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.
Upon watching the film Wild Style, the first thing that a viewer will notice is that the film shows its 25 years quite easily. After the viewer can get past the low-budget and sometimes awkward scenes/acting, the movie shows the very essence of the founding four pillars of hip-hop: DJing, MCing, break dancing, and graffiti. When discussing hip-hop culture, most of the time the predominant aspect is MCing, but Wild Style showcases the importance of all four (focusing on graffiti mostly, but giving ample time to each of the other three aspects). More importantly, it intertwines them, as they were not all individually created in a vacuum, but rather, they were all byproducts of the Bronx youth of the 1970s. The film itself offers a microcosm of the New York hip-hop culture in the late 1970s and early 1980s.
The way that the four pillars are represented shows the very core of hip-hop, not solely as a Black movement, but rather an urban movement that included Latinos (and to a much smaller degree, whites) as well. As far as the graffiti writing, the film occurs at an interesting point in the history of tagging, where graffiti began to become accepted in artistic circles and began getting publicity and canvases to paint. The integration of hip-hop culture was just beginning to take shape, though later in the 1980s, there was a sense that hip-hop was on a downtrend with the decline of graffiti and break dancing. However, during this film, there are no signs of a decline. Instead, all four are given significant time—possibly because the film was shot on location with many staples of early hip-hop culture like Grandmaster Flash, Busy Bee, The Cold Crush, the Rock Steady Crew, and even legendary taggers like Lee Quinones, Sandra Fabara, and Andrew Zephyr Witten.
It is interesting, however, to see how much hip-hop has evolved over the past 25 years since Wild Style was released. Interestingly, there are only two white characters throughout the entire film, whereas everyone else is Black or Latino. The fact that the hip-hop audience of today is predominantly white shows the shift from an urban-youth offshoot to the most profitable genre in American music. It is interesting that just 25 years ago, Wild Style was released independently as the first hip-hop movie, and now the industry has led to numerous high-budget motion pictures, another example of the meteoric rise of hip-hop. It is also refreshing to see hip-hop as a largely underground movement. Looking at the music today, it seems to be quite formulaic, where producers and record labels can almost ensure success for their various talents. In Wild Style, it shows the type of recklessness from the founders of hip-hop that allowed the music and the culture to grow so exponentially.
Overall, Wild Style’s impact is two-fold. First, it is a historical ode to the early movement as it was just beginning to take form. In all its awkwardness, the roots of the movement were shown in quite a positive light. Secondly, it showcases, as previously stated, the evolution of hip-hop from its roots to where it is today. The mix of graffiti, break dancing, MCing, and DJing offers the roots of the movement, where without these humble beginnings, there could be no Jay-Z or BET. Wild Style is a seminal film about the beginnings of the hip-hop movement, where taggers lashed out against authority by tagging trains, and parties were thrown to showcase these new talents.
Many things are associated with hip-hop today—some are positive, some are negative; some are accurate, some are fabricated. One facet of the music and the culture that is true, however, is the admiration of bling—jewelry that is big, shiny, and expensive. Hits from the past, such as B.G.’s 1999 hit “Bling, Bling,” have emphasized the importance of this iconic symbol, a symbol that has been associated with hip-hop since the start (see the gold ropes that Run D.M.C. fashioned). Little has been discussed in the rap world, however, about where these diamonds come from. In the film, “Bling: A Planet Rock,” a documentary by UNDP and VH1, rap stars are taken to Sierra Leone, a poor African country that has been subjected to wars over diamonds, thus calling them “blood diamonds.” Hip-hop icons like Raekwon, Paul Wall, and Tego Calderon traveled to the country to obtain a first-hand look at how the money they dropped on their bling affected men and women, boys and girls halfway across the globe.
Before they go, the film discusses the state of rap music in the context of money—MCs like Jadakiss, Kanye West, and Juelz Santana discuss the desire for jewelry. At one point Jadakiss talks about how, as a rapper, when the paycheck comes, first comes the house, then comes the car, and third comes the jewelry. Little is known by rappers in general, however, about where these diamond come from. West is different however, as he comments, “It’s just ironic that what made Black people feel so empowered was completely demoralizing and destroying other Black people.” West, who has spoken out about the tragedy in Sierra Leone in “Diamonds are Forever,” did not travel but did have wise words regarding blood diamonds. The truth is this documentary shows the juxtaposition of Black people worldwide, via the African Diaspora, in the differences between rappers and Sierra Leone citizens.
