Chuck D: Fighting the Power

I can’t fully explain the power of Chuck D’s words from more than twenty years ago, that “Rap music is CNN for black America,” exerted on me.  I became aware of them long after the moment in which they were initially uttered, and they have now resurfaced in my mind long after I first read them.  For me these words then partake of three different historical moments, and their truth, as it were, is shrouded in mists of time, memory, and nostalgia.  I feel desperately that they are relevant to the present, despite the dismissals of today’s crop of hip hop heads who are more au courant than I ever had a hope of being; and yet I question their relevance because I suspect that the reason they held so much appeal for me in the first place is because of their “rootedness” in the youthful idealism I felt when I stumbled across them for the first time.  Resistance is shot through the sentence’s literal meaning: accusation, separation, and ultimately empowerment through claiming identity.

CNN: "Braking" the News

Is that enough to claim that these words still resonate today?  Certainly, on the surface it would seem counter-intuitive: the luxuriant material emphasis of much current hip hop contrasted with the seriousness of up-to-the-minute news, lent an aura of self-important authority by virtue of glossy delivery.  Nonetheless, based on the reaction in a recent graduate seminar in which rap as black CNN was discussed, it seems that academic types, at least, are willing to consider the comparison, whether out of professional indulgence or genuine agreement.  A brief perusal of the blogosphere, however, pours scorn not only on the contemporary relevance of Chuck D’s statement, but also on the academic types who tend to fixate on it (mea culpa).  Granted, academic interest in the words of Chuck D exemplify a certain bias, a tendency to skew representations of hip hop towards the “conscious” side – a move that is both politic and faintly narcissistic.  Such selectivity is outmoded: most people are now sufficiently familiar with hip hop to know that there is huge diversity in the music being produced, and definitive statements as to the music’s purpose are to be viewed with suspicion.

Ebony Magazine: Selling the Race

Perhaps my insistence that there is an important kernel of truth to the idea of rap as the black CNN has to do with the nature of authority, subjectivity, and authenticity.  Popular wisdom dictates: the mainstream news media is authoritative; emcees speak with authority.  Authority in hip hop derives from a show of force; authority in the news media from a show of knowledge.  The institutional news media depends on popular credence in the authenticity of its statements; authenticity in hip hop can depend on perceptions of street credibility (the ability to speak to “how things really are”, implies an authenticity counter to that of the mainstream press).  So far, then, the categories of authority and authenticity show some semantic overlap, although the form taken in each context is different.  Subjectivity is where we hit a wall.

For the mainstream news media as represented by CNN, apparent objectivity is crucial to the maintenance of authority; whereas the emcee spits from a position of subjectivity – embodied, against the ostensibly objective mainstream.  The power dynamic established between the opposition of subjective rapper and objective CNN concerns the arrogation of the right to represent versus the right to speak for oneself, or at least to defy representation by an outsider.  Subjectivity resists mediation – which is not to say that it cannot be mediated, packaged, co-opted – insofar as it insists on doing the speaking.

Selling The Defender circa 1942

If one were specifically to frame these general oppositions in light of the history of the politics of African American representation in the United States, it would appear that the advent of apparent subjectivity is a new mode of representation.  The policies of The Defender newspaper and Ebony magazine (as represented in Adam Green’s book Selling the Race: Culture, Community, and Black Chicago, 1940-1955) were intended to increase and highlight the upward mobility of their readership.  Difference from/opposition to the mainstream was drawn across the color line.  Strategic essentialism was the name of the game in African American-owned media representation – a performative gesture that does not portray the entire picture, as a unified front by definition downplays dissent and smoothes over other rough edges.  Along the same lines, the approach to African American representation adopted by the mainstream, white-owned media also smacks of the kind of essentialism, albeit not strategic, which gave rise to Chuck D’s comment in the first place.  The Defender and Ebony therefore promote the same mode of representation as the mainstream, only from an African American perspective, for an African American readership.  This sets up an opposition that cannot be resolved in a racialized society.

