I was tooling through the slums of World Star Hip Hop the other day & when I was done gazing at the wondrous peaks & valleys of Ms. LaStarya & mindlessly partaking in the gratuitous amounts of nigganomics & coontrocities, I realized something; this is the urban legend that ignorance is built upon. A utopia of shuck & jive unlike any other known to Niggerdom. If I had no other avenue to which my "hip hop" sweet tooth was to be satisfied by, I'd be assed out, misguided, bamboozled, hoodwinked, etc.
Every other recording is a beef. Or a response to a beef. Or an outsiders point of view of some other beef. Or some lame duck has-been being interviewed about their pointless objectivity towards this weeks dead horse. As if hip hop needs more niggas dishing out opinions & personal philosophies. Somewhere in the muck & mire of testosterone, one can occasionally luck up on some funny ass mishap video, scantily clad thoroughbred or random dude freestyling in his mom's living room about how many ways to Sunday he'll blow holes through you. No Dice. If I want to see babies lip syncing the words to "We are the World", or some dude being dragged through a mud pit on the back of a Chevy pick-up, I'll visit YouTube on my lunch hour. I don't believe that WSHH intended to become the ghetto of the 'Nets, but it's now what BET once was between the wee hours of 2-4 a.m. 24 hours a day.
& correct me if I'm wrong, but are there ever any other races featured besides black folks? I can't recall ever stumbling over a white guy strumming his guitar or showcasing his kickflip/railslide prowess. I might have come across a gyrating white chick or two, but in that case the last thing I was looking for was skin tone. The videos, professional or user submitted, all look the same anyway; thousands of thugged out blunt rollers wearing eye-covering baseball hats & Elton John amounts of jewelry with the requisite unemployed pole straddler. & with rap music becoming so complacent & unoriginal, I usually don't even look at the artist's names unless there's valid reason to waste my time. Cats can talk all the "hipsters must die" shit they want, but that's the last thing I see on World Star. I wouldn't mind the hippie hop interlude to break up all the threats of violence, acts of stupidity & stretch-marked boobery.
Remember that episode of Dave Chapelle when the internet was a shopping mall? He never visted WSHH. It would've been niggas standing around smoking trees, watching stripper's bounce they assets for quarters while cats were getting knocked out to hip hop fight songs. The South Side of the mall, of course.
The unexplainable part about it is that I can't turn away. It's like a slow-motion car wreck. Or better yet, unprotected sex; once you start, it's hard to stop. Maybe they put crack in the transmission. Or the logo has hypnotic qualities. Whatever it is, I feel sorry for the impressionable tweenager who lives by the unremarkable standard set by this site.
I would hate for some adolescent from Zumunda to find WSHH & think that this is the best that American hip hop has to offer. It's no wonder that foreign countries are (& have been) so quick to blame the good ol' USA for the social problems they have. As far as OUR presentation goes, look at Exhibit A. There are dozens of good hip hop sites that give you the full gamut of the culture, & in case you've been under a rock or in a cave, WSHH ain't one of them.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
(no) Dollar Dollar Bill(s) Yall
I just realized (a couple of weeks ago) that this "economic crisis" isn't really affecting me.
It's not that my scratch is long, or my dollar game is that heavy; it's actually the exact opposite. The saying goes "you don't miss what you never had" (or something like that), & unless I'm mistaken, there aren't any exceptions to that rule. With that said, there's never been a time in my life that I was especially burdened with skrilla. I think the most money I've ever actually physically touched, counted, smelled, had sex on, etc., at one time, was about $10,000. Technically speaking, that's not even enough to buy/drive a brand new whip off the lot. Maybe Hyundai/Daewoo "brand new", but not Honda/Toyota "brand new". & I was young, that money didn't make it past a month. It was that age where moolah, like sperm, was dished out in generous proportions with no regard to the possible outcome. I can still remember buying a beat-down '69 Volkswagen Bug with the last 900 bucks of that cash I had. Damn, I don't even have that car anymore. I wrapped it around some Hispanic dudes fender.
Memories.
So, in this, a time of financial chaos, I find a sense of comfort in my tax bracket. I wouldn't classify my status as "hand to mouth", but I'm not mad at AIG or that Madoff dude, either. It's kind of like the time when you were a kid & your dad/uncle/older brother knew a guy who was literally rich. Seeing his house, cars, & women gave you a feeling you didn't understand as a child, but later grew to realize that deeply-rooted "playa hatin'" is what you experienced. Upon further investigation (re: nosing), you came to see how hard his life was. Doing whatever it was he did to make that money, the maintenance of all his shiny things, the amount of his respective bills, the toll it took on his personal life, & in an odd turn of events you figured out that it sucks to be him. Lower-middle class didn't seem so bad. Plus, by that time, you grown accustomed to the 99 cent value menu. I know I sure did.
I was raised moderately middle class anyway, a "latch key kid", so the phrase "we can't afford it" became as leisurely as "it's unnecessary", subsequently my notion of the difference between needs & wants was formed at an early age. One year I asked my Dad where were our Christmas lights. He turned & looked at the living room lamp & said "You see those lights?" I nodded my head yes & he said "They're not free. Merry Christmas". Only now do I truly understand that he wasn't being a sarcastic jerk, but a hard working man who did the best he could for a couple of kids & a wife that he probably never intended on having in the first place.
Besides, it could always be worse. Which is a dichotomy of sorts because, think about it, your situation at some point is the "worse" somebody is using as their moment of clarity. Consider it the chain of misfortune; as surely as you're looking to your right at the guy with no shoes, the dude to your left is looking at your old winter coat. It would appear to be one of those times in life where complacency is a gift & a curse. Even still, at least I HAD shoes.
It's no wonder people are purposely working less hours & having more babies. What better way to stick it to the "man" than by playing the game according to the rules he introduced?
Tax return season just got a little more dangerous.
I've never been [close to] rich, & I seriously doubt that I'll ever be [anywhere near] rich. So be it. The social Gods have spoken.
It's not that my scratch is long, or my dollar game is that heavy; it's actually the exact opposite. The saying goes "you don't miss what you never had" (or something like that), & unless I'm mistaken, there aren't any exceptions to that rule. With that said, there's never been a time in my life that I was especially burdened with skrilla. I think the most money I've ever actually physically touched, counted, smelled, had sex on, etc., at one time, was about $10,000. Technically speaking, that's not even enough to buy/drive a brand new whip off the lot. Maybe Hyundai/Daewoo "brand new", but not Honda/Toyota "brand new". & I was young, that money didn't make it past a month. It was that age where moolah, like sperm, was dished out in generous proportions with no regard to the possible outcome. I can still remember buying a beat-down '69 Volkswagen Bug with the last 900 bucks of that cash I had. Damn, I don't even have that car anymore. I wrapped it around some Hispanic dudes fender.
Memories.