The three artists that are brought to Sierra Leone represent the diversity of hip-hop. Paul Wall is a White rapper from Texas who owns his own jewelry store (the co-owner also went on the trip). Tego Calderon is a big name in Latino rap, and Raekwon is one of the founding members of the Wu Tang Clan, a highly influential New York based rap group. Their trip was not a vacation, but rather, they traveled to see the horrors of a war created by diamonds. They met amputees and ex-child soldiers and visited miners and slave stations. While talking with diamond miners, Paul Wall discussed how much certain diamonds would cost, and the miners asked him to pay them that price—which he could not do (the diamonds they were discussing still needed to be cut). The difference in lifestyle between the hip hop stars and the African people they come into contact with is extreme—where Africans have worked in hellacious circumstances to mine diamonds, these rappers dropped a significant amount of money to purchase their own.
Throughout the film, Raekwon seems to be the most outspoken opponent against the diamond industry in Africa. At one point he begins to confront the owner of one diamond mine that he was not giving enough money back to Sierra Leone. It is here that it seems that Raekwon comes across as showing off for the camera. Although Tego Calderon seems sincere in his actions and Paul Wall does too, (albeit, somewhat confused at times), Raekwon shifts between overwhelmed, melodramatic, and sympathetic. This belief may have been strengthened when, on the same day that they visited a slave hub, where shackles still exist on some walls, they also go to a nightclub and get lost in the moment. In fairness, this can show the potential of Sierra Leone to evolve beyond the decimated war-torn country of the 90s into something more. At the same time, however, it must be acknowledged that it seems odd that the same day someone is so bent out of shape about the lives of some Africans (and rightly so), he is out partying at a nightclub and discussing how great of a club it is. This is not to say that one cannot enjoy himself while recognizing injustice, but this seems to be too extreme.
Regardless of Raewon’s inability to let go of his hip hop persona, the film still successfully touches on a very difficult subject that is widely unheard of. I do not know what these hip hop stars have done for the country since their trip to Sierra Leone, but it was an eye-opening experience for both them and the viewers. Not only does it discuss the problems of the diamond trade, but it also helps define the international impact of hip hop music. During the diamond war of Sierra Leone, many wore Tupac and Wu Tang Clan shirts—shirts that they related to and connected with. The impact of these rappers halfway across the globe should not be a complete surprise—as hip hop should not be viewed much differently from rock music (which has infiltrated all corners of the earth, by-and-large). Still, the global impact of hip hop must be acknowledged not as a minimalistic artistic expression, but as a cultural, world-wide movement. The impact of hip hop digs deep. In the case of Sierra Leone, this deepness is twofold: first being the music that these Africans have attached themselves to as a form of expression and hope; second being the struggle that hip hop stars (and many other Americans—from Hollywood to New York to Miami and all in between) have helped create over the diamond trade. Bling: A Planet Rock does not offer a solution to the tragedy that has taken place, but it does offer the victims of this terrible war a voice. With that voice, they can impact not just Raekwon, Tego Calderon, and Paul Wall, but many others as well.
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.
When looking at popular music today, it is quite logical to expect hip-hop (or hip-hop influenced R&B) to get massive airplay on the radio, MTV, and in cd players around the country (and world). In fact, a recent look at Billboard’s Top 50 shows that 33 of the top 50 (and nine of the top 10) songs in the United States are of the hip-hop variety. This is a long way from the beginning of the musical movement, which is chronicled in Nelson George’s Hip Hop America. Hip-Hop, George depicts, is, “the story of a society-altering collision between black youth culture and mass media, a story that touches on the themes of drugs, fashion, incarceration, basketball, entrepreneurship, technology, and language,” (back cover). Hip-hop as an art form rose to prominence in the 70s, and, as is apparent in Hip Hop America, has changed, grown, and revolutionized over the past three decades.