Any medium that derives authority from claims of objectivity must by definition engage in essentialist representational models – models in which the man on the street will not necessarily recognize himself.  The role of the news media is ostensibly to inform; but neatly packaged, convenient morsels of information, divested of much of the immediacy that would humanize them also serve to compartmentalize and control.  The advent of the overtly subjective voice is thus a welcome breath of fresh air.  Today this “breath of fresh air” is not the exclusive territory of the emcee: the blogosphere also has a strong claim to the crown of subjective media representation.

What these media have accomplished is to shed light on the problematic nature of supposedly “objective” media representations of African Americans; however, they also present an alternative route by which people can engage with experiences documented by the media.  This is not to say that there is no mediation involved: obviously there is; but receiving information that is mediated through a subject qua subject foregrounds the individual’s reaction to larger forces.  I hesitate to claim that any gesture is inherently empowering, but I do believe that according pride of place to the voice of the individual valorizes the personhood of that voice as well of that of those being addressed by it.  These voices may be limited to a few outlets—and they may be mediated by the same forces that prune, graft, and control other voices in the name of objectivity.  Nonetheless, these subjective voices openly challenge the authority of mainstream media by offering themselves up as examples of those that did not toe the line and still managed to be heard.  Is rap the black CNN?  That’s not for me to say.  Do rap and other subjective modes of mass communication have the power to poke holes in the hegemony on authority in news media of CNN and others of its ilk?  My answer is an unequivocal yes.–LV

EDITOR’S NOTE: See this related article (“Will Recession Dull Hip-Hop’s Bling?) from CNN.com.

Dizzee Rascal

‘And all I care about is sex and violence

A heavy bass line is my kind of silence

Everybody says that I’ve gotta get a grip

But I let sanity give me the slip

Some people think I’m bonkers

But I just think I’m free

Man I’m just living my life

There’s nothing crazy about me’

This year, Dizzee Rascal has shocked the US music industry with his inimitable style and some addictive tunes. Yet, at only 24, he has remained a British icon for almost a decade. The East London-born rapper mixes grime and electronic music to complement his signature fast-paced, staccato lyrics. Since 2002, Dizzee, née Dylan Mills, has released four albums, all of which have captivated the critics. But his childhood was not as idyllic as his music career. Raised by a single mother, he was expelled from four schools, earning the brand ‘rascal’ from an early age. Consequentially, violence and crime characterized his teenage years.

Although Mills’ struggle is not one with race, he seems to be severely conflicted over the representation of his identity. On the one hand, his lyrics are ostentatious and bold, spattered with constant referrals to money, and reveal his prominent competitive streak. In one of his earlier songs, Money Money, Mills expresses the urge to increase his wealth, adding ‘Don’t get it confused, I will never lose.’ In a later song, Old Skool, he advises to ‘Stand tall even when their hating and their scheming, Yeah watch your money rise right to the ceiling.’ Mills does not shy away from his fame either. In Holiday, he raps:

‘Party around the clock
And when we get there it’s strictly VIP
No need for ID, security know me
No waiting in line, no high entry fee
Don’t worry about nothing when you’re beside me.’

Dizzee Rascal – Holiday

Yet on the other hand, Mills still yearns to be perceived as normal. In his most recent success, Bonkers, he insists that, although ‘some people think I’m bonkers [...] there’s nothing crazy about me.’ However his insistence of normality is farfetched, especially when the following lyrics claim that ‘all I care about is sex and violence.’ At the very least, Mills expresses the desire to counteract the ‘self’ that his industry success has created. In his second big hit and one of my favourite Dizzee Rascal songs, Fix Up Look Sharp, he addresses this concern:

‘I’ve heard the gossip from the street to the slammer,
They’re trying to see if Dizzee stays true to his grammar,
Being a celebrity don’t mean shit to me,
Fuck the glitz and glamour, hey I’m with the Blicks and Gamma.’

Dizzee Rascal – Fix Up, Look Sharp

Despite Mills’ struggle with self-image, his ‘Englishness’ has remained a part of his true identity, and inspiration for countless songs. He stays loyal to his roots, rapping in his signature, quirky cockney and embellishing his lyrics with English street slang. He repeatedly refers to himself as a ‘rude boi,’ terminology that originated in London. In Wannabe, he states:

‘Leave me alone or you’ll be sorry,
Beef ain’t nothing new to me, you wally,
Why don’t you just kick back, be jolly,
Stay at home with a cup of tea, watch Corrie.’