So, in this, a time of financial chaos, I find a sense of comfort in my tax bracket. I wouldn't classify my status as "hand to mouth", but I'm not mad at AIG or that Madoff dude, either. It's kind of like the time when you were a kid & your dad/uncle/older brother knew a guy who was literally rich. Seeing his house, cars, & women gave you a feeling you didn't understand as a child, but later grew to realize that deeply-rooted "playa hatin'" is what you experienced. Upon further investigation (re: nosing), you came to see how hard his life was. Doing whatever it was he did to make that money, the maintenance of all his shiny things, the amount of his respective bills, the toll it took on his personal life, & in an odd turn of events you figured out that it sucks to be him. Lower-middle class didn't seem so bad. Plus, by that time, you grown accustomed to the 99 cent value menu. I know I sure did.
I was raised moderately middle class anyway, a "latch key kid", so the phrase "we can't afford it" became as leisurely as "it's unnecessary", subsequently my notion of the difference between needs & wants was formed at an early age. One year I asked my Dad where were our Christmas lights. He turned & looked at the living room lamp & said "You see those lights?" I nodded my head yes & he said "They're not free. Merry Christmas". Only now do I truly understand that he wasn't being a sarcastic jerk, but a hard working man who did the best he could for a couple of kids & a wife that he probably never intended on having in the first place.
Besides, it could always be worse. Which is a dichotomy of sorts because, think about it, your situation at some point is the "worse" somebody is using as their moment of clarity. Consider it the chain of misfortune; as surely as you're looking to your right at the guy with no shoes, the dude to your left is looking at your old winter coat. It would appear to be one of those times in life where complacency is a gift & a curse. Even still, at least I HAD shoes.
It's no wonder people are purposely working less hours & having more babies. What better way to stick it to the "man" than by playing the game according to the rules he introduced?
Tax return season just got a little more dangerous.
I've never been [close to] rich, & I seriously doubt that I'll ever be [anywhere near] rich. So be it. The social Gods have spoken.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
The One Day Experiment
I love a good social experiment.
Today, out of sheer boredom, I decided to hold all of my conversations using as much hip hop/rapper lingo, slang & colloquialism as possible. As an active member of the hip hop community, I often find myself frustrated with the misuse of the English language, yet thoroughly entertained simultaneously. I understand it's somewhat Ebonics-esque existence, but what if I didn't? How idiotic would I sound to other people? My theory was that the average individual wouldn't have any idea what the hell I was talking about. Hmmmm.........
FIRST SUBJECT-My Mom
My Mom: Hello? Hi Anthony. How are you? Are you busy?
TG: Whadup Ma dukes? I'm straight, posted up, feel me? Street sign status & all that, nahmean? What's good?
MM: Excuse me?
TG: I'm sayin' though, marinatin' at the crib, makin' it do what it do, dig? Just doin' me, no homo. It's all good, what's crackin'?
*Result; she asked if I had been drinking & told me she'll call me another time.
SECOND SUBJECT-My son's teacher
Teacher: I want to discuss your son's behavior.
TG: Word up, pimpin. Cat be buggin', right? Yo, I keep it real with shorty, spit that knowledge fa sheez, boom bam. He be all about the shenanigans & whatnot, but I'm steady breakin' it down like, juice, if you out here whylin my dude, you ain't gon never touch no scratch, son. Can't be stuntin' if you stay frontin'! Word!
Teacher: Um, okay sir.
*Result: She handed me his report card & said she'll call my wife if there's anymore problems.
THIRD SUBJECT-Hispanic cashier at Burger King (interjecting a little Los Angeles-style Spanglish)
Burger King Chick: Hola. How can I help you today?
TG: Whadup doe? Yeah, yeah, feenin' for one of them Whopper joints, smell me? Feelin' a lil famished up in this piece, momma. Tryin' to touch some comida, vamonos! Ya boy need a grape soda with that, word, extra diamonds in that bitch, no doubt!
BKC: Que?
TG: Huh?
BKC: Did jew call me a bitch, sir?
TG: Ahhhhhhh, you got jokes dog! Nah, ain't no disrespectin', I'm just tryin' to eat cuz I'm eatin', ya know? Grab & bounce babygirl, grab, &, bounce! That Oww Wee got my guts bubbly, nahmean? Let me get that to go, finna shake the spot before my breezy start blowin' up my connect. She crazy ill!
BKC: Wha? Jour girl she sick?
TG: Word, you feelin' me! Yeah, loco in la cabayza, fa real fa real! Son, I almost wifey'd that chicken!
BKC: I no understand. Jew want chicken sandwich?
TG: Huh?
BKC: Que?
TG: Co-me-dah! Vittles, kid!
BKC: Sir, I think jew should talk to el heffa.
TG: Say word!
BKC: Uh, word? I no underst-
TG: Ahh nah, you droppin' dimes?! You must ain't be up on the G code! It's official on the concrete, real talk! Po's told me it's at least a bullet if they catch a nig slip-slidin' again outchere! Later for that. It's all about square biz, gettin' my scrilla sky high baby, no limits on mine! Can't do that if I'm stretched in the bing! Matta fact, I'm Audi 5. Holla back!
*Result: I never received my food, thoroughly confused my order taker & realized that this is more fun than a barrel of monkeys (no pun intended).
My conclusion was just as I suspected it would be; people had no idea what the hell I was talking about. Hopefully, this will serve as a small list of how not to speak if one yearns to be understood. Of course, I religiously pratice correct speaking, but I seem to be of a now dying breed.
Judging by the generations behind mine, between horrible grammar & body art, they'll be plenty of jobs available for my future grandchildren.
Today, out of sheer boredom, I decided to hold all of my conversations using as much hip hop/rapper lingo, slang & colloquialism as possible. As an active member of the hip hop community, I often find myself frustrated with the misuse of the English language, yet thoroughly entertained simultaneously. I understand it's somewhat Ebonics-esque existence, but what if I didn't? How idiotic would I sound to other people? My theory was that the average individual wouldn't have any idea what the hell I was talking about. Hmmmm.........
FIRST SUBJECT-My Mom
My Mom: Hello? Hi Anthony. How are you? Are you busy?
TG: Whadup Ma dukes? I'm straight, posted up, feel me? Street sign status & all that, nahmean? What's good?
MM: Excuse me?
TG: I'm sayin' though, marinatin' at the crib, makin' it do what it do, dig? Just doin' me, no homo. It's all good, what's crackin'?
*Result; she asked if I had been drinking & told me she'll call me another time.
SECOND SUBJECT-My son's teacher
Teacher: I want to discuss your son's behavior.
TG: Word up, pimpin. Cat be buggin', right? Yo, I keep it real with shorty, spit that knowledge fa sheez, boom bam. He be all about the shenanigans & whatnot, but I'm steady breakin' it down like, juice, if you out here whylin my dude, you ain't gon never touch no scratch, son. Can't be stuntin' if you stay frontin'! Word!
