“I soon realized that there were two ways I could respond to my situation”—Martin Luther King Jr. explained—“either to react with bitterness or seek to transform the suffering into a creative force.” King famously took the latter course. But the modern rapper—be it Ice Cub, 2Pac, or Kendrick Lamar—seeks to simultaneously utilize the two approaches; the modern rapper, that is, creatively expresses bitterness.
Take Cube’s classic “It Was a Good Day,” for example. Notice how he subverts his song’s title, how he illustrates the tragedy of the young African-American’s “good day” by describing what did not occur. In Ice Cube’s world, positivity is only found in the absence of negativity, and not in positivity itself. Cube finds a day remarkable—that is, worth remarking upon—when “nobody I know got killed in South Central LA,” when “I didn’t even have to use my AK.”
A lack of tragedy is not—should not be— a cause for celebration.
Dyson’s article connecting MLK and hip-hop artists was intriguing on many fronts. I especially found the notion that were King’s life to be cut off as early as Biggie’s was, perhaps they would seem more similar. Towards the end of the article, Dyson mentions something that we have come to time and time again in class: treatment of women.
The irony of fighting for black youth to have a voice in critical and national life, only to have them use such freedoms to denigrate black women and to belittle and reject the culture mores that sustained blacks from the planation to the ghetto, is more than most black critics can abide.
Black critics focus on these aspects of hip hop, but as Dyson points out, King himself had some unsavory practices regarding women. A man of God, even the preacher Martin Luther King did not treat women with equal respect and certainly had quite a few women on the side. Dyson excuses King as being a man of his time. My question is, what excuses the rappers degrading women? I think this is a debate we can continue in class. Though I appreciate the comparison being drawn, I wonder whether any “progress” has been made.
Is it the artist’s job to protect his/her work from gross misinterpretation?
“Yet every writer learns over a lifetime to be tolerant of the stupid inferences that are drawn from literature and the fantasies implausibly imposed upon it,” argued Phillip Roth, a great novelist (wrongly) called by many a great misogynist. Is Junot Diaz an objectifier of women because his characters objectify women? Does Francis Ford Coppola condone violence because his films inspired people to commit violent acts?
The answer to these questions, of course, is no. But what about rappers, whose lyrics sometimes read more like diary entries than artistic statements? I’d argue that to interpret lyrics as biographical and to take anything at face value would be to ignore the artistry of rap music. Take the song “Love Again” off Run The Jewels’ excellent album from last year, for example. In the song, El-P and Killer Mike exchange sexually explicit and degrading lyrics (“I will never condescend / Now spread yourself,” “Do you ask him pretty please / Do you crawl on hands and knees / Like you used to do for me / Oh, you such a dirty girl”) before launching into the chorus, “I put that dick in her mouth all day / She got that (dick in her mouth all day) / She take that (dick in her mouth all day).” If you were to pause the song midway, you might take El-P and Killer Mike for vile misogynists. But you’d be wrong. For the next verse and chorus, in which guest rapper Gangsta Boo one-ups her peers in terms of sexual gratuity and lewdness, cleverly inverts the stereotype of woman as mere pleasure provider. She raps, “He had a lot of bad bitches in his past / But I was the one who turned that boy into a motherfuckin’ man,” just like the countless rappers who brag of stealing a girl’s prized virginity—before launching into her own version of the boys’ chorus: “He want this clit in his mouth all day / He want this clit in his mouth all day (Yeah, ho!).”
A few weeks ago there was a fake commercial for a drug called “Swiftamine” on SNL. The drug treats a new health problem: “Realizing you love Taylor Swift has become the leading cause of vertigo among adults.” What made the skit so funny was just how true it was: admitting that you don’t hate Taylor Swift or worse, that you really like one of her songs, or worst of all, that you really like her is an insult to coolness. Because Taylor Swift is such a girl and her music is so, you know, girly.
We love Beyoncé. We can love Rihanna. We can love Iggy Azalea and Tove Lo and Rita Ora, but we can’t admit to loving Taylor Swift or worse, her music.
Even as I write this, a refrain from her single ”Shake It Off” is on repeat in my head: “the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.”
Why can’t we love Taylor Swift? The reality is that Taylor Swift gets negative press because she is smart, talented, adorable, funny, nice. She’s beautiful, an extraordinary philanthropist, and has never been in trouble, except in song lyrics.
