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Seven Mary Three
InterMedia Arts Center 2/2/08
Huntington, NY
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L L Cool J
To the uninitiated, the biggest problem with most Rap (Gangsta Rap in particular) is that it’s so damned believable. Before Rap was ubiquitous, there had been plenty of songs about murder and mayhem, some quite chilling, but we usually knew that the artist and the character portrayed were not one and the same – for example, Neil Young most definitely did not shoot his baby down by the river. Old folk songs can be depressingly violent, too (listen to any Johnny Cash lately?), but they usually convey the emotional resonance of a horrible crime without needing to convince us that the singer is the actual perpetrator. Rap is much more linear, much more direct. It threatens us because it doesn’t have any escape valve. The space between the crime, the telling of the crime (the self-righteous, self-centered ‘attitude’ of the rapper) and our reaction is nonexistent, so it draws us into the violence in an almost palpable manner. The line is blurred until we don’t know whether we ought to consider what we are hearing as truth, exaggeration, fiction or morality tale.
Generally speaking, rap is a music form that ignores melody. I don’t mean that as a criticism, but simply as a statement of fact. Rap relies on the mellifluous syntax of speech for its rhythmic syncopation and pitch construction, not the formalized structure of musical notation. It is also the most contradictory art form to come along in ages – probably in my lifetime. It is literate and colloquial, informed and ignorant, focused and ranting. It is sophisticated enough to espouse complex political theories on equality, while habitually referring to women as ‘bitches’ and ‘hos’. It demands equity while using ‘nigga’ as its most common and all-inclusive form of self-reference. Rap is the sound of the disenfranchised rebelling against being shut out; if you’re rebelling, you don’t sing, you shout. Using recycled materials is part of the political process too, because it implies an economy of structure that suggests reduced means. It was a musical form borne out of necessity, out of a need to create under compromised circumstances. The people who wound up creating hip-hop did so because they couldn’t afford proper musical training or to hire a band, so the artful manipulation of a turntable or a sampler provided the basis for creation. Like a vagabond would pick through another’s scraps to find something useful, pre-existing materials became ready-made tools for something new and (originally) unintended. Only after its progenitors became stars were these ingredients considered ‘elemental’. A style was formed, and if it became too melodic, or too much like a traditional song, it lost its hip-hop essence.
Rap is the sound of Black culture speaking exclusively to Black culture. Arguably, it is the first musical form to do so. Think about it; both Jazz and the Blues were almost immediately co-opted by mainstream white society. R&B and Soul were, by definition, cross-cultural from birth. Rap music is not trying to be exclusive, it simply is. That’s not to say that non-Blacks can’t appreciate it or perform it (or criticize it), but that is to say that it can only be considered valid if it speaks directly to Black culture. If you view Hip-Hop as a culture within a culture instead of simply as a musical style (which in reality it is), then its separation from non-Black influences is absolute. As a case in point, rap doesn’t even acknowledge Black Christian culture, which of course is rooted in Western theology – the deification of a white man. There is nothing European about rap’s roots and so to truly understand the nature of rap you must comprehend the historical, social and cultural significance of what it means to be Black. That is what hip hop does and that is why so many people who are entrenched in mainstream white culture are abhorred by it; by design, it does not speak to them, and white people aren’t used to that.
There are elements of rap culture that have proven themselves to be at worst, indefensible and at best, tiresome, especially in its overt hostility and reference to gun play as a means of self-empowerment. With lyrics that ‘play the dozens’ (exchanging insults) and boast unceasingly, it is antagonistic, often to the point where it is practically begging for retaliation, which can often be violent (For an example of this lyrical goading war, check out the battle royal between LL Cool J and Canibus). You need look no further than the East Coast vs. West Coast (read ‘Black on Black’) crimes that have led to the shooting deaths of Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls to recognize that some serious revisionism is necessary. If Rap is to retain any of its credibility as a cultural means of empowerment, as opposed to an individual means of criminal domination, then a change has got to come.
Of course, the misogynistic nature of rap can be just as rank, but it is important to recognize just how deeply entrenched these attitudes are, not just in rap music but in Black culture. The deification of the mother figure is universal in Black society, so naturally, anybody playin’ the dozens will eventually shoot for the ultimate insult, usually by trash-talking their target’s mother. For a most obvious example of this, observe how the word ‘motherf*#ker’ has become the most common means of addressing an adversary, or even friends and associates, in Hip-Hop culture. From this perspective, it’s a very short leap before all women become hos and bitches. So, sometimes the suggested scenario plays itself out. What starts off as playful boasting soon leads to insults, until the mother figure is eventually insulted, which is sufficient reason for retaliation, and that means violence. It’s an ingrained cycle that Rap music does nothing to relinquish.
Rap’s reliance on pre-recorded samples has rendered it to be a studio concoction that suffers immeasurably onstage. In a reversal of the much reviled tendency for certain non-musicians to lip-sync over pre-recorded vocal tracks, rappers must attempt to re-create their vocal flow on top of musical samples with little or no real musical accompaniment, and make it look interesting. The results are usually insipid. More often than not, the rhythmic complexity of the pre-recorded samples are lost on an arena audience and the only genuinely ‘live’ sound is whatever the rapper spontaneously bellows into the microphone. What is invigorating as a recording is thus rendered banal in performance. In an historic appearance on MTV’s Unplugged, LL Cool J took the challenge and became the first rap artist to perform live on national television with minimal prerecorded accompaniment, and it was great. It’s a shame that other rappers haven’t followed his lead.
In his lengthy career, LL Cool J has incorporated just about every essential element of rap, and embodies all of its inherent contradictions. Regardless of what your predisposition is, he ‘keeps things real’ because he doesn’t mess with the formula. For years, he’s been singing to members of Black culture about Black culture. He’s not addressing teenaged suburban white boys (even if they do want to emulate him), but his music is marketed to them. Record labels feel that if white kids buy into it, that’s good business. What is most amazing is how quickly hip-hop became an art form, and then how quickly it became the most popular style on the charts. Black street culture and mainstream pop culture did not mix until rap became a multi-million dollar enterprise, and LL Cool J can take much of the credit. Rap culture is the most distinctive music-based movement we’ve had in over ten years, so it’s no real surprise that its popularity would cross over, but the irony is that it only works well if the subject matter doesn’t. I find it ironic that LL Cool J is sometimes criticized for selling out (read “appealing to the white mainstream’) by hardcore Rap fans, but accusations come with longevity. Granted, this guy did change styles more often than a runway model, but you’ve got to change if you intend to survive. While most rappers can’t last three weeks, this guy’s survived over fifteen years, and hey, we live in a weird age. When the best rapper is white and the best golfer is Black, you know things are a bit tilted. It’s an uncomfortable alliance when a music form is rendered exclusive but its commercial appeal is inclusive. Eventually, these things will work themselves out, but people of other ethnic backgrounds with no patience for rap ought to recognize it as an intrinsic aspect of Black culture. Maybe then they can at least offer some grudging respect to its artistry, even while recognizing that it isn’t made with them in mind.
 
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