Teacher: Um, okay sir.
*Result: She handed me his report card & said she'll call my wife if there's anymore problems.
THIRD SUBJECT-Hispanic cashier at Burger King (interjecting a little Los Angeles-style Spanglish)
Burger King Chick: Hola. How can I help you today?
TG: Whadup doe? Yeah, yeah, feenin' for one of them Whopper joints, smell me? Feelin' a lil famished up in this piece, momma. Tryin' to touch some comida, vamonos! Ya boy need a grape soda with that, word, extra diamonds in that bitch, no doubt!
BKC: Que?
TG: Huh?
BKC: Did jew call me a bitch, sir?
TG: Ahhhhhhh, you got jokes dog! Nah, ain't no disrespectin', I'm just tryin' to eat cuz I'm eatin', ya know? Grab & bounce babygirl, grab, &, bounce! That Oww Wee got my guts bubbly, nahmean? Let me get that to go, finna shake the spot before my breezy start blowin' up my connect. She crazy ill!
BKC: Wha? Jour girl she sick?
TG: Word, you feelin' me! Yeah, loco in la cabayza, fa real fa real! Son, I almost wifey'd that chicken!
BKC: I no understand. Jew want chicken sandwich?
TG: Huh?
BKC: Que?
TG: Co-me-dah! Vittles, kid!
BKC: Sir, I think jew should talk to el heffa.
TG: Say word!
BKC: Uh, word? I no underst-
TG: Ahh nah, you droppin' dimes?! You must ain't be up on the G code! It's official on the concrete, real talk! Po's told me it's at least a bullet if they catch a nig slip-slidin' again outchere! Later for that. It's all about square biz, gettin' my scrilla sky high baby, no limits on mine! Can't do that if I'm stretched in the bing! Matta fact, I'm Audi 5. Holla back!
*Result: I never received my food, thoroughly confused my order taker & realized that this is more fun than a barrel of monkeys (no pun intended).
My conclusion was just as I suspected it would be; people had no idea what the hell I was talking about. Hopefully, this will serve as a small list of how not to speak if one yearns to be understood. Of course, I religiously pratice correct speaking, but I seem to be of a now dying breed.
Judging by the generations behind mine, between horrible grammar & body art, they'll be plenty of jobs available for my future grandchildren.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Role Reversal
I mean this in all seriousness........
I posted a blog on XXLmag.com (http://www.xxlmag.com/online/?p=40391) entitled "Where the ladies at?" some time ago. One comment that caught my attention was something to the effect of "the men in hip hop are so feminine that the women are no longer needed". Upon further investigation, that response made quite a bit of sense.
Take a look at what hip hop is versus what it was. If it's broken down by categories, it's a very telling scenario of the culture we love leaning towards a more unisex idiosyncrasy.
The trend began with hair. At one point, you're favorite rapper had braids that hung mid-back length, presumably longer than your baby momma's. For a very brief time I sported the style, but quickly realized that the maintenance wasn't worth the outcome; frizzy cornrows are as far from gangsta as one can get (no Jim Jones). Though the "trend" fizzled somewhat, it's still evident in the hip hop community that niggas want long, luxurious locks. Be it good or bad, a flowing mane is what's up. To this day, you can catch a high-as-hell Snoop Dogg permed out & G'd up simultaneously. I don't think there's anything wrong with long hair on dudes, but if at some point your dome is making your girl's look bad, something's got to give.
The next phase evolved essentially in unison with the hair growth; jewelry. In the 70's, there were actually such things as "man-rings". Society felt the obligatory need to classify jewelry by gender-based specifications. Now, some 30 years later, metro's & hetero's shop shoulder to shoulder in search for the prettiest piece of shine. Diamonds are everybody's best friend, contrary to popular belief. The more, the better. The first time I bought a bracelet, my father asked me if he'd forgotten my mother's birthday. When I told him it was mine, he looked at my hoop earrings & shook his head in testosterone-filled shame. I ditched the hoops & gave the bracelet to my mom, as he suggested & it was a wrap. Now, a rap dude cops a diamond encrusted medallion, huge shiny earrings (the bigger the better), a Wonder Woman bracelet & as many finger trinkets as his hands can hold, subsequently getting his Elton John on. The watch is a given; watches are MAN jewelry. Anything else is should be slid off to wifey. Shiny distractions keep them quiet.
Which brings us to the day's current craze. Tight pants. Nut-huggers for the lame ducks. Granted, baggy pants are best left to shotgun-concealing gangbangers & the remaining breakdancers of the world, but there's nothing the matter with a little loose fit in your trousers (no homo). The problem is when, as with the long hair, your pants hug your thighs more snugly than your girl's. I know you carry a wallet, but I shouldn't be able to see it. If I can tell the difference between a quarter & a dime through your denim, maybe a size upgrade should be considered. Not to mention the risk of a yeast infection, which I assume would be more embarrassing than buying a box of Nix to self-medicate a case of Crabs. Men's pants shouldn't fit into their Air Force One's like Ugg boots. At some point, we can only assume niggas'll be rocking spandex because the jeans don't hug their curves like they want. How far off are we from wife-beaters (no C. Brown) being replaced by sports bras? If dudes start arching their eyebrows, I'm Audi 5.
& with the bickering, fussing, fighting, feuding, tattle-telling, break-ups-to-make-ups, I don't know if I'm witnessing hip hop or an episode of my life where my wife & baby mom's happen to be at the same family function.
Where the ladies at, indeed.
I posted a blog on XXLmag.com (http://www.xxlmag.com/online/?p=40391) entitled "Where the ladies at?" some time ago. One comment that caught my attention was something to the effect of "the men in hip hop are so feminine that the women are no longer needed". Upon further investigation, that response made quite a bit of sense.
Take a look at what hip hop is versus what it was. If it's broken down by categories, it's a very telling scenario of the culture we love leaning towards a more unisex idiosyncrasy.
The trend began with hair. At one point, you're favorite rapper had braids that hung mid-back length, presumably longer than your baby momma's. For a very brief time I sported the style, but quickly realized that the maintenance wasn't worth the outcome; frizzy cornrows are as far from gangsta as one can get (no Jim Jones). Though the "trend" fizzled somewhat, it's still evident in the hip hop community that niggas want long, luxurious locks. Be it good or bad, a flowing mane is what's up. To this day, you can catch a high-as-hell Snoop Dogg permed out & G'd up simultaneously. I don't think there's anything wrong with long hair on dudes, but if at some point your dome is making your girl's look bad, something's got to give.
