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Saturday, 20 September 2014

The Social Significance of Rap & Hip-Hop Culture Becky Blanchard Poverty & Prejudice: Media and Race


"Keep in mind when brothas start flexing the verbal skillz,

it always reflects what's going on politically, socially,

and economical/y." --Musician Davey D

In recent years, controversy surrounding rap music has been in the forefront of the American media. From the hype of the East Coast-West Coast rivalry that shadowed the murders of rappers Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G. to the demonization of modem music in the wake of school shootings in Littleton, Colorado, it seems that political and media groups have been quick to place blame on rap for a seeming trend in youth violence. however, though critics are quick to point out the violent lyrics of some rappers, they are missing the point of rap's message. Rap, like other forms of music, cannot be understood unless it is studied without the frame of its historical and social context. Today's rap music reflects its origin in the hip-hop culture of young, urban, working-class African-Americans, its roots in the African oral tradition, its function as the voice of an otherwise underrepresented group, and, as its popularity has grown, its commercialization and appropriation by the music industry.
Hip-hop music is generally considered to have been pioneered in New York's South Bronx in 1973 by Jamaican-born Kool DJ Herc. At a Halloween dance party thrown by his younger sister, Herc used an innovative turntable technique to stretch a song's drum break by playing the break portion of two identical records consecutively. The popularity of the extended break lent its name to "breakdancing"--a style specific to hip-hop culture, which was facilitated by extended drumbreaks played by DJs at New York dance parties. By the mid-1970s, New York's hip-hop scene was dominated by seminal turntablists DJ Grandmaster Flash, Afrika Bambaataa, and Herc. The rappers of Sugarhill Gang produced hip-hop's first commercially successful hit, "Rapper's Delight," in 1979'.

Rap itself--the rhymes spoken over hip-hop music--began as a commentary on the ability--or "skillz"--of a particular DJ while that DJ was playing records at a hip-hop event. MCs, the forerunners of today's rap artists, introduced DJs and their songs and often recognized the presence of friends in the audience at hip-hop performances. Their role was carved out by popular African-American radio disc jockeys in New York during the latel96Os, who introduced songs and artists with spontaneous rhymes. The innovation of MCs caught the attention of hip-hop fans. Their rhymes lapped over from the transition period between the end of one song and the introduction of the next to the songs themselves. Their commentaries moved solely from a DJ's skillz to their own personal experiences and stories. The role of MCs in performances rose steadily, and they began to be recognized as artists in their own right2.
The local popularity of the rhythmic music served by DJs at dance parties and clubs, combined with an increase in "b-boys"--breakdancers--and graffiti artists and the growing importance of MCs, created a distinctive culture known as hip-hop. For the most part, hip-hop culture was defined and embraced by young, urban, working-class African-Americans. Hip-hop music originated from a combination of traditionally African-American forms of music--including jazz, soul, gospel, and reggae. It was created by working-class African-Americans, who, like Herc, took advantage of available tools--vinyl records and turntables--to invent a new form of music that both expressed and shaped the culture of black New York City youth in the 1970s.
While rap's history appears brief its relation to the African oral tradition, which provides rap with much of its current social significance, also roots rap in a long-standing history of oral historians, lyrical fetishism, and political advocacy. At the heart of the African oral tradition is the West African3 idea of nommo. In Malian Dogon cosmology, Nommo is the first human, a creation of the supreme deity, Amma, whose creative power lies in the generative property of the spoken word4. As a philosophical concept, nommo is the animative ability of words and the delivery of words to act upon objects, giving life. The significance of nommo in the African oral tradition has given power to rappers and rap music within many African-American communities.
Rap's common designation as "CNN for black people" may result from the descendence of rappers from griots, respected African oral historians and praise-singers. Griots were the keepers and purveyors of knowledge, including tribal history, family lineage, and news of births, deaths, and wars5. Travelling griots spread knowledge in an accessible form--the spoken word--to members of tribal villages. Similarly, in the United States, many rappers create songs that, through performances and records, spread news of their daily lives, dreams, and discontents outside of their immediate neighborhoods. Rappers are viewed as the voice of poor, urban African-American youth, whose lives are generally dismissed or misrepresented by the mainstream media. They are the keepers of contemporary African-American working-class history and concerns.