George depicts the birth of hip-hop from the ashes of soul and disco—and the ashes of the civil rights movement. He claims, “Hip hop is, as we’ll see, the spawn of many things. But, most profoundly, it is a product of schizophrenic, post-civil rights movement America,” (xiv). To believe that the civil rights movement was a monolithic, short-term event is to undermine the very efforts that George often praises throughout his work. Of course, it must be noted that his main purpose in Hip Hop America, is not to describe hip-hop as a force of civil rights (though he does discuss this, without overemphasizing the point) but instead its emergence as a cultural force. This did not seem likely in the 70s, where hip-hop was thought to be a fad, much as the shrinking disco market was. But hip-hoppers were not finding a replacement for disco, but they were expressing themselves in new ways. After all, “[t]he phase of the civil rights movement led by Dr. King, with its philosophy of nonviolence, its marchers in starched white shirts and narrow ties, was already literally long dead. The succeeding phase of angry, burn-baby-burn rhetoric was itself receding…” (1). In the wake of this shift, hip-hop culture—break dancing, graffiti, and music (both rapping and DJing)—emerged, “as a way of announcing one’s existence to the world,” (14).
The interesting difference between hip-hop and its predecessors is its ability to evolve. Asking the atypical hip-hop fan today (quite possibly of the White, suburban variety) was hip-hop includes, would probably omit break dancing, graffiti, and DJing, by-and-large, from the discussion, but in their place, they may describe fashion or film. Over the past 30 years, hip-hop has evolved from this tagging, break dancing, scratching culture to one that has focused on rapping. Of course, some (perhaps most) would say that this is not an evolution, but perhaps a deterioration—one where focus has been taken off of MC skills, and placed upon the beat or production of the song. This describes the ascension to the top of the charts by acts like Lil Jon—MCs whose prose does not include rhyme, but instead focuses on a danceable beat. This is not to say however that hip-hop has evolved to a state of lyric-less dance tune, but it has not remained static. From 1979’s “Rapper’s Paradise” by the Sugar Hill Gang to 1988’s “Colors” by Ice-T, to Jay-Z’s “Blue Magic” in 2007, hip-hop has consistently evolved over time and landscape (the sectionalizing of America from west-coast to east-coast to southern rap). Perhaps this is why hip-hop has had a continued fan-base for the past thirty years—a time frame much bigger than a passing fad. Though starting in New York City, hip-hop has expanded greatly over the past three decades. Absolutely, the hub of the culture is the same place that birthed it—NYC, but the music has not solely remained there. In the late 80s and early 90s acts like Ice-T and N.W.A. emerged on the hip-hop landscape from the west coast, followed by solo albums by Dr. Dre and Ice Cube, not to mention Tupac and Snoop Doggy Dogg, to prove that hip-hop was not strictly a New York movement.
It is quite obvious that hip-hop has evolved and has become a staple of popular culture, but it may be premature to make any sweeping generalization about the overall impact of and direction of hip-hop today. There is no question, that one can look back to the 80s and 90s and see the impact on the national scene. From the “gansta rap” scene, came an outcry of obscenity from a large number of citizens. They articulated a question that linked hip-hop, and all its shortcomings to the Black Freedom Struggle by asking “Had Dr. King given his life so that young men could grab their privates and call women bitches?” (188). There seems to be a sense of disappointment in the leaders of the musical movement by those outside of the hip-hop community because of the lack of political commentary in the music. Perhaps it is out of this frustration that George acknowledges that, “[h]ip hop has actually had surprisingly little concrete long-term impact on African-American politics,” (154). It is hard to blame all hip-hoppers for this lack of a political voice, however. The fact is, there have been politically minded individuals on the microphone, but perhaps their voices were drowned out by the sheer volume of rappers. Chuck D, for instance, set a goal of spawning thousands of Black leaders. Presently, “conscious rap” stars like Common or Talib Kweli also use their stardom to raise political awareness. However, the large majority of rappers do not focus on political activity, which may be due to the fact that “MCs are not social activists by training or inclination,” (154-155). There is a standard of excellence here that seems not to exist in any other genre. It seems illogical to ask a rapper to influence politics—and then be disappointed when they do not—based solely on their profession. However, that seems to be the case, even after Sean (P. Diddy) Combs spearheads the “Vote or Die” campaign. Regardless, MCs cannot be held to a standard that they do not intend to (or are prepared to) fulfill.