The next phase evolved essentially in unison with the hair growth; jewelry. In the 70's, there were actually such things as "man-rings". Society felt the obligatory need to classify jewelry by gender-based specifications. Now, some 30 years later, metro's & hetero's shop shoulder to shoulder in search for the prettiest piece of shine. Diamonds are everybody's best friend, contrary to popular belief. The more, the better. The first time I bought a bracelet, my father asked me if he'd forgotten my mother's birthday. When I told him it was mine, he looked at my hoop earrings & shook his head in testosterone-filled shame. I ditched the hoops & gave the bracelet to my mom, as he suggested & it was a wrap. Now, a rap dude cops a diamond encrusted medallion, huge shiny earrings (the bigger the better), a Wonder Woman bracelet & as many finger trinkets as his hands can hold, subsequently getting his Elton John on. The watch is a given; watches are MAN jewelry. Anything else is should be slid off to wifey. Shiny distractions keep them quiet.
Which brings us to the day's current craze. Tight pants. Nut-huggers for the lame ducks. Granted, baggy pants are best left to shotgun-concealing gangbangers & the remaining breakdancers of the world, but there's nothing the matter with a little loose fit in your trousers (no homo). The problem is when, as with the long hair, your pants hug your thighs more snugly than your girl's. I know you carry a wallet, but I shouldn't be able to see it. If I can tell the difference between a quarter & a dime through your denim, maybe a size upgrade should be considered. Not to mention the risk of a yeast infection, which I assume would be more embarrassing than buying a box of Nix to self-medicate a case of Crabs. Men's pants shouldn't fit into their Air Force One's like Ugg boots. At some point, we can only assume niggas'll be rocking spandex because the jeans don't hug their curves like they want. How far off are we from wife-beaters (no C. Brown) being replaced by sports bras? If dudes start arching their eyebrows, I'm Audi 5.
& with the bickering, fussing, fighting, feuding, tattle-telling, break-ups-to-make-ups, I don't know if I'm witnessing hip hop or an episode of my life where my wife & baby mom's happen to be at the same family function.
Where the ladies at, indeed.
Monday, March 23, 2009
So you think you can rap?
So you think you can rap? Who cares?
There's a million eager young bucks who can boast the same thing. MC's are a dime a dozen. Everbody & their cousin has a studio, with some off the wall in-house producer willing to bet the farm that they can end your favorite rapper's career with little effort. They're floating aimlessly through Myspace & broadcasting in "real time" on WSHH &YouTube, giving the listening public 99 reasons why they are the shit (no Lil' Wayne) & nobody else is. If everyone's the best rapper alive, then what's the seventh degree of separation among the lot?
Is it the lyrics? In todays lukewarm market, credible skill is an asset easily overlooked. Where it was once the selling point of an artist's package, it's now dismissed & unnecessary. Let's all take a moment to thank the good folks at Soundscan. The focus has shifted from lyrical prowess to song structure &/or hook repetition. With that formula in hand, one can easily craft the next sing-song summer hit with no song writing talent whatsoever. Needless to say the industry is flooded with rappers of this ilk.
Is it the marketability? The MC's back story is now as important, if not more so, as the content of the music itself. Jay-Z inadvertently coined the phrase "we don't believe you, you need more people", unaware that it would soon become a mantra for all rap cats to live by. Hip hop heads were satisfied with a story line, fictitious or otherwise if the soundscape was equally as compelling. It wasn't that they might have been lying (on not), but more that we were entertained for however long they held our attention. If you found out some information on said artist that backed up his verbal illustrations, it was a bonus, & added to their mystique. Now, if a rapper says it, it better be true, or risk humiliation & a decrease in fan base activity. In order to sell albums, there must be a demographic to sell to. Choose wisely.
Is it the business-end? Shopping artists as a brand is far for new, but when did it become mandatory? When Chubb Rock wasn't "treatin' them right", he could have easily opted to sell big & tall menswear on the side. But, he never did. Big Daddy Kane could have become the spokesperson for Smooth Operator condoms, & Kool G Rap might've started a line of Ill Street fedora's & patent leather wingtips. Those business deals never materialized because that wasn't what the art was about. It was about the music, not the hustle & it's spoils. Now, a full fledged marketing campaign must accompany any artist's complete album, Myspace hits numbers & possible product development. Be prepared to have an action figure made in your likeness, or suffer the consequences.
Is it the image? Image is everything. There's a reason why a lot of rappers look like rappers, be it rough, rugged & raw or pretty boy facade. To an extent, one must look the part, especially in a field so rife with actors. But, the old adage says "never judge a book by it's cover". Take away the menacing, gold-covered snarls & the overly extensive skin ink, & what's left is the ability (or lack of) to rap, plain & simple. That can be a negative for the guy who simply yearns to rap & not star in a movie or be the face for an athletics apparel company, but it can be a positive for the guy who could care less about the quality of music & who's in it only for the payoff. Rarely do the hustle & the flow meet in a comfortable place of fair exchange. If you look like Lupe Fiasco & rhyme like Beanie Segal, that may confuse people.
The easiest avenue for any young hopeful who's serious about his craft would seem to be the independent route. But, that could severely limit exposure & opportunity. On the other hand, it creates a lane for the artist to be themselves, free to express from the soul as opposed to for the company logo. I've often heard that in life one should follow their heart, but in the "music" industry, be sure not to wear it on your sleeve.
So what separates the MC from the rapper, the hipster from the superstar? A mean freestyle game just isn't enough nowadays & a silly dance routine can make or break even the hungriest rookie lyricist. What more can be said or done to show that the ability to make music, make money & still love the art can be done simultaneously? Selling souls for record sales is big business, & hopefully we can bring it back to the essence sooner than later.
So, do you still think you have what it takes to be a rapper?
There's a million eager young bucks who can boast the same thing. MC's are a dime a dozen. Everbody & their cousin has a studio, with some off the wall in-house producer willing to bet the farm that they can end your favorite rapper's career with little effort. They're floating aimlessly through Myspace & broadcasting in "real time" on WSHH &YouTube, giving the listening public 99 reasons why they are the shit (no Lil' Wayne) & nobody else is. If everyone's the best rapper alive, then what's the seventh degree of separation among the lot?
Is it the lyrics? In todays lukewarm market, credible skill is an asset easily overlooked. Where it was once the selling point of an artist's package, it's now dismissed & unnecessary. Let's all take a moment to thank the good folks at Soundscan. The focus has shifted from lyrical prowess to song structure &/or hook repetition. With that formula in hand, one can easily craft the next sing-song summer hit with no song writing talent whatsoever. Needless to say the industry is flooded with rappers of this ilk.
Is it the marketability? The MC's back story is now as important, if not more so, as the content of the music itself. Jay-Z inadvertently coined the phrase "we don't believe you, you need more people", unaware that it would soon become a mantra for all rap cats to live by. Hip hop heads were satisfied with a story line, fictitious or otherwise if the soundscape was equally as compelling. It wasn't that they might have been lying (on not), but more that we were entertained for however long they held our attention. If you found out some information on said artist that backed up his verbal illustrations, it was a bonus, & added to their mystique. Now, if a rapper says it, it better be true, or risk humiliation & a decrease in fan base activity. In order to sell albums, there must be a demographic to sell to. Choose wisely.