Additionally, rap's potential for political advocacy stems from the function of its predecessors, African-American rhyming games, as forms of resistance to systems of subjugation and slavery. Rhyming games6 encoded race relations between African-American slaves and their white masters in a way that allowed them to pass the scrutiny of suspicious overseers. Additionally, rhyming games allowed slaves to use their creative intellect to provide inspiration and entertainment. For example, by characterizing the slave as a rabbit and the master as a fox, "Bre'r Rabbit tales" disguised stories of slaves outwitting their masters and escaping plantations behind the facade of a comical adventure. Hip-hop journalist Davey D connects the African oral tradition to modern rap: "You see, the slaves were smart and they talked in metaphors. They would be killed if the slave masters heard them speaking in unfamiliar tongues. So they did what modern-day rappers do--they flexed their lyrical skillz."7 Rap has developed as a form of resistance to the subjugation of working-class African-Americans in urban centers. Though it may be seen primarily as a form of entertainment, rap has the powerful potential to address social, economic, and political issues and act as a unifying voice for its audience.8
Rap shares its roots with other forms of traditionally African-American music, such as jazz, blues, and soul. Rap may also be closely linked to reggae music, a genre that also developed from the combination of traditional African drumming9 and the music of the Buropean ruling class by youth of limited economic means within a system of African economic subjugation. In an ironic circle of influence, Jamaican reggae was played on African-American radio stations in New York in the 1960s. DJs used rhymes to introduce reggae songs. These AM stations could be received in Jamaica, where listeners picked up on the DJs' rhyming styles, extending them over reggae songs to create "dub"--another forerunner of rap10. Kool DJ Herc, before introducing his innovative turntable style, brought his dub style to New York, but it failed to gain popularity. He concentrated on developing his DJing skills, which later allowed for the acceptance of MCing and, eventually, rap.



Corporate America's infatuation with rap has increased as the genre's political content has withered. Ice Cube's early songs attacked white racism; Ice-T sang a song about a cop killer; Public Enemy challenged listeners to "fight the power". But many newer acts are focused almost entirely on pathologies within the black community. They rap about shooting other blacks, but almost never about challenging govemmental authority or encouraging social activism. 14

Though not new themes, many of the aspects of rap that have been pointed out by politicians as "objectionable"--violence, misogyny, and homophobia in the lyrics and lifestyles of some rappers--may be seen as a function of rap's commodification. While rappers struggle to "keep it real"--a term which reminds those inside hip-hop to be true to their roots--some admit that many rappers do as their record labels wish--simply, they write lyrics that se1115. In an audience which has become increasingly ethnically and economically diverse' 6, business-minded rappers have been pressured to take on the limited roles that have proven profitable for young, African-American male artists--that of the "pimp", the "gansta", and the "playa." According to African-American musician Michael Franti, "In order to be real, we don9t all have to be the same. Through the commercialization of today's music, there is a lot of pressure for young black men to conform to very specific roles." 17