This desire for MCs to plug into the political and historical landscape of America may be too much to ask, but that does not mean that current MCs do not look back. In fact, when looking at hip-hop, a reflection to past hits is a staple of the music. Since the 80s, hip-hop has employed the art of sampling—that is, taking snippets of old hits and using them in current songs. The practice has been both criticized and applauded—leading to one important question that George asks: “Is or isn’t sampling an extension of African-American tradition?” (96). George then goes on to answer it by saying “If creating new notes, new chords, and harmonies is what the African-American musical tradition is about, then sampling is not doing that. However, if that tradition means embracing new sounds, bending found technology to a creator’s will in search of new forms of rhythm made to inspire and please listeners, well then sampling is as black as the blues. Sampling has changed the way a generation hears,” (96). Sampling is also an interesting aspect of hip-hop’s perceived place in the music continuum. Hip-hop, as discussed before, was not birthed in a vacuum with no sense of historical context, but instead was created in an era and by a people with a story to tell. Perhaps this same logic is why many listeners lament at the fact that MCs are not as politically or socially minded—there is a historically contextualized story to tell, and sampling—and hip-hop in general have the potential to tell it.
Not everything in Hip Hop America is without flaws, however. In fact, there are two main flaws with it, which make it difficult to take entirely serious. First, because it was written 10 years ago, the timeliness of George’s work is not very accurate. He makes predictions about the music that, since its publication, never did come true, like this: “Many feel [D’Angelo]… is the future of black music,” (211). Obviously hindsight is 20-20, but errors in judgment like this cause the book as a whole to lose some amount of credibility, which would not be there in the first place if this book had been written later (which, of course, is no fault of George). The second flaw of the book is its first-person narrative that, from a historical aspect, lacks importance. There are books that greatly benefit from a first-person style, like Coming of Age in Mississippi by Anne Moody, for example. George however, takes the first person structure, and uses it to explain his own place in hip-hop culture, or what he thinks about certain groups. Though this form of storytelling can make the work more personal (and enjoyable), from a historical standpoint, it dilutes the main purpose of Hip Hop America: history. With this in mind however, one can take an unintended parallel with Chuck D’s comment that hip-hop is “black CNN,” (187). One hang-up about CNN—or any news channel for that matter—is the fact that coverage is not comprehensive, but rather it pick-and-chooses bits and pieces of the news landscape. The same can be true for Hip Hop America: it is not an all-inclusive look into hip-hop’s music and culture, but instead it is a slice of many aspects (people, locale, time, etc.) within the movement.
All this being said, however, George’s work is one that shows the impact of hip-hop on an international stage. When looking at a fashion magazine or listening to a popular radio station or turning on a television, it becomes quite obvious of hip-hop’s marketability. Though the long-standing impact of hip-hop still has not been determined, it is quite easy to come to the conclusion that it is not a passing fad. Unlike disco, which sparked the hip-hop revolution, it has adapted to the time and geography that it inhabited. Perhaps George said it best when he said, “The truth is that hip hop—in its many guises—has reflected (and internationalized) our society’s woes so evocatively that it has grown from minority expression to mainstream appreciation. Our nation’s clothes, our language, our standards for entertainment, our sexuality, and our role models are just a few items that have been affected by hip hop’s existence,” (211). Though we do not know how long hip-hop will remain, it is evident that hip-hop has had a unique, tangible impact on the world it surrounds.
Works Cited
George, Nelson. Hip Hop America. New York, NY: The Penguin Group, 1998.
Again, before any new material, I have decided to place one previous paper, done for History 326: Black Freedom Struggle, on this site, as it deals with identical subject matter. It will be interesting to see if any thoughts from this paper will continue as I gain knowledge about hip hop.
While discussing the Black Freedom Struggle in its entirety, a simple question is often asked: “Where did the struggle go?” Though there have been a number of different answers, presently, one cannot answer this question without looking at hip-hop. As Professor S. Craig Watkins, author of Representing: Hip Hop Culture and the Production of Black Cinema has said, “Hip hop has become the most visible voice for black culture, and it’s definitely changing the broader social culture,” (“Studying a Hip Hop Nation,” Kay Randall). Hip-hop has evolved into an industry worth billions of dollars, encompassing different generations, races, and is a truly unique culture. What is interesting, however, is this: throughout American history, Whites—having the power structure in their hands—have continually marginalized African Americans. What is countercultural to this historic trend, however, is the White buy-in to the hip-hop culture. From the Beastie Boys to Eminem, White influence—both behind the mic and behind record sales—has been so significant within the culture that it has often been said that it makes up the majority of the listening audience. In fact, “Forbes magazine (‘The Business of Hip-Hop: A Billion-dollar Industry,’ February 18, 2004) reported that of an estimated 45 million hip-hop customers between 13 and 34, 80 percent were white,” (Why White Kids Love Hip Hop, Bakari Kitwana, 82). Though Kitwana calls into question the validity of this percentage, even if it is exaggerated, the fact remains that Whites have a huge stake in a hip-hop movement spurred by the Black Freedom Struggle.