Is it the business-end? Shopping artists as a brand is far for new, but when did it become mandatory? When Chubb Rock wasn't "treatin' them right", he could have easily opted to sell big & tall menswear on the side. But, he never did. Big Daddy Kane could have become the spokesperson for Smooth Operator condoms, & Kool G Rap might've started a line of Ill Street fedora's & patent leather wingtips. Those business deals never materialized because that wasn't what the art was about. It was about the music, not the hustle & it's spoils. Now, a full fledged marketing campaign must accompany any artist's complete album, Myspace hits numbers & possible product development. Be prepared to have an action figure made in your likeness, or suffer the consequences.
Is it the image? Image is everything. There's a reason why a lot of rappers look like rappers, be it rough, rugged & raw or pretty boy facade. To an extent, one must look the part, especially in a field so rife with actors. But, the old adage says "never judge a book by it's cover". Take away the menacing, gold-covered snarls & the overly extensive skin ink, & what's left is the ability (or lack of) to rap, plain & simple. That can be a negative for the guy who simply yearns to rap & not star in a movie or be the face for an athletics apparel company, but it can be a positive for the guy who could care less about the quality of music & who's in it only for the payoff. Rarely do the hustle & the flow meet in a comfortable place of fair exchange. If you look like Lupe Fiasco & rhyme like Beanie Segal, that may confuse people.
The easiest avenue for any young hopeful who's serious about his craft would seem to be the independent route. But, that could severely limit exposure & opportunity. On the other hand, it creates a lane for the artist to be themselves, free to express from the soul as opposed to for the company logo. I've often heard that in life one should follow their heart, but in the "music" industry, be sure not to wear it on your sleeve.
So what separates the MC from the rapper, the hipster from the superstar? A mean freestyle game just isn't enough nowadays & a silly dance routine can make or break even the hungriest rookie lyricist. What more can be said or done to show that the ability to make music, make money & still love the art can be done simultaneously? Selling souls for record sales is big business, & hopefully we can bring it back to the essence sooner than later.
So, do you still think you have what it takes to be a rapper?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Ugly Baby Etiquette
Question.
Is there such a thing as "ugly baby etiquette"?
Everybody thinks their infants are adorable, as they should. But what happens when they subject you to their child excitedly, with that look of anticipation, waiting on your response? What's the appropriate reaction?
"Wow, that's aaaaa, very interesting little guy you got there..."
"Look at that. She looks just like her father."
Case in point; I have a friend who recently gave birth to a baby girl (who shall remain nameless, the baby I mean, on the grounds that I might incriminate myself). First of all, a baby's not a new television set or fresh pair of limited edition Air Jordans. Frankly put, if you've seen one, you've seen them all. That is unless said baby has a horn or three nostrils. For the most part, they're all flesh colored noise makers.
Now, she posed the question (obviously not a rhetorical one), "Do you want to see the baby?".
If you know me, then you know what my initial thought was.
No, not really.
But, in an attempt to be a more civilized person, I nodded & reluctantly said "sure".
Before I could gander at (sigh...) yet another child, she told me it's name. At the risk of sounding like a jerk, why is it that black women make up these names as if there's a race to see who's can be the most ridiculous? I get the whole "unique" name thing, but let's come back to Earth. If it sounds like a disease, a make-believe foreign country or a precious stone, stay away from it. If you've never heard any name remotely close to it, ever, there's probably good reason for that.
So, I looked at the baby, forcing a grin all the while, & she looked back at me. I couldn't tell if I reminded her of a chew toy, or if she was crapping herself. Whatever the case, she reached for an ear, & I immediately got the hell out of dodge.
Not because it wasn't cute.......but because I don't like people touching my ears. Especially germ conduits &/or saliva fountains. & I'm afraid of Space Monkeys.
I'll be the first to admit that all three of my kids came into this world as goons. A cone dome, a pie face & an apple head; not necessarily in that order. Of course, they eventually grew to resemble normal people, but the wait bordered on excruciating. People would say to me, "aww, they're are sooo ca-yoot!". Imagine their horror when I shot back at them, "yeah, right." Or the ever-popular "God doesn't like liars".
I think that there's no better way to be humbled than to have an ugmo kid. It's the "moment of clarity" from hell.
So, as I made small talk with my friend, & she repeatedly try to swing the convo back toward her baby, I couldn't help but wonder; "Should I tell her?"
Nah, I'll let her baby daddy do it.
Is there such a thing as "ugly baby etiquette"?
Everybody thinks their infants are adorable, as they should. But what happens when they subject you to their child excitedly, with that look of anticipation, waiting on your response? What's the appropriate reaction?
"Wow, that's aaaaa, very interesting little guy you got there..."
"Look at that. She looks just like her father."
Case in point; I have a friend who recently gave birth to a baby girl (who shall remain nameless, the baby I mean, on the grounds that I might incriminate myself). First of all, a baby's not a new television set or fresh pair of limited edition Air Jordans. Frankly put, if you've seen one, you've seen them all. That is unless said baby has a horn or three nostrils. For the most part, they're all flesh colored noise makers.
Now, she posed the question (obviously not a rhetorical one), "Do you want to see the baby?".
If you know me, then you know what my initial thought was.
No, not really.
But, in an attempt to be a more civilized person, I nodded & reluctantly said "sure".
Before I could gander at (sigh...) yet another child, she told me it's name. At the risk of sounding like a jerk, why is it that black women make up these names as if there's a race to see who's can be the most ridiculous? I get the whole "unique" name thing, but let's come back to Earth. If it sounds like a disease, a make-believe foreign country or a precious stone, stay away from it. If you've never heard any name remotely close to it, ever, there's probably good reason for that.
So, I looked at the baby, forcing a grin all the while, & she looked back at me. I couldn't tell if I reminded her of a chew toy, or if she was crapping herself. Whatever the case, she reached for an ear, & I immediately got the hell out of dodge.
Not because it wasn't cute.......but because I don't like people touching my ears. Especially germ conduits &/or saliva fountains. & I'm afraid of Space Monkeys.
I'll be the first to admit that all three of my kids came into this world as goons. A cone dome, a pie face & an apple head; not necessarily in that order. Of course, they eventually grew to resemble normal people, but the wait bordered on excruciating. People would say to me, "aww, they're are sooo ca-yoot!". Imagine their horror when I shot back at them, "yeah, right." Or the ever-popular "God doesn't like liars".
I think that there's no better way to be humbled than to have an ugmo kid. It's the "moment of clarity" from hell.
