My passion for rap lyricism has paradoxically ruined my ability to sit back and simply enjoy listening to rap in general. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the diverse skills and abilities of my favourite MCs; it just means I can’t seem to vibe to some ill shit without wanting to be a part of it. I can no longer take a passive position when I hear a beat; my mind is immediately flooded with potential rhythms and rhymes, and the voice of the rapper in the radio is no longer a welcomed sound but an interruption, a voice talking persistently over the voice in my own head—it’s a frustrating phenomenon, and I find myself switching from rap stations over to edge 102.1 or 97.7 to silence the rapper in my cranium—he’d be at it all day otherwise.
Like a course in film critique can spoil the enjoyment of taking in any subsequent film from a purely entertainment standpoint, so too can the complete immersion in a particular art form rob an artist of the ability to view his art without compartmentalizing it—without working on it in his mind. I do not hear a song as whole; I hear the bass, the drum, the snare, all individually, focusing less on the complete product than how each of its parts ought to sound. I mean ought because my mind is permanently set in test-mode—I am forever evaluating my work as it plays, line by line, formulating expectations of myself in my mind and determining whether I, the voice speaking back to me, is meeting these expectations. I am robbed of the ability to enjoy the end result of my efforts and toil, because I can’t seem to listen to it from a distance with enough detachment.
My enjoyment springs entirely from the process of writing and recording, from composing and performing. I cannot enjoy my music, my genre, from a purely passive point. I cannot simply be a face in the crowd; I am compelled to be involved, and I have yet to develop the ability to be both spectator and participant at the same time.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
The Object of Rap
As a rapper I wouldn’t dare argue for a moment that rappers generally don’t address women like pieces of meat; I have done so myself in countless verses. The debate isn’t whether or not rap objectifies women. Those who feel it doesn’t can find it as personally acceptable as they want; objectification is objectification whether one welcomes it or not. The debate, rather, should focus on why this disrespect for women is so prevalent in hip-hop. Rappers are not all misogynistic womanizers. Some rappers may resemble the character they present to their audience more than others, but it is a character nonetheless—the character of what has become the prototypical successful rapper. There are economic reasons and aspects of the art of rap itself that, working in tandem, perpetuate the image of the rapper today, which includes as a key component an outright disrespect for women. This character overshadows the rapper himself, as he is compelled to embody an ethos of power and virility to achieve success.
Rap is fundamentally based on overcoming struggle. If the trope of a verse is not about taking on a challenge, it is about reaching a goal. There are bitches to seduce, cops to dodge and gangs to battle; there are rants about the government and diatribes against the system; there are struggles with poverty and the daily grind, and in the absence of enemies without, there are struggles with adversaries within. I have used rap as a means to face my fears, a way to tackle personal issues like depression and diminish them by discussing them in front of everyone. One may argue that rappers nowadays, with the exception of a few, deal mostly with success—poppin’ bottles, poppin’ collars, etc. Celebrated success, however, presupposes a time of difficulty, or at the very least, years of hard work. You are merely hearing the voice of someone who’s already climbed the rough, jagged rocks and is describing the view from the peak.
Rap is about power, whether it be sought or celebrated. Power is influence, and money and sexual prowess are arguably the most common symbols of a man’s influence on the world around him. I am powerful because I get money and sex whenever I want it. No one can hold me down. I show a complete disregard for society’s rules, and rules say that I ought to respect women. Women thus become a concrete target for my rebellion against an abstract authority.
The rhythmic arrangement of words with beats is also a catalyst for aggressive lyrics. Perfecting one’s craft involves refining one’s lyrical delivery until it matches a tight rhythmic constraint. There is a cutting sharpness that is created in the attempt to project and enunciate clearly over the beat between split-second pauses for a breath. There is thus a physical component that one can master and use as an example of individual strength, reinforcing the competitive nature of rap. Who can best emulate musical form with lyrical content? Who has the ability to perform verses of such complexity and clarity that he will prove his mastery over his craft?
The reward is obvious: a million-dollar record deal. It is simple economics: if a conscious/political rapper like Common outsold 50 cent, we would see an emerging trend of rappers distancing themselves from the gangster image. It is a sad, simple truth that the market decides what a good rapper is. The distinct concepts of rap and gangsterism have become so synonymous in the general media that promoting anything but the status quo fails to meet market expectations. The only way to meet these expectations is not to sound different, but to sound like everyone else.
It is lyrically pretty easy to objectify women. I challenge even the best rapper alive to generate more rhymes and puns for “woman” than he can for “ho." Money and women, the great symbols of alpha-male dominance, can unfortunately be replaced by countless synonyms that work magnificently with a beat. Riches and bitches, dough and ho, ends and skins. This could even reflect a level of laziness on our part. If we don’t have the skill or motivation to rearrange sentences and find substitutes for offensive lyrics, our boasting about our talent seems somewhat disingenuous.
The question of whether rap beats influence rap lyrics or vice versa is irrelevant. DJs are as just as aware as rappers are of the demands of the hip-hop market, and compose beats that cater to dark or sexually aggressive lyrics. What results is a vicious cycle where up-and-coming lyricists who have followed the trends collaborate with producers who have also decided to be followers. The formula remains the same: the nastier the better.
It is easy to fall into the trap of the prototypical rapper, and it’s even harder to escape it. The problem of objectification of women in rap is not a racial or gender one, but stems completely from the power element of rap itself.