It’s still not okay for women to succeed. I admit I’m not a huge fan of her music. But I love her. She’s massively talented, has one of the most highly developed senses of irony of anyone in current pop music and she’s about as real as it gets. There’s something daunting about a young woman who succeeds at everything she does, and that’s Swift. We’re conditioned to expect men to succeed. But when women excel to the degree Swift has, particularly without any actual scandal like substance abuse or public meltdowns or beating up paparazzi–the haters come out in clans. Tearing successful women down is a national past time. Just ask Hillary Clinton.
Swift’s music video for “Blank Space”, in particular, is brilliant. How could you possibly miss the oh-so-clever irony in both her lyrics and over-the-top video? You’d have to work hard to miss the genius in Swift’s dismissing of herself as nothing more than a boy-crazy “girl,” but of all women as hysterical, mascara-dripping, wardrobe-shredding lunatics. Lines like “Oh my God, look at that face/You look like my next mistake” or “Boys only want love if it’s torture/Don’t say I didn’t say I didn’t warn ya” are sarcastically perfect in response to her criticism.
Yes, she’s a girl. Yes, she writes about love and loss and bad break ups. Her clever lyrics like “And he’s long gone when he’s next to me/And I realize the blame is on me” or “I think that the worst part of it all wasn’t losing him/It was losing me “in “Trouble” strike a chord with us, whether we’re 15 or 50. But isn’t Swift writing those particular lyrics about the notoriously self-obsessed John Mayer whose own lovelorn lyrics are considered oh-so-profound and angst-ridden? No one hates Ed Sheeran or Sam Smith or John Legend.
Why the double standard?
Think about what you’re slamming when you diss Taylor Swift, because the only real argument anyone has against her is that she’s a girl.
When I first listened to Beyonce’s newest album, I was shocked, at first, and then delighted. I was shocked by her frankness in addressing her sexuality, and then delighted, because at last we had a female artist who wasn’t afraid to embrace her sexuality in a feminist way.
Her song “Flawless” has become an anthem for women. It’s a song about feeling beautiful and having self worth; taking pride in yourself. It’s about feminism and female roles and embodying these roles in a way that makes you feel happy. The line “I woke up like this: flawless” has become an oft-repeated line amongst women my age because it’s cheeky and because it’s fabulous. Beyonce’s telling us to take pride in the way we look and present ourselves to the world, not to please any man but to please ourselves. That said, a lot of her album is about pleasing her man, Jay-Z, and what it’s like to be a sexual being in a relationship. So she struts this line between feminine empowerment and embodying a modern take on a traditional wifely role. And it’s awesome. In the lyrics “I took some time to live my life/But don’t think I’m just his little wife,” Beyonce refers to her time spent out of the public eye, raising her child and being at home. This line is both proud and honest. She reminds the world that though she takes her role as a wife seriously, she also is very much her own person. She can do embody both the roles of superstar Beyonce and Jay-Z’s wife with pride.
“Flawless” is a sexy, bold, feminist anthem. In that way, it introduces a new theme into the world of pop music and R&B: feminine empowerment. In the song “Flawless,” Beyonce incorporates a speech entitled “We Should All Be Feminists” given by Nigerian writer Chimamanda Adiche. The speech mainly involves the double standard that exists between the way we raise girls and boys to think about their sexuality. She says, “We raise girls to see each other as competitors/Not for jobs or for accomplishments/Which I think can be a good thing/But for the attention of men/We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings.” Here, Beyonce shows that women can and should be sexual beings, if they want to be. As Mikki Kendall of the guardian wrote so aptly, “She’s pro-woman without being anti-man, and she wants the world to know that you can be feminist on a personal level without sacrificing emotions, friendships or fun.”
To me, Beyonce is the new wave of feminine empowerment in music, and she’s undoing a lot of the damage done by rap artists. *drops mic.*
For the blog (due Sunday): students briefly summarize the presentations by the two guest speakers and share their thoughts for their experience working with them for the analysis of the poetry as well as 1 new thing they learned that informs their overall knowledge of hip hop music, industry, and culture. Why is it important?
I adored these past two classes. It’s always fascinating to see class material represented in the real world. As we listened to July Quin and Rio Azul freestyle, I couldn’t help marveling at the novelty and intrigue of our participation. Instead of passively reading about hip hop, we were members of an audience that interacted with the rappers as much as they interacted with us. Through our participation in their performances, we became small parts of the long, rich history that is hip hop- that gives me goose bumps.
