Hip Hop Just Saved Me.

Following the introspection of the previous blog (sorry about that by the way), I have decided to return to a social commentary of sorts.
What makes hip-hop an art form?
The biggest barrier to any social commentary is a fragmented mode of address (or, ‘not understanding each other’, like.) Rap and hip-hop has been both lauded and damned in equal measure for the messages of unity but also ones of hatred. Is it simply storytelling?
The origins of this fast-evolving genre have been disputed for decades, the most likely source will have been West African poets, known as griots. They used the spoken word to pass on great fables and poems to audiences. Paul Oliver writes in his book "Savannah Syncopators"
‘Though [the griot] has to know many traditional songs without error, he must also have the ability to extemporize on current events, chance incidents and the passing scene. His wit can be devastating and his knowledge of local history formidable.’
This leads us to the immigration of America, and a development of a cultural identity in what would have been a melting pot of differing ideals and values when it came to entertainment. Many Griot-style lyricists used their gifts to entertain crowds in the post-civil rights era in the 1960s/70s.
Jamaican influence was key; ‘Dub’ music had travelled well and was later mixed with the unlikely combo of Disco and Funk. The shorter beats gave way to the practice of ‘toasting’, an early emcee-battle of skill between two opponents.
This combative approach had given disenfranchised youth a voice and while Kool Herc & the Herculoids were the first team to make it big in the Bronx, the rest of the world was soon to catch up.
The ‘first’ hip-hop track to have been put to recording is largely thought to be The Sugarhill Gang’s Rapper’s Delight in 1979. The fun-fast trio of Wonder-Mike, Big Bank Hank and Master-Gee were credited by having a catchy hook and wacky lyrics. It is hard, when listening to this 17 minute masterpiece, to see how gangster violence could be influenced by this art form. But, as with all things, a subculture always develops.
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five presented a new face of hip-hop to the world. Their songs were catchy but delved into areas of life that other rappers were no doubt living, but weren’t making records about. The Message is probably the best example of a rap-song that deals with the hard facts behind the genre’s poverty-stricken roots:
‘Broken glass everywhere, people pissing on the stairs, you know they just don’t care. I can’t take the smell, can’t take the noise, got no money to move out I guess I’ve got no choice.
Rats in the front room, roaches in the back. Junkies in the alleys with a baseball bat, I tried to run away but I didn’t get far cause the man with the tow truck repossessed my car.’
The track then gives way to possibly one of the most famous hooks in the world ‘Don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge, I’m trying not to lose my head.’ Seeing them in print somehow takes away from the significance; orally they are said as if every word deserves to be emblazoned in red and capitalised, such is the desperation of them.
The ‘real’ lyrics of rappers became overshadowed with the glamour of rapper’s and their respective gang’s lifestyles. While songs such as Rapper’s Delight reference this with the lines ‘I got bodyguards, I got two big cars...So afterschool I take a dip in the pool which is really on the wall, I got a colour T.V so I can see the Nicks play basketball...’ it is seen as more of a cartoonish dream, that this lifestyle could ever be lead.
Soon, hip-hop became about what you had, and how much of it. Excess was the order of the day and while this is not exclusive to the genre (look at the Rat-Pack’s decadence) it became a political middle finger to the rest of the world that people from the ghetto could make big money from raw talent.
You may notice that at no point am I professing to be an expert, I am merely giving a view. The first rap album I ever owned was Will Smith’s Willenium. Considered by many to be a joke rapper, Will Smith represents something totally different at the turn of the decade: in terms of his social mobility, he has gone from being a rapper, to actor, to producer and is now one of the biggest banking stars of Hollywood. Not bad for the skinny kid who used to emcee with a guy called ‘DJ Jazzy Jeff’.
The 2000’s then appeared to have a dual role for its rappers, they weren’t just revered for their music, their lifestyles took on a totally different meaning: Eminem’s rags-to-riches film 8 Mile shows a behind the scenes take on the struggle to ‘blow up’ and out of poor neighbourhoods through music, a task which Eminem seems to be saying is harder to do if you’re white trash in a predominantly black ghetto, such as Detroit. This is what makes it so hard for us as an audience to understand whether we are infatuated with the music or the people.
To return to the issue of lyrics and the various interpretations of them; there is a renaissance of reality in some pockets of the genre. The idea being that the more we earn and spend looking good, the less good we do. As twee as it may sound, Kanye West’s early albums (where he still rapped) were an exercise in what can only be described as masked smugness. His records preached about the double standards of the world:
‘I say fuck the police, thats how I treat em
We buy our way out of jail, but we can’t buy freedom.
We’ll buy a lot of clothes but we don’t really need em
Things we buy to cover up whats inside.’

Lupe Fiasco, a personal favourite of mine, addresses the same issues of greed, inequality and the deterioration of social values. His approach is different in that he likes to make the audience think, rather than Kanye, who forces it down you in a manner which feels less sincere.
His song ‘Intruder Alert’ focuses on the pain in society, and challenges people to change their views of addicts, immigrants and much more. And he does it all without a sample from ‘Another Day in Paradise’:
‘He said nobody else ever loved him
Thats why he gets high enough to go touch the heavens above him
Vividly remembers every pipe
Every needle that stuck him
Every alley he ever slept in
Every purse that he snuck in
Every level of hell he’s been to
And the one that he’s stuck in
The one he can’t escape
Though it’s of his own construction.
Maybe you can relate
Maybe you one of those that just doesn’t
Maybe he doesn’t care
Loves to allow these demons to come in.’

Though strictly only forty years old, hip-hop has the capacity to become even bigger in the coming years. My preference for rappers like Lupe are that they stick closely to the truth of it all, reminding us why we should all live together harmoniously (Lupe is also a practicing Muslim).
The story-telling is all, without it the genre just becomes nonsense verse telling people to ‘get low.’