White rappers and black rappers engage in the same disrespectful rhetoric towards women, and many female rappers assume the character of the object-in-control, creating a platform of power based on female sexual authority. “You want my body, but I decide who gets it.” They thus flip the power dynamic, only to perpetuate its mirror image. Softer beats are still mixed with sexually explicit verses that objectify women under a manipulatively sensual guise. The brash thug is replaced by the smooth-talker, still with one goal in mind but sweeter on his way to it. She is still an object to be used, but an object that ought to be used and pleasured. The ethos of power, the concept of influence over women, is never absent.
There is no doubt that rap lyrics are often disrespectful and dehumanizing towards women. What many people fail to realize is that this is driven by economic factors more so than any outright disrespect for women on the part of the rappers themselves—the people behind the image. It literally pays to portray yourself as a powerful figure, and rap provides a platform to actually demonstrate your strength with diction rather than by singing or playing an instrument. Rap as an art form is conducive to sexual aggression and bravado, and it just so happens that aggression and bravado are keys to adulation and approval. I’ve experienced it myself—the crudest rhymes consistently get the best responses from my audiences. It’s a simple fact: if you keep laughing and clapping, I’ll keep saying "bitch."
- illicit
Rap is fundamentally based on overcoming struggle. If the trope of a verse is not about taking on a challenge, it is about reaching a goal. There are bitches to seduce, cops to dodge and gangs to battle; there are rants about the government and diatribes against the system; there are struggles with poverty and the daily grind, and in the absence of enemies without, there are struggles with adversaries within. I have used rap as a means to face my fears, a way to tackle personal issues like depression and diminish them by discussing them in front of everyone. One may argue that rappers nowadays, with the exception of a few, deal mostly with success—poppin’ bottles, poppin’ collars, etc. Celebrated success, however, presupposes a time of difficulty, or at the very least, years of hard work. You are merely hearing the voice of someone who’s already climbed the rough, jagged rocks and is describing the view from the peak.
Rap is about power, whether it be sought or celebrated. Power is influence, and money and sexual prowess are arguably the most common symbols of a man’s influence on the world around him. I am powerful because I get money and sex whenever I want it. No one can hold me down. I show a complete disregard for society’s rules, and rules say that I ought to respect women. Women thus become a concrete target for my rebellion against an abstract authority.
The rhythmic arrangement of words with beats is also a catalyst for aggressive lyrics. Perfecting one’s craft involves refining one’s lyrical delivery until it matches a tight rhythmic constraint. There is a cutting sharpness that is created in the attempt to project and enunciate clearly over the beat between split-second pauses for a breath. There is thus a physical component that one can master and use as an example of individual strength, reinforcing the competitive nature of rap. Who can best emulate musical form with lyrical content? Who has the ability to perform verses of such complexity and clarity that he will prove his mastery over his craft?
The reward is obvious: a million-dollar record deal. It is simple economics: if a conscious/political rapper like Common outsold 50 cent, we would see an emerging trend of rappers distancing themselves from the gangster image. It is a sad, simple truth that the market decides what a good rapper is. The distinct concepts of rap and gangsterism have become so synonymous in the general media that promoting anything but the status quo fails to meet market expectations. The only way to meet these expectations is not to sound different, but to sound like everyone else.
It is lyrically pretty easy to objectify women. I challenge even the best rapper alive to generate more rhymes and puns for “woman” than he can for “ho." Money and women, the great symbols of alpha-male dominance, can unfortunately be replaced by countless synonyms that work magnificently with a beat. Riches and bitches, dough and ho, ends and skins. This could even reflect a level of laziness on our part. If we don’t have the skill or motivation to rearrange sentences and find substitutes for offensive lyrics, our boasting about our talent seems somewhat disingenuous.
The question of whether rap beats influence rap lyrics or vice versa is irrelevant. DJs are as just as aware as rappers are of the demands of the hip-hop market, and compose beats that cater to dark or sexually aggressive lyrics. What results is a vicious cycle where up-and-coming lyricists who have followed the trends collaborate with producers who have also decided to be followers. The formula remains the same: the nastier the better.
It is easy to fall into the trap of the prototypical rapper, and it’s even harder to escape it. The problem of objectification of women in rap is not a racial or gender one, but stems completely from the power element of rap itself.
White rappers and black rappers engage in the same disrespectful rhetoric towards women, and many female rappers assume the character of the object-in-control, creating a platform of power based on female sexual authority. “You want my body, but I decide who gets it.” They thus flip the power dynamic, only to perpetuate its mirror image. Softer beats are still mixed with sexually explicit verses that objectify women under a manipulatively sensual guise. The brash thug is replaced by the smooth-talker, still with one goal in mind but sweeter on his way to it. She is still an object to be used, but an object that ought to be used and pleasured. The ethos of power, the concept of influence over women, is never absent.
There is no doubt that rap lyrics are often disrespectful and dehumanizing towards women. What many people fail to realize is that this is driven by economic factors more so than any outright disrespect for women on the part of the rappers themselves—the people behind the image. It literally pays to portray yourself as a powerful figure, and rap provides a platform to actually demonstrate your strength with diction rather than by singing or playing an instrument. Rap as an art form is conducive to sexual aggression and bravado, and it just so happens that aggression and bravado are keys to adulation and approval. I’ve experienced it myself—the crudest rhymes consistently get the best responses from my audiences. It’s a simple fact: if you keep laughing and clapping, I’ll keep saying "bitch."
- illicit
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