So, as I made small talk with my friend, & she repeatedly try to swing the convo back toward her baby, I couldn't help but wonder; "Should I tell her?"
Nah, I'll let her baby daddy do it.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Earl Simmons Superstar
Very few MC's achieve the fleeting status of Hip Hop Legend. In the dimly-lit alleys & back streets where "real" hip hop is the necessary way of life, there exists a band of man who, for all intents & purposes, are virtually untouchable inside the booth & the outside world as well. Uber-fans & followers, Stans if you will, defend, protect, & shout praises of these more-than-mortal men no matter the circumstance. The ultra elite core of these lyricists no longer walk among the living; Tupac, Notorious B.I.G., Big Punisher, Big L & Pimp C, to name a few. All passed on before their true apex was realized, yet their legacies live indefinite through the fans & bodies of work we've been blessed with. Of the living icons; Jay-Z, Eminem, Ice Cube, Scarface, NaS, LL & several others, one man stands alone on the cusp of hip hop immortality.
He is neither dead nor alive, tiptoing the fine line between sanity & lunacy. This man is Earl Simmons b.k.a. Dark Man X.
If ever an MC could be described as walking dichotomy, it's him by a landslide. Many rappers are caricatures of the lifestyle they profess, but DMX is the truth manifested. His face is a real-time emoticon, his voice the soundtrack to a struggle, his life an open book for any reader prepared to bask in it's tumultuous wisdom.
His debut opus, 1998's It's Dark & Hell Is Hot, is still heralded as one of hip hop's finest moments. It's music, racked pain & anger, was still able to deliver club joints & anthems flawlessly. Needless to say, not many rap artists can cover such a vast spectrum with unbridled emotion as he did. Thanks to Ruff Ryder Records & accompanied by Swizz Beatz, Earl had the world barking like a dog & howling at the moon while it collectively wiped away it's tears.
The Hell he spoke of was/is his life. We've followed him there & back countless times, only to be continuously mystified by his outrageous antics & self-fulfilling prophecies. Not quite invincible, but unstoppable by all definitions of the word. Now, we see the tortured soul at it's lowest point, shackled, mute & motionless. But as any great man will tell you, the bottom must be reached before proper propulsion upward can be ascertained.
The next obvious step should be the retrieval of said greatness, the resurrection of the man doomed to be King. The average human would have succumbed to the powers that be by now, & surely hung himself years ago. But not X. His life story reads like a graphic novel of crime, lust, drugs & violence, yet, the end is still pending. Years after his introduction & subsequent rise & fall from grace, DMX is still regarded as one of the best to ever do it. As long as blood pumps through his heavy heart, the opportunity still exists to pick up where he should have never left off. If one individual can rise from the ashes & breath the passionate creativity back into our cherished art form, it would be him. Not since Tupac has an MC so willingly bared his soul & revealed his wounds to be the sacrificial lamb of a generation. The people weren't prepared for his coming the first time, but in a [hip hop] world now overflowing with anarchy & revolt, his return should be more than welcome.
That is, of course, if he's finally got his mind right. Solitary confinement affects men in different ways. Some argue that drugs & fast living have rendered the once & future king a shell of his former self. Others blame his affinity for law breaking as a stumbling block to an otherwise noteworthy career. Only time will truly tell if his storms have been weathered, or left him washed up on the shores of irrelevance.
The question then remains; is he finally ready to accept his rightful role in the history books or will his re-re-release into the free world mark the tragic end of his legacy*?
*Also check out:
Flesh Of My Flesh, Blood Of My Blood (1998),
...And Then There Was X (1999)
The Great Depression (2001)
Grand Champ (2003)
Year of the Dog......Again (2006)
He is neither dead nor alive, tiptoing the fine line between sanity & lunacy. This man is Earl Simmons b.k.a. Dark Man X.
If ever an MC could be described as walking dichotomy, it's him by a landslide. Many rappers are caricatures of the lifestyle they profess, but DMX is the truth manifested. His face is a real-time emoticon, his voice the soundtrack to a struggle, his life an open book for any reader prepared to bask in it's tumultuous wisdom.
His debut opus, 1998's It's Dark & Hell Is Hot, is still heralded as one of hip hop's finest moments. It's music, racked pain & anger, was still able to deliver club joints & anthems flawlessly. Needless to say, not many rap artists can cover such a vast spectrum with unbridled emotion as he did. Thanks to Ruff Ryder Records & accompanied by Swizz Beatz, Earl had the world barking like a dog & howling at the moon while it collectively wiped away it's tears.
The Hell he spoke of was/is his life. We've followed him there & back countless times, only to be continuously mystified by his outrageous antics & self-fulfilling prophecies. Not quite invincible, but unstoppable by all definitions of the word. Now, we see the tortured soul at it's lowest point, shackled, mute & motionless. But as any great man will tell you, the bottom must be reached before proper propulsion upward can be ascertained.
The next obvious step should be the retrieval of said greatness, the resurrection of the man doomed to be King. The average human would have succumbed to the powers that be by now, & surely hung himself years ago. But not X. His life story reads like a graphic novel of crime, lust, drugs & violence, yet, the end is still pending. Years after his introduction & subsequent rise & fall from grace, DMX is still regarded as one of the best to ever do it. As long as blood pumps through his heavy heart, the opportunity still exists to pick up where he should have never left off. If one individual can rise from the ashes & breath the passionate creativity back into our cherished art form, it would be him. Not since Tupac has an MC so willingly bared his soul & revealed his wounds to be the sacrificial lamb of a generation. The people weren't prepared for his coming the first time, but in a [hip hop] world now overflowing with anarchy & revolt, his return should be more than welcome.
That is, of course, if he's finally got his mind right. Solitary confinement affects men in different ways. Some argue that drugs & fast living have rendered the once & future king a shell of his former self. Others blame his affinity for law breaking as a stumbling block to an otherwise noteworthy career. Only time will truly tell if his storms have been weathered, or left him washed up on the shores of irrelevance.
The question then remains; is he finally ready to accept his rightful role in the history books or will his re-re-release into the free world mark the tragic end of his legacy*?
*Also check out:
Flesh Of My Flesh, Blood Of My Blood (1998),
...And Then There Was X (1999)
The Great Depression (2001)
Grand Champ (2003)
Year of the Dog......Again (2006)
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Start of the Ending
Theoretically speaking, nothing lasts forever. Everything must renovate at some point or face certain extinction. Cultures & lifestyles are no exception to the rule. By such a standard, where exactly does hip hop fit in the grand scheme of things?
What started as a prominent declaration of a new youth movement has, over a few decades, become a watered down, generic doppleganger of what it once was. No doubt about it, the pioneers of hip hop/rap music never intended for their legacy to fall into the hands of the light-hearted & lacklustered. Even as it began in parks & abandoned building ditch parties, no one could have foreseen the pillage of a culture so rife with potential. But, no dice. Look where we are now; right where we weren't supposed to be.