I was most interested to see that both rappers, July Quin and Rio Azul, both became interested in hip hop through poetry, or more specifically, words. July spoke about how he started writing at 14 years old, and Rio spoke vigorously about his love of the dictionary and how the dictionary app “is the most used app on (his) phone.” Poetry is not dead, and after seeing both Rio and July perform, I am able to say that with absolute certainty. It was inspiring to see them pursue their dreams, however large and seemingly unattainable. While July seemed content as a smaller name in the hip hop industry, Rio seemed sure that he was going to make it big. And while both rappers love their art, Rio appeared more concerned about the financial part of hip hop, and spoke about “making ends meet.” July has a few other jobs to help him maintain financial stability, so hip hop seemed to be more of a passion. Unlike most black rappers, they are both Latino and from similar areas of NYC. Some other similarities they shared were that they both spoke with confidence. They both love music. They both made sacrifices in order to pursue hip hop. But I found them to be more different than similar, which made me think- maybe life experience isn’t as central to hip hop as perseverance. Maybe it isn’t what you have to share with your fans but how much you’re willing to, how deep you’re willing to go. Maybe hip hop culture is more complicated than we think…. or maybe July and Rio’s deviations from traditional hip hop culture are what make them both so wonderful.
For the blog (due Sunday): students briefly summarize the presentations by the two guest speakers and share their thoughts for their experience working with them for the analysis of the poetry as well as 1 new thing they learned that informs their overall knowledge of hip hop music, industry, and culture. Why is it important?
Last week was a total blast. It was great hearing from two rappers in class. We got to hear a much more practical side to the art of rap; the music and lyrics, not so much the theory behind it. However, I’m happy that I had the critical theory of hip-hop in the back of my mind as context for everything Rio Azul and July Quin were saying. I was impressed by the way these two artists were forging ahead with their dreams. Many weeks ago we were discussing the way poetry no longer has a role in our society, but after seeing the intricacy with which Rio and July strung together lyrics, perhaps poetry is still around.
Both of our guests happened to be from the same area of New York and were Latino rappers, further complicating their place in the hip-hop world. Despite these similarities, July and Rio definitely approached hip-hop from different angles. Rio seemed more like a businessman, and he wanted not only to be a rapper but to be a Justin Timberlake of the next generation. July was more of a poet; he definitely got into hip-hop because he loves it. July is also involved in doing work to help underprivileged youth in the Bronx find their own voice. He had been a participant in this program and is now a teacher. Another difference I noticed between the rappers was their skill at free-styling. July was great–he incorporated the words that Maria threw at him seamlessly into his rap. Rio, however, did not freestyle and used a rap that he had already written. Though it was fun to hear from both of them, I was so impressed by July’s skill at thinking so quickly off the top of his head.
To summarize some things I noticed from each: both rappers have confidence and are sure of themselves. They’re lacking in the self-consciousness that defines many other artists in other art forms. Both were willing to devote their lives to the pursuit of a dream. Both wrote about their personal lives in their lyrics, though I wonder how much of it was true and how much was a story. Namely, I wondered how much of themselves they incorporated into the music.
Their visit reminded me of hip-hop as an identity as well as an art form. Neither use their real name. Their personas are already changed from being part of hip-hop. I also wonder what challenges they will face in the future because of their Latino heritage, and whether that functions are a roadblock to success.
I’m looking forward to talking more in class about what we thought of them. I definitely have a lot of thoughts I want to share!
It used to be much easier to decide which labels were independent and which was not, which music could be called “indie” (short for independent) and which could be (often derisively) labeled popular. But now, in 2015, with Poptimism and Postmodernism, along with cheaper, digital hardware and software at the forefront—the underground has been appropriated by the commercial artists, and vice versa. The directional flow of influence has is becoming even more and more muddled as this century progresses.
The most basic difference between Independent and Major labels is financing, particularly the magnitude of such financing. “Independent and “major” are relative terms; there isn’t a clear line at which an “independent” label becomes “major”. (According to Association of Independent Music (AIM) “(…) A “major” is defined in AIM’s constitution as a multinational company which (together with the companies in its group) has more than 5% of the world market(s) for the sale of records and/or music videos.” But this becomes more complicated when you look at all the smaller branches of these major labels that could themselves be called independent.)