What is interesting, however, is the growth of hip-hop from its perception as a negative, “Black” culture trend, to an acceptable means of entertainment/art. A middle aged White man explained, “When I was in high school, a friend came up to me one day and told me that he had been writing rhymes for about a year, but was afraid to tell anyone. It was normal for that to happen back then. We still got made fun of by some of our friends for being white and into hip-hop,” (Kitwana, 9). But, in his interview, he further explained the profoundness of the hip-hop culture by saying, “Looking back on my formative years, I see that we were trying to create an identity for ourselves that was more substantive than what we were handed in public school, church or any other outlet. We were really fighting for our spirits, fighting to define ourselves outside of mainstream American society by latching onto an oppositional identity and the perceived power in hip-hop,” (Kitwana, 9). It is interesting to see this unique twist to race relations: that White youth looked to Black culture for power. For the suburban, middle-to-upper-class White individual to listen to lyrics like, “Say somethin’ positive, well positive ain’t where I live / I live around the corner from West Hell / Two blocks from South Shit and once in a jail cell / The sun never shined on my side of the street, see?” (“Ghetto Bastard,” Naughty By Nature) is to experience a new culture all together.
It is this spread of Black culture that is so unique in hip-hop. And within the dispersal of Black culture to White America, along with it came the frustrations of growing up Black and powerless. In generations past, the well-educated ministers had been the talking heads of the Black Freedom Struggle, but with the emergence of this hip-hop culture, new voices have surfaced. Interestingly, with this new identity within the movement, the voices being heard were those of the people themselves, bringing to mind essence of what Claudette Colvin said, “who, when asked at the federal trial who the [Montgomery] boycott’s leader was, responded: ‘Our leaders is just we ourself,’” (Freedom’s Daughters, Lynne Olson, 127). The leaders of the hip-hop movement have never been anyone but the common crowd themselves. The parallels of this hip-hop culture and the “Civil Rights Movement” are not coincidental, but instead are similar because both are part of the larger context—the continual struggle toward human rights. When it is said, “Compton is the place that I touched down / I opened my eyes to realize that I was dark brown / And right there in the ghetto that color costs / Brothers smothered by the streets meaning we’re lost / I grew up in a place where it was go for your own / Don’t get caught after dark roaming the danger zone / But it was hell at the age of twelve / As my Compton black brothers were in and out of jail,” (“Raised in Compton,” Compton’s Most Wanted), it is not spoken in a vacuum, but rather is another voice in an ongoing problem within American history: the lack of power of the Black community.
It would be inaccurate to believe that hip-hop culture is synonymous to Black culture, but it is a significant subdivision. Part of this can be explained by its commentary on the history of the Black power struggle. Firstly, “[f]rom the start, the public viewed hip-hop culture and rap music through a racist lens. Rappers and rap fans were often portrayed as menacing Black adolescents, and rap music was vilified as violent and misogynistic,” (“Rap and Race: It’s Got a Nice Beat, but What about the Message?,” Rachel E. Sullivan, 607). As in their history, again Black culture was deemed inferior to that of White culture. But to marginalize hip-hop as a violent and misogynistic genre is to forget that, “rap music has both overt and covert political dimensions: ‘Rap’s poetic voice is deeply political in content and spirit, but its hidden struggle—that of access to public space and community resources and the interpretation of Black expression—constitutes rap’s hidden politics,’” (Sullivan, 607, with quotation from Tricia Rose’s Black Noise). The political aspects of hip-hop, though often overlooked by White America, offer an outlet for many Blacks who feel the frustrations of the ongoing struggle for power. It is in this power struggle that hip-hop has emerged as a way for Black youth to voice their frustrations.