Not to compare the hip hop momentum with that of the civil rights movement, but many people sweat, bled & cried for our adorned hip hop to locate it's rightful place in American history. It's as pivotal as the disco era, as poignant as the Harlem renaissance, yet, it gets flanked by most critics & tossed back into the gutters from which it was born. Who's to be held accountable for such atrocity? The ringtone raps, the microwave music, the enormity of the internet, the "hustle" aesthetic, & the "industry" all play a large part in what seems to be an inevitable collapse of the system.
If EVERYBODY is a rapper, then who's left to be a fan? If ANYONE can make & post a video, then who's producing them? The world is changing right before our eyes. Print magazines are falling by the wayside. Record companies are turning to online outlets to sell music. Pretty soon, instead of buying tickets to enjoy an act live on stage, they'll just hold global performances via the Net. & with so many mundane rap acts profiting off of the mindless drones they cater to, it's only going to be so long before hip hop implodes on itself like a black hole, viciously sucking in everything around it.
Hip hop was designed to teach, reach & preach. If it inspired a little emotion along the way then that's a bonus. But, somewhere along that way, it was forgotten that this is for us, by us, & if it ever needs maintenance, it has to be by the originators of it; us. No longer can we stand idly by & allow those of unpure heart to mistreat something so sacred.
Hip hop isn't record sales, funny clothes, gaudy jewelry, crime scenes or the playground for life-like caricatures to romp & frolic. It's the culture that raised us, the lifestyle that taught us, it's the reason I'm writing this at this moment. I keep hearing hip hop is dead, but I disagree. It just needs a massive amount of TLC before it's too late.
If it happened to jazz, disco, etc., then who's to say that we're not the next to go?
What started as a prominent declaration of a new youth movement has, over a few decades, become a watered down, generic doppleganger of what it once was. No doubt about it, the pioneers of hip hop/rap music never intended for their legacy to fall into the hands of the light-hearted & lacklustered. Even as it began in parks & abandoned building ditch parties, no one could have foreseen the pillage of a culture so rife with potential. But, no dice. Look where we are now; right where we weren't supposed to be.
Not to compare the hip hop momentum with that of the civil rights movement, but many people sweat, bled & cried for our adorned hip hop to locate it's rightful place in American history. It's as pivotal as the disco era, as poignant as the Harlem renaissance, yet, it gets flanked by most critics & tossed back into the gutters from which it was born. Who's to be held accountable for such atrocity? The ringtone raps, the microwave music, the enormity of the internet, the "hustle" aesthetic, & the "industry" all play a large part in what seems to be an inevitable collapse of the system.
If EVERYBODY is a rapper, then who's left to be a fan? If ANYONE can make & post a video, then who's producing them? The world is changing right before our eyes. Print magazines are falling by the wayside. Record companies are turning to online outlets to sell music. Pretty soon, instead of buying tickets to enjoy an act live on stage, they'll just hold global performances via the Net. & with so many mundane rap acts profiting off of the mindless drones they cater to, it's only going to be so long before hip hop implodes on itself like a black hole, viciously sucking in everything around it.
Hip hop was designed to teach, reach & preach. If it inspired a little emotion along the way then that's a bonus. But, somewhere along that way, it was forgotten that this is for us, by us, & if it ever needs maintenance, it has to be by the originators of it; us. No longer can we stand idly by & allow those of unpure heart to mistreat something so sacred.
Hip hop isn't record sales, funny clothes, gaudy jewelry, crime scenes or the playground for life-like caricatures to romp & frolic. It's the culture that raised us, the lifestyle that taught us, it's the reason I'm writing this at this moment. I keep hearing hip hop is dead, but I disagree. It just needs a massive amount of TLC before it's too late.
If it happened to jazz, disco, etc., then who's to say that we're not the next to go?
Outside the Box
Rap is going the way of it's distant, slightly more tolerated cousin, country music. Case in point; they sing about love (usually unbridled &/or forbidden), inebriation (whiskey ain't henny, but I'm sure it does the trick), ostracizm (every good MC has the whole world against them), fondness for their transportation (replace a horse with any car most of us can't afford), & disdain for authority (fuck the police...........am I right?).
Granted, many genres of music tackle similar issues, but it's in a more round-about way, sometimes so subtly insinuated that you wouldn't have ever known what the song was about if your 15 year old cousin didn't tell you. For the most part, hip hop, like country, sticks to a basic diet of several main subject groups & anything outside of that box is either asinine or amazing (depending on who you ask).
Could it be that hip hop is running out of things to say? Highly unlikely. Such a free spirited form of expression can always find an aspect of life to dissect & display to the world. Rappers rhyme about what they see & what they know, which is vaguely similar whatever hood, project, ward or borough you're from. When a young, virile Dwayne Carter said "tha block is hot", he was talking about YOUR block specifically.
But hip hop, namely rap, seems to find a comfort zone inside the confines of what it knows; money, cars, clothes, hoes, drugs & violence. The most skilled lyricist can take these basic elements & create some of the most beautifully crafted art ever heard over the appropriate sonic canvas. Other rappers, for lack of skill or lack of trying or a cocktail of the two, seem to be boxed in by these topics. Any attempts to think outside of that box result in an awkward flail at creativity. No dice. The fault we find in them is automatic & easily recognized; they suck & shouldn't be rapping to begin with.
But for those whose lyrical prowess is far beyond their mediocre & lame counterparts, should we expect more? Do we accept more when it's presented to us, or turn it away for fear of change? Take Kanye's "808's & Heartbreaks", minus his emotional outbreaks & self-righteous hissy fits. Was it not embraced by the hip hop community because it was the proverbial jagged pill? Or was his reach one of such magnitude that he lost our attention indefinitely? For the record, I didn't like it because I didn't like it, but that takes nothing away from his musical genius (however crazy the dude appears). Without expansion, there is only contraction, & that goes for the horizons of the human mind as well as anything else.
I'm sure it would be much easier to digest different direction if it were more accessible & less random. Uniqueness in music can be tolerated, but the process has to be unveiled in baby steps, as opposed to being force fed. Individuality is a quality admired by many, but too much too fast & it becomes something to shun & shy away from. Rarely is it personal, but more of an automatic response to the unknown. People enter dark areas slow & apprehensively because they have no idea what may be waiting for them inside. That's the cautious nature of any functioning brain.
Simply put, minds remain closed without a reason to open. Hopefully the next wave of MC's will understand that. Hip hop is freedom. As long as that ethos is remembered, then no, hip hop won't ever run out of things to say.
Granted, many genres of music tackle similar issues, but it's in a more round-about way, sometimes so subtly insinuated that you wouldn't have ever known what the song was about if your 15 year old cousin didn't tell you. For the most part, hip hop, like country, sticks to a basic diet of several main subject groups & anything outside of that box is either asinine or amazing (depending on who you ask).
