“I do believe that the reason so many black people identify so deeply with music so nihilistic and so abusive toward females is the place of therapeutic alienation in the black American soul. In my opinion, to hear that music as a reflection of oneself in any way means that something deep inside of you feels inadequate, so assuaged by a notion of black identity based on not being white as opposed to being something else that it feels natural to let the guns and sexism pass.”
- John McWhorter
Truer words were never spoken. It's something that I have wrestled with for the past several years in regards to a lot of rap music. I finally figured out where it started.
- John McWhorter
Truer words were never spoken. It's something that I have wrestled with for the past several years in regards to a lot of rap music. I finally figured out where it started.
Sometime during the fall of 2003...I kept staring at it and I wondered why?
There it was right next to my door in my dorm room. On the left side of my dresser where I kept my 16-inch television. I sat and stared at it from my couch for a while with my legs crossed and my feet on top of my coffee table. While taking another sip from my Coors Light bottle, a question popped into my head like the frying egg that almost left me blind as a toddler (that’s what I get for sticking my head over the stove). A question that I had not even bothered to consider at any point in my young life. On the bottom of the poster it read in black letters: 1971-1996. A bald, dark-skinned young man staring at me with his stage name shining above him.
2Pac.
Why the hell did I have a poster of this man? Even though I didn’t idolize him, why was I acting like a myrmidon? Did it make sense to have a picture of a man who embodied everything that was wrong with the thought process of young black males who were members of the underprivileged? A picture of a man who had talent and ability and relegated himself to a gangsta cartoon? It boggles the mind that I took him seriously at all.
Let it be known, I am not bashing Tupac. I am not trying to denigrate this man who died too young like so many people in my age demographic. I am trying to make a point here. When you have a poster of a rapper who, let’s be honest, glorified the thug life and died in a hail of gunfire then you are endorsing that life as acceptable behavior. It’s very hard for me to write this considering that I grew up in the birthplace of hip-hop (The Bronx) and grew up around poor black and brown people. My family didn’t have much money themselves, but I can honestly say that I enjoyed my childhood, received lots of love and attention and never went without a meal. I also grew up in a house where there were so many sounds coming from our speakers that my head spun trying to get around it all. Everything from Led Zeppelin to the sweet sounds of the Stylistics to the street-tough Run DMC to the alienated-white-suburban-youth-soundtrack of the Smashing Pumpkins (my favorite band of all time) all got play in my house. In other words: I challenge anyone to call me out of touch with the so-called black community.
It’s saddens and angers me that I am considered part of the “hip-hop generation” or even more ridiculous the “crack generation.” For some reason most black people in my generation, regardless of economic background and social status have been lumped into one of these categories. It’s affected me in various ways.
One incident in high school involved a couple of acquaintances and I. I had been on a month-long binge where I was listening to Foo Fighters and Rage Against the Machine nonstop and during one lunch period when I decided to switch over to Korn’s most recent album, a black friend of mine said: “Do you listen to any rap at all?”
I found myself having to defend something that didn’t need any defense. But for some reason as a young black teen, to say or even imply that you weren’t listening to rap at any period could be grounds for exile from the community and accusations of treason. This also works for people who aren’t black.
During my freshman year at St. Bonaventure University, I had a white female friend of mine who really loved rap music. It didn’t help her case that her favorite artists were artists that I loathed at the time. Nelly, Diddy (or was it P. Diddy back then) and Snoop Dogg. One day, while in her dorm room, “E.I.” came blasting out of her speakers and I started my usual complaint about how Nelly sucks.
“Do you listen to ANY rap?” Once again this, in my eyes, was meant as a put down. Here I had a white woman claiming that I wasn’t black enough simply because I didn’t listen to rap. Never mind that she never asked me what do I like, she just assumed that since I didn’t like those particular artists that I wasn’t a fan of rap music. In her eyes: shouldn’t all black people stick together and like the same things? She was taking away my "black card."
Back to high school: I remember one day vividly when I was at a meeting for the black student organization on campus (I usually don’t go to these things, but I gave it a shot that day). I’m not sure how the discussion started, but it somehow morphed into the topic of music. An acquaintance I’ll call “Mike” was sitting next to me and mentioned that he wasn’t a fan of rap music. The looks on the other black faces in the room suggested that he just cursed out Jesus and smacked Mary. How can a black teen not like rap music? Was this possible? Oh the horror!Mike then proceeded to explain that while he acknowledges it as a part of him in one way or another, he doesn’t have to like it (and he’s right). The rest of the group started to argue with him as to why he should like rap. I sat back in silence, shock and admiration of this display of groupthink.Do all Irish people like Celtic-influenced music? No. Do all Latin-Americans like Salsa, Meringue and Reggaeton? No. So why do Black-Americans have to like rap?