In his article, Andy Bennett mentions the independent rap label “Circle Sound.” Circle Sound “specializes in the production and promotion of Turkish Rap Music” (84). The rappers who release music on the label—which admittedly as a Turkish-centric label in Germany doesn’t have wide appeal—incorporate their ancestor’s country sounds into the contemporary German rap sound. Because the label is independent, the rappers can focus their interest and expressions into such a particular style; because their success is not predicated on the appreciation of a wide audience, these artists—like independent artists across the globe—can make the music that they want to make, immune from commercial concessions.
Rockmobil, a musical project that provides its members with instruments and a space to make music, aims to “promote integration between the youth of different ethnic minority groups in Frankfurt by encouraging these young people…to make music together.” Bennett goes on to explore how such youth—often the children of Turkish, Moroccan, and African immigrants to Germany—are drawn to the making of rap music and thus to an identification with African-American youth who are similarly ostracized in their own country. But the Rockmobil participants—like the rappers on Circle Sound—don’t merely confirm to the traditional German rap sound. Rather, they incorporate the sounds of their ancestors and experiment with the forms in which they work—possibly influencing future major label artists in the process.
(For this response, I brought in outside knowledge from another music class I’m taking).
The independent record label, or “indie,” emerged in the United States in the 1950s as a result of great structural shifts. In the years 1920-1950 or so, American musical pop culture existed in a state of hegemony. It was largely controlled by four record labels, and these four record labels were vertically integrated, meaning that they had control over the creation and distribution of the music. Namely, they controlled the radio waves. These labels catered to the lowest common denominator of American taste. They were not looking for regional preferences or catering to certain audiences. The music of Frank Sinatra was meant to appeal to all. As a result of this immense control, there was little turnover of chart hits and music sounded the same.
Things got “all shook up,” to reference Elvis, a product of this shift, in the post-WWII era. Technology was a huge catalyst for this shift. The music business up until this point had been an advertising business–people played music on the radio waves so people would listen to ads. With the invention of the TV, the advertisements moved to TV and left the radios decentralized. Meaning, the radios had to cater to regional audiences with different tastes, not one national audience.
This is where the indie record label comes in. Entrepreneurs like Jerry Wexler of Atlantic and Sam Phillips of Sun Records (where Elvis played) took advantage of this shifting scene. They loved music and knew a bit about business. In their recording studios, people jammed and made real music. Soulful music. Because at last, there was a place for this music to be appreciated. Disc jockeys gained a new importance in distributing this indie record label music to a specific audience. So, in this time we see the growth of Latin, country, R&B, and rock music on the radio. We see the rise of Elvis, James Brown, Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin, the Supremes–funk, soul, polished Motown hits, country rock, and a mix of it all. This was a time of innovation and creation.
Since its creation in the 1950s and ’60s, the indie record label has stuck around for the rap scene. Rap collectives mirror these original independent labels in the way they’re formed by people of a specific community and cater, too, to a community of listeners. Once again, we’re seeing people taking music into their own hands. Music production is a cycle, and the independent rap movement proves it.
Imani Perry, in her book Prophets of the Hood, quotes Robin Kelley as saying “‘the most politically correct rappers will never get my hard-earned ducats if they ain’t kickin’ some boomin’ drum tracks, a fat bass line, a few well-placed JB-style guitar riffs, and some stupid, nasty turntable action'” (Perry 40). This quote underlines Perry’s larger argument that aesthetic elements cannot be disregarded when analyzing the quality of sociopolitical critique in hip hop music.
This duality in hip hop is evident in Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power.” The group’s frontman, Chuck D, raps such politically-charged lines as, “Our freedom of speech is freedom or death / We got to fight the power that be” and “Power to the people, no delay / To make everybody see / In order to fight the powers that be.” Yet, the song would not have been the hit that it was (it reached #1 on Billboard’s US Hot Rap Singles) if it did not contain such aesthetically enticing elements such as Kelly’s “‘boomin’ drum tracks.”
Drums are especially important in “Fight the Power.” The drum line used in the song is sampled from James Brown’s 1970 song “Funky Drummer.” James Brown was renowned as an innovative and hypnotic funk singer. His drums were essential to his delivery, and were instrumental to the structure of his songs. The use of a James Brown drum line imports the aesthetic success of James Brown’s funk and infuses it into Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power,” thus adding aesthetic elements to the political manifesto of the song. Without this magnetic drum line, “Fight the Power” would have most likely still been respected for its content, but it would not have made such a musical impact on the charts and on listeners as it did.
Hip Hop and the Oral Tradition 