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.
