graf writers screamed that graffiti and hip hop were two different animals, neither dependent on the other for relevance or survival. These kids loved Black Sabbath, not Bambaataa. In all honesty, there is no doubt: The writer was here before the MC. Is graffiti hip hop to your average writer in his forties who doesn’t even listen to rap? No. But what these two movements have in common for sure is the mood, heart, and dialect of a galaxy called Urbana,” (40). Though its inclusion within hip-hop culture may be debated, the fact that it is no longer as prominent cannot be. With law enforcement cracking down on tagging, the street-minded focus of graffiti has lost momentum and has become less and less acknowledged as an aspect of hip-hop culture.
MC-ing, has become synonymous with “hip-hop” nowadays, however. This should not surprise, as American and human cultures are largely oral cultures. For every artistic movement there are volumes of works and interviews describing each, putting words to a wordless movement. Hip-hop could not survive without the words of the hip-hop culture. If it is true, like KRS-One said that hip-hop is the voice of urban culture, than it makes sense that the vocal dynamic of the movement has been the dominant force in the hip-hop movement. That of course does not mean that all MCs have been widely respected. The interesting dynamic to hip-hop is that it is not an equal-opportunity employer. Now this does not mean that behind the scenes there are no White producers/entrepreneurs (Rick Ruben, for instance, was vital in the birth and growth of Def Jam Records), but in front of the mic has always been a different story. For every Eminem or Beastie Boys, there is a Vanilla Ice or House of Pain. It may best be stated like this: “No matter how corporate hip hop becomes, it still remains a vessel for the sound of black male rage. The global hip hop audience, now comprised of fans in Asia, Europe, New Zealand, and Africa, defines the authenticity of a hip hop performance by its capacity to digitally channel the hoys of black male rage,” (389). In fact, the success of the Beastie Boys may be because of their ability to disassociate from trying to channel this rage. As Q-Tip explained, “You know why I could fuck with [the Beastie Boys]? They don’t try to be black. They’re just themselves—not trying to be something they’re not,” (124).On the other hand, the inability to channel this “black male rage” has doomed numerous pop-rappers—Black and otherwise. Acts like MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice, for instance, have been largely looked upon as “sellouts.” This may be best represented by Vanilla Ice, who attempted to achieve street credibility, but failed miserably. In fact, “when African-Americans complained about white rappers’ cultural imperialism, Vanilla Ice made it painfully obvious, from his stiff rhyme flow and awkward use of rap slang (at one point he boasted how he strapped on his jimmy, thinking jimmy meant ‘condom’ instead of ‘penis’) to his appropriation of African-American college chants for ‘Ice Ice Baby’’s chours,” (124). This difference between hip-hop lyrics and the typical pop-rap fan made it a negative connotation for almost any rapper to be associated with, which, to this day, continue to haunt certain MCs.
These non-respected MCs aside, however, hip-hop has been a significant voice in modern America. How else could one describe a movement that led to these remarks by ex-presidential hopeful John Kerry: “I’m fascinated by rap and by hip-hop. I think there’s a lot of poetry in it. There’s a lot of anger, a lot of social energy in it. And I think you’d better listen to it pretty carefully, ‘cause it’s important,” (Relevant, 55)? The voice of hip-hop represents more than one man’s belief, but can truly encapsulate the beliefs of a marginalized Black urban population better than any other medium. There is no other place to turn to that will better communicates this world view—politics, newspapers, or any other type of music. This is not to say that all hip-hop is socially active (“Buy You a Drank” by T-Pain is probably not an example of Black-struggle), but a great amount can explain the landscape of the community. The fact is, however, that instead of solely politically and economically elite talking for the urban community, more voices are heard, which brings about a string of important questions: “[W]ho truly deserves to speak for the condition of black souls[?] Is it our institutionally approve elite, our bohemian bourgeois iconoclasts, or the folk who live on public assistance in the projects and their neighbors, the black working class? Or is it all of the above?” (393). But more than just a voice for the urban marginalized of America, hip-hop has become a global identity. Whether European, African, Asian, or Australian, rap has become a staple. It is not identical internationally, as Vibe put it, “Across the globe, hip hop has been customized, souped up, or retrofitted into local relevance,” (362). It has become a global platform for many to stand on, allowing the variations to the music. Perhaps, “[l]ike rock ’n’ roll, hip hop is a cultural commodity, seductive and big enough to steamroll local traditions. But unlike rock, hip hop’s neighborhood history—its backyard boasting and turntable hosting—invigorates the cultures that come in contact with it,” (362). Hip-hop has had global recognition and has offered a voice for many marginalized individuals—not bad for a movement that began with scratching records, tagging buildings, and spinning on heads.
Hip-hop is no longer an infant in its existence—“Rapper’s Delight” came out 30 years ago. At the time that The Vibe History of Hip Hop was published, it had been 20 years. Though that may not seem significant, Alan Light, the editor of Vibe, explains, “To put that in some context for any who still doubt hip hop’s longevity, Woodstock happened only fifteen years after Elvis Presley’s first recordings,” (v). Moreover, hip-hop does not seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Though certain hip-hoppers like Nas believe hip-hop to be dead (hence Nas’ latest album release, “Hip Hop is Dead”), others believe hip-hop to continue for a long time to come. In fact, “When asked whether he saw an end to rapping, Afrika Bambaataa said he expected that MC-ing would be around as long people were still talking,” (393). Of course, this does not mean that hip-hop will remain stagnant—not evolving, and maintaining the same degree of cultural impact—but instead it means that hip-hop, as a voice of a urban poverty generation, will continue to exist as it has over the past 30 years—changing with the times, but remaining true to the people that best relate to it.
Works Cited
Light, Alan, ed. The Vibe History of Hip Hop. New York, NY: Three Rivers Press, 1999.
