I hate hip hop...but I LOVE hip hop. Sound confusing? Here's the story... You see, I just can't figure it out. The more I get into it--the more I look back at the last 20-some years since the phrase entered our vocabulary--the more I realize that hip hop is a cultural mystery. How did the most progressive art form of the century so quickly become a music that is derided for unoriginality, nihilism and social conservatism? How did a racially-diverse movement of open-minded young people decay into a commercially-driven industry of self-imagined thugs who dis one another for not conforming to constricting standards of what it means to "keep it real"? Now, don't get defensive. Before you tell me I don't understand hip hop, before you tell me I'm a culture snob, before you tell me to stop living in the past, before you tell me about DJ so-and-so's new record, before you remind me how hip hop records are empowering ghetto youth--please hear me out. I'm not bashing hip hop. Face it--we're all familiar with the popular criticisms of hip hop music. The true heads know that there are alternatives, but the public's narrow view of hip hop informs the majority opinion. And whether you're a fan or not, the truth is that most of us would change a few things about hip hop if we could. True School In the late 70s Bronx, a new culture was emerging. It was not a genre of music. It was not a type of dance. It was not rapping. It was not black music. In fact, music was only part of it. Hip hop culture was a lifestyle manifestation of inner-city life, which included music, graffiti art, breaking (breakdancing) and pride in one's community. It was not black music--in fact, early hip hop supporters and practitioners were a fairly even mix of black, Carribean and Hispanic, with many whites involved too. It was a multi-racial movement which promoted peace, pride, music, art, harmony and creativity. New York's punk scene, in particular, loved the creative energy of Bronx hip hop. Hip hop was renegade art, as manifested by beautiful and elaborate graffiti murals on the sides of subway cars and buildings. Hip hop was a way to become famous in your neighborhood--not by being the baddest criminal or the best athlete, but by decorating subway cars with social messages, by executing a power move on the dance floor, or by making people shake their butt to bits and pieces of obscure records. Hip hop was revolutionary. Musically, it was liberating. No longer did a musician need to purchase an expensive instrument and undergo years of musical training. A streetcorner virtuoso could fire up his mother's record player, dig a few old records out of the attic, and compose his own symphonies. An even cheaper alternative was just to use one's voice as an instrument. It was a non-formula that provided endless variation. Anything could be hip hop. And it was. DJ Red Alert, who adapted the hip hop ethic to the radio, recalls: "We would play a Sugar Hill record, followed by Madonna, followed by David Bowie. To us, it was all hip hop." Likewise, Afrika Bambaataa, one of the founding fathers of hip hop, became known for fusing together elements of rock n roll, reggae, funk and techno to push the sonic boundaries of his music. In Bambaataa's perspective, hip hop was not a genre distinct from rock n roll. It WAS rock n roll. It WAS reggae. It WAS funk. Yet by encompassing everything, it transcended all previous forms of music to become a universal music. One nation under a groove. Who Stole the Soul? When I pick up a copy of The Source today, and read a cover story about Drake or KiD Cudi, I find it hard chart the progression from there to here. I've been a hip hop fan my whole life. I've watched the entire story. It didn't seem odd at the time. Looking back, I'm kind of disheartened. Am I getting old? Have I lost my appreciation for the cutting-edge? Am I trapped inside my own wistful construction of what hip hop means? Maybe so. But when I read a bad review of Mobb Deep in Rolling Stone, I'm jolted by the reality of today's hip hop scene. Sometimes my yuppie friends talk about how they're tired of hearing the same lyrics recycled from artist to artist, song to song. Sometimes, their only exposure to hip hop is through pop-rap which basically steals the groove from one of their favorite 80s tunes (e.g. "I'll Be Missing You" or "Will2K"). My first reaction is to jump to hip hop's defense. But recently, I've realized that my defense is tied to the old school, not to Mobb Deep and definitely not to Puffy. Some would claim that my friends have never heard "real" hip hop. What about all these fantastic lyricists like Pharoahe Monch or Redman? What about the underground vibe of The Roots? I'm sorry, but frankly, it doesn't matter. Most people I know wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Busta and Biggie, let alone appreciate the subtleties in a hip hop performance. It all sounds the same. To them, it's all a lot of yelling and cursing and posturing and talking about money. And as guilty as I feel to admit it, I'm starting to understand where they're coming from. I could spew all the pro-rap rhetoric that I've memorized over the years, but deep down I know that hip hop took a wrong-turn somewhere. The positive ideals of the old school have all but vanished from what is known as "hip hop culture" today. It's like an evil twin killed hip hop and assumed its identity. Hip hop writer William Wimsatt agrees. "Before, hip hop was a culture to liberate the minds of ghetto youth. Now--the way people have narrowed it--it's keeping people trapped." Who's to blame for the dumbing down of rap music? The record companies? The public? The news media? The artists themselves? The American system? Behind a questionable veil of "staying true to the streets", today's raps are actually staying true to the almighty dollar by perpetuating stereotypes of urban life. Did you know that the majority of rap consumers are white suburban teens? Most of us have never even been to the inner city, let alone lived there. Are we ready to look at the ghetto as a real place--the mixture of sadness, beauty, struggle, family and humanity that it really is? No. Instead, we enjoy the culture of fear that has been created around the inner city. We're titillated by the violent images presented to us. Those aren't real neighborhoods or real people--they're characters that have been created for our perverse enjoyment. We eat the [expletive] up, only vaguely aware that our country's economic discrepancies are being fueled by a fear of the ghettos that is fed to us through popular culture. Ain't Goin' Out Like That I hate hip hop. I hate it for selling out musically and ideologically. I hate it for integrating with the record industry. I hate it for killing Biggie and Tupac. I hate it for spawning Aryan imitators like Limp Bizkit and the Kottonmouth Kings--who adopt the style of hip hop, but not the spirit. I hate it for betraying the people who invented it in the 70s. But I love hip hop. I love it for the exceptions--the ones like Lauryn Hill, World Famous Beat Junkies, KRS-One or Public Enemy--who keep pushing the musical boundaries of hip hop, while remaining true to hip hop's core values of "peace, unity, love and having fun" defined by Afrika Bambaataa in 1976. I love hearing Fatboy Slim or Tricky taking hip hop into new territories with trip hop, drum n bass and big beat. I love hearing about international MCs rapping against social conditions in South Africa or Brazil. I love finding out about enclaves of 12-year old breakdancers surfacing in small towns. It gives me hope for the future. I wish more people felt the way I did. PCC fo real.