It could easily be believed then, that hip-hop has become a national (and international) force, both in the music business (with commercial success) and in the cultural aspect due to this growing national stage to voice frustrations. This nationalistic trend is not one that has taken place over the past few years, but has been evolving since its birth. This force has long been noted: “Commenting in 1988 on rap’s ‘nationwide’ expansion beyond New York’s Boroughs, Nelson George writes, ‘Rap and its Hip Hop musical underpinning is now the national youth music of black America,’” (“‘Represent’: race, space and place in rap music,” Murray Forman, 68). This idea of it being the national youth music of black America has remained consistent and seems likely to continue into the foreseeable future. In a study of 51 teenagers (21 Blacks, 17 Whites, 7 Latinos, and 6 marking other categories), it was found that hip-hop is still listened to more frequently and enjoyed more by African American youth (Sullivan). Although the White youth examined tended to answer relatively similar to questions about rap, there was still an obvious gap in the relevance of hip-hop to Whites and Blacks. In answering why they listened to rap, this gap was quite obvious. Whereas a 15-year-old Black female answered, “Because it tells the truth about how us Black people live being raised in the ghetto,” (Sullivan, 614), an 18-year-old White male answered, “Because some of the things the rappers rap about is the same type of shit that happens in everyday life to sombody [sic] from the hood,” (Sullivan, 615). This disconnect between the Black response (one that was inclusive) and the White response (that was detached from hip-hop culture) is again reminiscent of the lack of understanding Whites have long had with Black culture.
This disconnect has always existed when it has come to White/Black relations. Perhaps hip-hop cannot be fully compared to the bus boycotts or lunch counter sit-ins of the 1960s, but the goals behind them are the same: discussing the frustrations and problems behind having an inadequate amount of power. Throughout African American history (or for that matter, African history), the continual struggle for human rights has been obvious. From Marcus Garvey to Tupac Shakur, and Martin Luther King to Mos Def, time has eclipsed, but the struggle has remained consistent. It is inadequate to view the “Civil Rights Movement” as a short lived, monolithic, concluded event. The struggle for power—and with it, human rights—has been and continues to exist. Hip-hop—the music and the culture—is a reminder that the goals of the human rights movement have yet to be achieved. And with this, comes the critical point that the United States is still not a “color blind” nation.
Perhaps, Sullivan’s research sums up the state of the younger generation. Her findings “indicate that racial differences in the popularity of rap music are limited. However, further questions reveal that African American youth are more committed to rap music and are more likely to see rap music as life affirming. Although both groups appear to have favorable opinions of rap, their commitment to it and its significance in their lives varies by race,” (Sullivan, 605). Hip-hop culture, though attractive to White youths, is still symbolic of the disconnect in today’s society between Whites and Blacks. Though hip-hop has been “accepted” in the mainstream culture, the true historical significance of the movement has still not been obtained. The objective of hip-hop has not been for “Whites, particularly young women [to listen] to rap because it had a ‘nice beat,’” (Sullivan, 614). Instead, hip-hop was created by a frustrated Black culture to vent their discontent with the status of Blacks in the United States. And although hip-hop has since been accepted, in no way, shape, or form does this represent the acceptance of Blacks into White America, nor does it make a case that the struggle for human rights has been completed. Instead, it is just another chapter in the ongoing struggle for power.
Works Cited
Compton’s Most Wanted. “Raised In Compton.” Straight Check N’ Em Epic/Sony Records, 1991.
Forman, Murray. “ ‘Represent’: race, space and place in rap music” Popular Music Vol. 19, No. 1 (January 2000): 65-90. JSTOR. < http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0261-1430%28200001%2919%3A1%3C65%3A%27RSAPI%3E2.0.CO%3B2-8>
Kitwana, Bakari. Why White Kids Love Hip Hop: Wankstas, Wiggers, Wannabes, and the New Reality of Race in America. New York, NY: Perseus Book Group, 2006.
Naughty By Nature. “Ghetto Bastard (Everything’s Gonna Be Alright).” Naughty By Nature Isba/Tommy Boy Records, 1991.
Randall, Kay. Studying a Hip Hop Nation. January 23, 2006. < http://www.utexas.edu /features/archive/2003/hiphop.html>
Sullivan, Rachel E. “Rap and Race: It’s Got a Nice Beat, but What about the Message?” Journal of Black Studies Vol. 33, No. 5 (May 2003): 605-622. JSTOR. < http:// links.jstor.org/sici?sici=00219347%28200305%2933%3A5%3C605%3ARARIGA%3E2.0.CO%3B2-X>
Before beginning in my blogs about the actual subject matter, it is important to first explain my goals/ideas for this semester. This blog is the main requirement within my History 494 class at Saginaw Valley State University. Even as an independent study, I will still be working under the guidance of Dr. Kenneth Jolly, who has made this possible.