In the end, Mills does not seem to use his race as inspiration for much of his work.  Indeed, there is very little direct mention of the colour of his skin anywhere on his albums, something that seems a rarity for black rappers today. Instead, he focuses on his hometown, a theme that may grow in popularity as the younger generation puts racial struggles behind them and focuses on newer issues of the future. Mills sums up his sentiment in his interview with British newsman Jeremy Paxman. When asked if he was British, Mills replied:

‘Of course I’m British, man [...] It don’t matter about what colour you are, but it matters what colour your heart is.’

Dizzee Rascal interviewed by Jeremy Paxman for BBC Two’s Newsnight Barack Obama Special

ANNA CHRISTOFFERSON

Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs – Maps (Original Version)

Musical improvisation obviously cannot be limited to one particular genre of music; anyone from rappers such as Snoop Dogg to country musicians such as Garth Brooks has the ability to modify the structural components of their work as they see fit. However, these modifications differ in significance depending on the context in which they are carried out. For example, if they are performed during a recording session, listeners from around the nation all have access to the same original song. However, they may never hear any improvisations of this song, especially on a typical album where only one version of most songs makes it to the final cut. On the other hand, if the musician decides to improvise during a live concert, the only people who have access to these stylistic changes are those who attend the concert and are familiar with the musician’s recorded or “original” work.

When musicians enter the recording studio in order to produce an album, they often weather countless hours performing the exact same song until they believe they have reached a point of “perfection” in which the work is ready to be sold to the public. This “perfection” is sometimes not even determined by the artists themselves; in fact, a situation often arises in which a record label representative or producer decides which versions of which songs will rake in the most profit.

This most likely means that the final cut of each song has greater potential to simply provide listeners with more of the same music that has already been made popular by their antecedents and innovators of the past. Consequently, the public loses the opportunity to listen to each improvisation individually. One has no way of knowing if any of these lost tracks of music could possibly bring something new to the table in the music industry, namely an innovative chord progression, timbre, melodic structure, etc. The only way in which musical improvisation can be made manifest to the general public is if artists decide to remix their work, such as performing acoustic versions of songs or adding new instruments to the mix among other measures.

Although only a select group of people can hear the improvisation that occurs at a concert in person, the widespread use of the Internet allows listeners to upload videos of shows that they attend. At most concerts, musicians usually do not perform their work in the exact same manner as it has been recorded on their albums. Consequently, those who choose to attend live shows have a remarkable opportunity to witness artists as they attempt to create new musical ideas and advance our views of what we as a society consider to be “popular music.”

Once the concert ends, those who have chosen to film the show can make these improvisations instantly accessible to the rest of the world if they upload their videos to sites such as YouTube. As a result, people from all walks of life have the opportunity to listen to improvisations that may eventually help change our musical tastes if they are widely accepted by the general public. This degree of change is likely possible to obtain when the masses are given widespread access to improvisation. Conversely, recordings only allow people to consume the same version of a particular song unless artists decide to release a limited amount of remixes or improvisations on a special album.

Here are examples of how improvisation, by the band the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs on their song “Maps”, can create noticeable artistic differences between the original version compared with the album remix, and the live performance of the song  in concert.

Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs – Maps (Strings/Acoustic Remix)

Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs – Maps ( Live Footage from All Points West Festival 2009 in NYC)

Kevin Hirsh

Jay-Z

Jay-Z is the man who holds “the blueprint” for the successful hip-hop artist.  He started out his career as a young rapper with gangster appeal in the mid-90’s and gradually transformed into a respected artist by all (even political figures) with a multi-million dollar business.

Fans and the media fed off Hova’s street image for most of his career, and his music had widespread influence because of its harsh realities about living in poverty, and its glorifying of sex, drugs, and partying.  Jay-Z advertised his drug dealing past and was well aware that he was not a role model for kids.  When he spits on Young Jeezy’s “Go Crazy” track he even says, “don’t follow me young’n/follow my moves/I’m not a role model/my bad influence got the whole world drinkin’ gold bottles.”