Could it be that hip hop is running out of things to say? Highly unlikely. Such a free spirited form of expression can always find an aspect of life to dissect & display to the world. Rappers rhyme about what they see & what they know, which is vaguely similar whatever hood, project, ward or borough you're from. When a young, virile Dwayne Carter said "tha block is hot", he was talking about YOUR block specifically.
But hip hop, namely rap, seems to find a comfort zone inside the confines of what it knows; money, cars, clothes, hoes, drugs & violence. The most skilled lyricist can take these basic elements & create some of the most beautifully crafted art ever heard over the appropriate sonic canvas. Other rappers, for lack of skill or lack of trying or a cocktail of the two, seem to be boxed in by these topics. Any attempts to think outside of that box result in an awkward flail at creativity. No dice. The fault we find in them is automatic & easily recognized; they suck & shouldn't be rapping to begin with.
But for those whose lyrical prowess is far beyond their mediocre & lame counterparts, should we expect more? Do we accept more when it's presented to us, or turn it away for fear of change? Take Kanye's "808's & Heartbreaks", minus his emotional outbreaks & self-righteous hissy fits. Was it not embraced by the hip hop community because it was the proverbial jagged pill? Or was his reach one of such magnitude that he lost our attention indefinitely? For the record, I didn't like it because I didn't like it, but that takes nothing away from his musical genius (however crazy the dude appears). Without expansion, there is only contraction, & that goes for the horizons of the human mind as well as anything else.
I'm sure it would be much easier to digest different direction if it were more accessible & less random. Uniqueness in music can be tolerated, but the process has to be unveiled in baby steps, as opposed to being force fed. Individuality is a quality admired by many, but too much too fast & it becomes something to shun & shy away from. Rarely is it personal, but more of an automatic response to the unknown. People enter dark areas slow & apprehensively because they have no idea what may be waiting for them inside. That's the cautious nature of any functioning brain.
Simply put, minds remain closed without a reason to open. Hopefully the next wave of MC's will understand that. Hip hop is freedom. As long as that ethos is remembered, then no, hip hop won't ever run out of things to say.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Art of Life
Being a rapper used to be one of the top aspirations for children. Right alongside doctor, astronaut, actor & football player. Pose the question "what do you want to be when you grow up?" to a child, & most assuredly their was a 50% chance that rapping was somewhere on his/her agenda.
Maybe it was all the "shiny" things associated with the career that drew the child's interest. For some, it might have appeared a chance to garner the attention they couldn't receive elsewhere. Others may have been genuinely talented & were prompted to focus on a field where they would surely flourish. All had personalized reasoning, yet the same goal in mind. To be a rapper. Now, with a new generation eyeing the future with hopes & goals in mind, rapping is slowly backsliding on their list of "things to do".
Frankly, it seems that being a rap star today is a tad bit too dangerous for the average cat. That may explain the influx of drug dealers & hardened criminals that saturate today's already mediocre market. What was once a performer's platform is now a con man's game. A hustle that knows no talent or skill. In most cases, even if you don't like their music, you do however "respect their grind".
At one time, in order to achieve success in hip hop, crew affiliation was mandatory. But, when did gang affiliation become a necessity? Even in hotbed cities of gang activity where hip hop was still a prevalent lifestyle, rarely did a person "cuz" or "blood" on wax. It was generally considered taboo, & although one's street ties might have been acknowledged, not often was it trumpeted in song. For those who grew up in gang territory, you know that the LAST thing you wanted to do was tell people where you were from.
& it's one thing to rhyme about the urban, war-torn environments that envelop us, but it's another to refuse to separate the art from the life. This is merely cliched observation, but other genres of musical art aren't consumed by street level violence. Why hip hop then? What's so glamorous about thug life that it out-glamorizes the good life? Time & time again rappers boast of a better living situation than they had growing up, but what's the point in moving out of the "hood" to start another one in the Valley?
When Marvin Gaye was shot & killed it caused a worldwide gasp. When Souljah Slim was murdered holding his daughter, it was accepted as an undertone of the rap life. We (hip hop fans) are accustomed to the rapidly changing faces of our beloved art form, but when we begin to grow so indifferent & complacent about the violence plaguing us, a red flag should be raised.
It's not that the music isn't any good or substantially entertaining. It's when the already blurred line between fact & fiction is completely erased that problems arise.
Do we blame the artists? The labels? The bloodthirsty fans? The lack of parental fortitude? Or do we just sit back, churn out more conspiracy theories & let the chips fall where they may?
Perhaps some questions aren't truly meant to be answered.
Maybe it was all the "shiny" things associated with the career that drew the child's interest. For some, it might have appeared a chance to garner the attention they couldn't receive elsewhere. Others may have been genuinely talented & were prompted to focus on a field where they would surely flourish. All had personalized reasoning, yet the same goal in mind. To be a rapper. Now, with a new generation eyeing the future with hopes & goals in mind, rapping is slowly backsliding on their list of "things to do".
Frankly, it seems that being a rap star today is a tad bit too dangerous for the average cat. That may explain the influx of drug dealers & hardened criminals that saturate today's already mediocre market. What was once a performer's platform is now a con man's game. A hustle that knows no talent or skill. In most cases, even if you don't like their music, you do however "respect their grind".
At one time, in order to achieve success in hip hop, crew affiliation was mandatory. But, when did gang affiliation become a necessity? Even in hotbed cities of gang activity where hip hop was still a prevalent lifestyle, rarely did a person "cuz" or "blood" on wax. It was generally considered taboo, & although one's street ties might have been acknowledged, not often was it trumpeted in song. For those who grew up in gang territory, you know that the LAST thing you wanted to do was tell people where you were from.
& it's one thing to rhyme about the urban, war-torn environments that envelop us, but it's another to refuse to separate the art from the life. This is merely cliched observation, but other genres of musical art aren't consumed by street level violence. Why hip hop then? What's so glamorous about thug life that it out-glamorizes the good life? Time & time again rappers boast of a better living situation than they had growing up, but what's the point in moving out of the "hood" to start another one in the Valley?
When Marvin Gaye was shot & killed it caused a worldwide gasp. When Souljah Slim was murdered holding his daughter, it was accepted as an undertone of the rap life. We (hip hop fans) are accustomed to the rapidly changing faces of our beloved art form, but when we begin to grow so indifferent & complacent about the violence plaguing us, a red flag should be raised.
It's not that the music isn't any good or substantially entertaining. It's when the already blurred line between fact & fiction is completely erased that problems arise.
Do we blame the artists? The labels? The bloodthirsty fans? The lack of parental fortitude? Or do we just sit back, churn out more conspiracy theories & let the chips fall where they may?
Perhaps some questions aren't truly meant to be answered.
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