Track 07. The Realness of "Realness"

            Hip-hop today is predicated on the authenticity or “realness” of the rapper. Flipping on the radio to a hip-hop station brings a listener in constant contact with themes like hyper-sexuality, violence, money, and a thug persona, among other characteristics. For many listeners of all races, this is the truth behind hip-hop. Though much of the music is not based on such material, presently, it does make up a majority of the industry. What is interesting, however, is that many of the rappers that rhyme about incarceration or living in the “hood” are not necessarily familiar with such material. This is hardly new, as “early MCs generally rapped about having huge amounts of cash, women, and fame. Few complained that these early rappers more often than not lived with their parents, owned no cars, and lived in areas with a median poverty-level income,” (45). Interestingly enough, “realness” is essential to success in the rap industry. An important distinction, however, is that “realness” is not a portrayal of reality, but rather of blackness. This blackness is not static, but constantly in flux, changing from Black Nationalism in the late 1980s to thuggish in the early 1990s into the present.

            “Realness,” by and large “implies an intimate familiarity with the urban, working-class landscapes,” (39). This largely can explain why hip-hop has been propelled mostly by Black males (and to a lesser degree, Latino males), and not Asians or Whites. In fact, “[s]ince the early 1990s the thug ethos has handily dominated hip-hop,” (42), which can be synonymous with young, inner-city, Black males.  It is, “[w]ithin this framework [that] rappers who extol ghettoized pathology (drug selling, gang banging, violence, pimping, etc.) affirm their realness,” (43). Of course, the difficulty rests in the fact that not all rappers have a history in these actions, which can bring into question the realness of said rappers. This can also explain the difficulties of white rappers within the hip-hop culture, because though the “realness” may best be explained in terms of social class, it is often done so in terms of race. So when Eminem comes on the scene, from a working-class, urban environment, his legitimacy is still questioned, whereas Ice Cube, who came from a middle-class background, can be a part of N.W.A. and talk about coming straight out of Compton, with no negative repercussions (within the hip-hop culture). Perhaps Eminem and other white rappers have been pigeonholed due to the lack of credibility of Vanilla Ice, whose, “claim that he was raised in a tough black neighborhood in Miami and involved with criminal activities [were] prove[n] false,” (56). A better, more complete explanation of the hardships that non-Blacks are confronted with in hip-hop may be this: “non-African Americans who aspire to represent the real do so by celebrating the same activities that performers like N.W.A, Geto Boys, Ice-T, and other gangsta rappers had established as standards of ghetto authenticity in the late 1980s,” (45). In a genre where “realness” is a necessity, non-African Americans are garnering their credibility from the acts of African Americans, not from their own past.

            All this being said, it is dangerous to argue that blackness and thugness is one in the same. Many, both within the hip-hop culture and outside it, would argue that the idea that Black is thug is like saying all rectangles are squares—it fails to look at it in a larger context. The fact is the gangstadom of hip-hop is far from the reality of life. Instead, “African Americans of the hip-hop generation have graduated from high school, college, graduate, and professional schools at rates higher than any generation of black people in U.S. history,” (176). Generally, most people would agree that the gangbanging, violent persona of mainstream hip-hop is countercultural to this increase in higher education. It is unfair to discriminate against the subject matter of hip-hop, however, as other genres throughout time, like rock, blues, and even country are all story-based, with little overlap between music and reality. It seems senseless to hold hip-hop to a different standard than the public expects from any other pop star. The standard, however, may be set due not only to the content, but also because of the fact that the majority of the audience is white.

            With this in mind, the fact is, hip-hop, since the 1990s has fallen off its path of a socially conscious art form like many mainstream rappers were in the 1970s and 1980s (think Public Enemy or Grandmaster Flash’s The Message), and instead has focused on the financial gain. This may be why there is a disconnect between many rappers and the stories they rhyme about—those stories, though they did not happen to them, are very valuable. Jay-Z, one of the most well-received rappers of the 90s and 2000s, acknowledged “the market is open for only a narrow expression of hip-hop: ‘I dumbed down for my audience to double my dollars.’ The mogul, whose worth is over $340 million, insists that he would rather rhyme like lyrical masters and politically conscious MCs like Common or Talib Kweli, but he has instead made artistic and political sacrifices,” (179-180). The shift led Ogbar to conclude that, “ ‘Keepin’ it real’ then becomes a tragic bastardization of hip-hop’s original mission to subvert crime and youth violence,” (174). Interestingly enough, this shift has come at a time where the US incarceration rate has jumped significantly in the past 20 years, with a highly unbalanced percentage of those in prison being Black—an injustice that is not being discussed by the spokespeople of the targeted group.

That being said, there is a difficult relationship between races when it comes to hip-hop, as it is an art form made up almost exclusively by African American MCs, but paid for by almost exclusively white dollars. This interesting race relationship has also brought back negative stereotypes of past “black” entertainment for white America: the minstrel. Ogbar explains that, “[f]or many, the “real n----s” of hip-hop are little more than a reprise of the minstrel,” (12), in that “hip-hop … offers up only the most narrow and problematic representations of black imagery. Oversexed black men and women, nihilistic violence, impulsive, vulgar, and criminal behavior have marked all but a handful of platinum hip-hop albums since the early 1990s,” (11-12). This is a far cry from the original purpose of hip-hop, however. The sad truth is that money has led to the aforementioned bastardization of hip-hop—that MCs would rather talk about rims and jewelry than incarceration rates and Hurricane Katrina. Interestingly enough, the few MCs that have offered incite on such matters (like Kanye West) have been quite successful—both financially and socially. Regardless of its shortcomings, it is difficult to equate hip-hop with minstrelsy, as there is too much variety within the hip-hop genre to group it in such narrow, stereotypical terms. There are, however, interesting correlations, especially with both minstrel shows of old and hip-hop of new both catered to a overwhelmingly white audience. As articulated earlier in this paper, perhaps the most concerning aspect of this is the fact that due to the popularity of rap music in white culture, many whites begin to believe hip-hop music is the same as Black culture.

Overall, although it is quite easy to predict that hip-hop will be around for a long time to come, it is difficult to predict the content the music will incorporate in the future. It is safe to say that no 1970s MC from the Bronx could have envisioned hip-hop as the corporate giant, out-selling every other genre in music today. It could also be said, however that those same Mcs may not have wanted hip-hop to emerge as such a diluted product—one void of much substance. This is not to say that there are not strong voices in hip-hop (as groups/MCs like the Roots, Mos Def, Kanye West, and Talib Kweli, among others, all offer strong perspectives on the state of Black America), but by and large, mainstream hip-hop has focused on gangstadom for the past 15 years, without any signs of letting up. One of the primary purposes of my study has been to examine the hip-hop cultural throughout the past 30 years. In the back of my mind, I have continually thought of Nas’ 2006 release Hip-Hop is Dead, with the question of whether or not it truly has died. The culture and generation are far from dead—there is a spirit that still exists, as well as the urban, working-class hotbed that continually offers more MCs—however, the music itself has taken a turn toward commercialization. No longer is Black Nationalism or urban plight the focus, but rather sexual relations, material wealth, and the thug life. This semester study has not led me to lose faith in hip-hop, but it has allowed me to realize that it is not the continuation of the Black Freedom Struggle, as I said before the semester began. Regardless of the path of hip-hop, it has been and will be a unique one that, hopefully, can get back to its roots.

Works Cited

Ogbar, Jeffrey O. G. Hip-Hop Revolution: The Culture and Politics of Rap. Lawrence, Kansas: The University of Kansas Press, 2007.