Young Jeezy Featuring Jay-Z – Go Crazy

Jay-Z’s early songs about girls like “Big Pimpin’” and songs about life on the corner like “Hard Knock Life” set the standards for the rappers who were trying to make it big.  Rappers emulated Jay’Z’s style of wearing throwback jerseys and throwing 20-inch rims onto pimped out cars.  For the longest time, the media had associated rap with violence and excess, and Jay-Z’s self-made image fed the fire.

Jay-Z – Hard Knock Life

Starting with Jay-Z’s seventh studio album, The Blueprint 2:  The Gift and the Curse, the tones of his music began to change and so did his style.  Jay-Z’s albums in the past 8 years have shown increased maturity and sophistication.  He also has traded in his jerseys for suits and designer clothes, and his rims for less flashy rides. In Jay-Z’s opening song on his recent album, “The Blueprint 3,” he addresses everyone in “what [he’s] talkin’ ‘bout.”  In the song he raps to the media, fans, and other artists that he’s done talking about the glorifying of drugs and gang violence.  He says that there “ain’t nothing cool ‘bout carryin’ a strap/’bout worryin’ your moms and buryin’ your best cat/ talkin’ bout revenge while carryin’ his casket/all teary-eyed ‘bout to take it to a mattress.”  Jay-Z’s actions have once again started a movement in the hip-hop world, and more and more artists are starting to emulate his sound and style.

Jay-Z – What We Talkin’ About

Jay-Z is aware of the strong impact he has in the hip hop world, and he has used it to his advantage to influence the industry and convey a positive image to the public about hip hop music and what it stands for.  He hasn’t forgotten his Brooklyn roots, and where he comes from is still prevalent in his music; however Jay-Z chooses to talk about issues in an insightful and thought-provoking manner as opposed to a degrading and explicit one.

Taylor Collins

Matisyahu

What do you think of when you hear the words “Hasidic Jew?” Probably the last thing to come to mind would be rapper. But that is exactly what Matthew Paul Miller, better known as Matisyahu, epitomizes. By blending traditional Jewish themes with reggae, rock, beat box, and hip-hop, Matisyahu defies most racial boundaries as an unexpected but talented artist. His race and religion is not a detriment, but a blessing and he treats it as such. Singing of self-proclaimed “songs of love and healing,” he effectively spreads the messages of his religion and beliefs.

Dressed in traditional Hasidic Jew attire complete with a black fedora and long beard, Matisyahu is constantly surprising audiences with his music. His major hit song, “King without a Crown” was a Top 40 hit and was plastered all over MTV and the radio. He was even named as the Top Reggae artist of 2006 by Billboard. Matisyahu appeals to both young and old audiences as he delivers messages of Bible stories accompanied with a hip, catchy reggae beat.  His vocal style mixes traditional Rasta Roots with a dub sound. His lyrics can be deeply spiritual at times, while other tracks are lighter in tone. Some of his musical inspirations include Bob Marley, Phish, and Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach.  Most of his songs are completely in English although he does occasionally use some Yiddish and Hebrew terms.

Matisyahu – King Without A Crown

Although he may not look like the stereotypical rapper, Matisyahu performs with “crooning, spell-binding vocals” (Meadows) that create a unique and refreshing sound. Equally impressive is his ability to take a genre such as rap and use it in an atypical way to spread positive messages instead of the hate and degradation that is common in many rap songs. Matisyahu uses his race and religion to separate him from other similar artists. His culture makes him so dissimilar from the rest of the rap artists that people really pay attention when they hear his music in combination with his exterior presence. In essence, he stands out. The intrigue surrounding Matisyahu negotiates the two different representations of self and industry stunningly.

He stays true to himself, his religion, and his music without conforming to the standard message, style, stereotype, and influence that comes with traditional rap music. In Matisyahu’s case, his race and unique representation of himself is a tremendous benefit because he is so distinctive. Most are pleasantly surprised when they hear his music after previously judging him based on looks alone. In a genre primarily dominated by African Americans, Matisyahu successfully differentiates himself from the rest of the pack not only with his looks, but also and most importantly with his unique and refreshing musical styles. Disregarding industry pressures, Matisyahu delivers inspirational music without compromising who he is.

Matisyahu – Jerusalem

Ali Armour

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