The commodification of rap has allowed large paychecks and platinum records to erase the historical, social, and economic contexts, out of which rap has emerged, from public consciousness. According to Davey D, "The business of music has bastardized rap."18 From its roots as resistance against slavery to its connection to the reggae movement in Jamaica to the appearance of rappers as modern-day griots, rap has traditionally been the music of the subjugated African-American working class. While it is important to celebrate hip-hop culture today as inclusive of vastly diverse ethnic and economic groups, it is equally important to recognize and preserve the function that rap has served for its original community. In order to understand the themes and forms of rap music, it is important to follow the history of African-Americans from their beginnings in West Africa, to their enslavement throughout the early history of the United States, to their struggles against racial prejudice and segregation after Emancipation, to the continuing battles against de facto economic segregation and reclamation of cultural identity of many African-Americans today.
If rap music appears to be excessively violent when compared to country-western or popular rock, it is because rap stems from a culture that has been seeped in the fight against political, social, and economic oppression. Despite the theatrics sometimes put on for major-label albums or MTV videos'9, for many artists, rapping about guns20 and gang life is a reflection of daily life in racially- and economically-stratified inner-city ghettos and housing projects. Violence in rap is not an affective agent that threatens to harm America's youth; rather, it is the outcry of an already-existing problem from youth whose woridviews have been shaped by experiencing deep economic inequalities divided largely along racial lines.
The nihilistic approach to violence and criminal activity for which rap is often criticized is defended by some artists as the understandable result of the disparities that face African-American communities, from which rap originated and remains rooted. America's most recent census reported that African-American youth are the most likely group in the nation to live in poor households and neighborhoods, to be unemployed, to be the victims of homicide or AIDS, or to spend time in prison at some point in their lifetimes . According to Cornel West, a professor of Religions and Afro-American studies at Harvard University, "It's no accident that one would see various [rap] songs and various lyrics that revolve around death. ,,22 Perhaps some of the popularity of the "thug life" celebrated in the "gangsta rap" sub-genre23 is the opportunity it may provide for economic and social power in neighborhoods where hope has been lost. For many poor, inner-city youth, the gun, which has had a central role in the lyrics of many gangsta rappers, represents a way to empower oneself 24 and gain respect within continuing cycles of racial and economic prejudice.
Additionally, some rappers defend the presence of violence in their lyrics as the manifestation of Anierican history and culture. Journalist Michael Saunders writes: "[T] he violence and misogyny and lustful materialism that characterize some rap songs are as deeply American as the hokey music that rappers appropriate. The fact is, this country was in love with outlaws and crime and violence long before hip-hop."25 Specifically, the African-American experience has been shaped by the legacies of slavery, segregation, and economic and political subjugation, and has been marked by institutions and incidents of violence. Rapper Chuck D thinks that much of the violence and nihilism in rap music is the legacy of the hate that minorities have faced in the United States: "We [African-Americans] were a product of what hate produced. We were taught to hate ourselves, so a lot of [intraracial conflict] is breemed off of ignorance." 26
Further, these rappers claim that it is not only African-Americans who are gangsters, but rather that American history, also, has been characterized by conquest, rebellion, and bloodshed. Rapper Ice Cube points to the hypocrisy of politicians, who use bombing campaigns to kill on a worldwide level, to blame gangsters for violence in American culture: "We do things on a small level, but America does it on a big level. It ain't just us. White people do everything we do."27
Politicians 28 and groups searching for easy solutions to America's struggle with youth violence have tried to blame rap music for desensitizing teenagers to the effects of guns, drugs, and gangs and inciting violent incidents, such as the recent shootings in Littleton, Colorado. They have attempted to present the "objectionable" aspects of some songs as a universal aspect of the rap genre. Groups have attempted to set up musical rating systems, parental advisory warnings, and outright censorship of albums that contain lyrics or images that could be harmful for young people 29.


In conclusion, despite the blame placed on rap for the prominence of violence in American society, hip-hop music is a symptom of cultural violence, not the cause. In order to understand hip-hop, it is necessary to look at it as the product of a set of historical, political, and economic circumstances and to study the role it has served as voice for those subjugated by systematic political and economic oppression. If the issue of violence in rap music is to be effectively addressed, the root of the problem--disparity in resources and opportunities for urban minorities--must be aggressively dealt with. Rap music is a form of resistance to the systems of subjugation that have created class discrepancies in the United States. In order to put an end to violence, we must focus on alleviating the burden of the inner-city working class. In order to put an end to the cycle of nihilism present in the contemporary culture of inner-city minority youth, we must provide them with the resources and opportunities to view the future with hope.



Culled from https://web.stanford.edu/class/e297c/poverty_prejudice/mediarace/socialsignificance.htm

When Old School Hip Hop Meets 60s Sit-Com Theme Songs: The Genius Of Dimples D’s “Sucker DJ” (Ben Liebrand remix)

There was something so charming about Dimples D when this new “I Dream Of Jeanie”-ised version emerged on the charts late in 1990.  By 1990 it had been well established what rap was about: rap was all about being tough and having attitude.  Or, when it blurred into pop, pretending to be tough and have attitude (Will Smith, or The Fresh Prince as he was known then, being the exception that proves the rule).  Even MC Hammer tried to be tough and have attitude.  The toughest thing on “Sucker DJ” was “are you ready to kick some ASS?”, a question that seemed a little ironic on a record that, for all of its style and charms and let-me-go-ons, is not particularly ass-kicking.

But “Sucker DJ” belonged to a different time.  It was originally from 1983, when rap music was kind of cute.  It was after all the year of “(Hey You) The Rock Steady Crew” and Malcolm McLaren’s “Duck Rock” album.

It’s was a bit of a cult hit at the time, notable for three things. 
1)      Being Marley Marl’s first production.  And let’s be honest, the record is pretty much just an advertising jingle for his services. Because Marley Marl is one hell of a man.  He’d end up being something of a big deal in hip-hop history.
2)      Being an answer record to Run DMC’s “Sucker MCs”
3)      Having a female rapper, back when that was an virtually unknown thing to be.  When Dimples D claims that there’s “no female in the world who can rap like me” it’s probably because were simply no other female rappers outside of the girl in The Rock Steady Crew.  Roxanne Shante’s “Roxanne’s Revenge” (often cited as milestone in the history of female rapping, and which would also be produced by Marley Marl, who obviously had a thing for female rappers) was still a year away.
But it didn’t make the charts or anything.
 Here it is.  Warning: all that scratching might make you itch.  There are also a lot of bombs going off, particularly during the bit where she’s rapping about cocaine dealers and life in the hood, which reduces the cute-ness factor a tad.

A lot had changed in the decade between the two versions.  There were now (slightly) more female rappers,  and “Sucker DJ” could now be heard in a post-Salt’n’Pepa, post-Neneh Cherry, post-Queen Latifah, post-MC Lyte, post-Betty Boo landscape.  Each of whom had spent a lot of energy demonstrating how tough they were: Salt’n’Pepa vetting each of the kids who danced to “Push It” to ensure that only sexy people danced to the record, and sure, the video of Betty Boo’s “Where Are You Baby?” is the cutest thing ever…
But she could also spit out an attitude filled rhyme like “someone like you puts me off my food,” which seemed pretty badass for a girl dressed up as a cartoon character. 
Dimples D on the other hand likes to rap about her dimples, and she wore an adorable little hat…
… and was pretty much the cutest rapper imaginable.  Although purely in a “cute little puppy dog” sense.  Particularly when she was rapping over the top of an “I Dream Of Jeanie” sample.  There was already a record on the pop charts based on the “Thunderbirds” so it was only a matter of time, but the choice of “I Dream Of Jeanie”  is still welcome and not only because Jeanie was the sexual awakening of a large proportion of at least two generations.

Now the main difference between the two versions (other than the “I Dream Of Jeanie” sample of course) is that lack of the final chorus, all about that favourite of chick-hop topics: how men are all players.  And the bit in the original where she raps really fast about cocaine dealers and penicillin is (to quote pretty much every lyrics website) “With the… (unintelligible).”  I guess rapping about the reality of life in the ‘hood doesn’t quite meld with 60s sit-com theme songs.
The result of all of this was so much fun that it hit the Number One possie in Australia!  And a decent sized hit all over Europe.

So mad props to everyone.  Mad props to Dimples D.  Mad props to Marley Marl.  And maddest props to Dutch DJ/remixer Ben Liebrand, who came up with the whole “I Dream Of Jeanie” thing and would be responsible for virtually every chart topping cheesy remix of an old tune around that time. That remix of Ram Jam’s “Black Betty” that made the charts in 1990?  That was him!   The remix of Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons’ “December 1963 (Oh, What A Night)” that seemed to be playing everywhere?  You know it.

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