There it was right next to my door in my dorm room. On the left side of my dresser where I kept my 16-inch television. I sat and stared at it from my couch for a while with my legs crossed and my feet on top of my coffee table. While taking another sip from my Coors Light bottle, a question popped into my head like the frying egg that almost left me blind as a toddler (that’s what I get for sticking my head over the stove). A question that I had not even bothered to consider at any point in my young life. On the bottom of the poster it read in black letters: 1971-1996. A bald, dark-skinned young man staring at me with his stage name shining above him.
2Pac.
Why the hell did I have a poster of this man? Even though I didn’t idolize him, why was I acting like a myrmidon? Did it make sense to have a picture of a man who embodied everything that was wrong with the thought process of young black males who were members of the underprivileged? A picture of a man who had talent and ability and relegated himself to a gangsta cartoon? It boggles the mind that I took him seriously at all.
Let it be known, I am not bashing Tupac. I am not trying to denigrate this man who died too young like so many people in my age demographic. I am trying to make a point here. When you have a poster of a rapper who, let’s be honest, glorified the thug life and died in a hail of gunfire then you are endorsing that life as acceptable behavior. It’s very hard for me to write this considering that I grew up in the birthplace of hip-hop (The Bronx) and grew up around poor black and brown people. My family didn’t have much money themselves, but I can honestly say that I enjoyed my childhood, received lots of love and attention and never went without a meal. I also grew up in a house where there were so many sounds coming from our speakers that my head spun trying to get around it all. Everything from Led Zeppelin to the sweet sounds of the Stylistics to the street-tough Run DMC to the alienated-white-suburban-youth-soundtrack of the Smashing Pumpkins (my favorite band of all time) all got play in my house. In other words: I challenge anyone to call me out of touch with the so-called black community.
It’s saddens and angers me that I am considered part of the “hip-hop generation” or even more ridiculous the “crack generation.” For some reason most black people in my generation, regardless of economic background and social status have been lumped into one of these categories. It’s affected me in various ways.
One incident in high school involved a couple of acquaintances and I. I had been on a month-long binge where I was listening to Foo Fighters and Rage Against the Machine nonstop and during one lunch period when I decided to switch over to Korn’s most recent album, a black friend of mine said: “Do you listen to any rap at all?”
I found myself having to defend something that didn’t need any defense. But for some reason as a young black teen, to say or even imply that you weren’t listening to rap at any period could be grounds for exile from the community and accusations of treason. This also works for people who aren’t black.
During my freshman year at St. Bonaventure University, I had a white female friend of mine who really loved rap music. It didn’t help her case that her favorite artists were artists that I loathed at the time. Nelly, Diddy (or was it P. Diddy back then) and Snoop Dogg. One day, while in her dorm room, “E.I.” came blasting out of her speakers and I started my usual complaint about how Nelly sucks.
“Do you listen to ANY rap?” Once again this, in my eyes, was meant as a put down. Here I had a white woman claiming that I wasn’t black enough simply because I didn’t listen to rap. Never mind that she never asked me what do I like, she just assumed that since I didn’t like those particular artists that I wasn’t a fan of rap music. In her eyes: shouldn’t all black people stick together and like the same things? She was taking away my "black card."
Back to high school: I remember one day vividly when I was at a meeting for the black student organization on campus (I usually don’t go to these things, but I gave it a shot that day). I’m not sure how the discussion started, but it somehow morphed into the topic of music. An acquaintance I’ll call “Mike” was sitting next to me and mentioned that he wasn’t a fan of rap music. The looks on the other black faces in the room suggested that he just cursed out Jesus and smacked Mary. How can a black teen not like rap music? Was this possible? Oh the horror!Mike then proceeded to explain that while he acknowledges it as a part of him in one way or another, he doesn’t have to like it (and he’s right). The rest of the group started to argue with him as to why he should like rap. I sat back in silence, shock and admiration of this display of groupthink.Do all Irish people like Celtic-influenced music? No. Do all Latin-Americans like Salsa, Meringue and Reggaeton? No. So why do Black-Americans have to like rap?
While growing up, my mother was one of the few young women of color in the South Bronx with Kiss and Zeppelin posters in her bedroom. Thus, I grew up listening to a cacophony of sounds. Michael Jackson, Prince, Nirvana, Soundgarden, (my first favorite band), A Tribe Called Quest, Tool (second favorite band), Pink Floyd, The Isley Brothers and lots of other great rock, rap, R&B and shamelessly-pop music. I am very lucky in this sense. Anyone can have a conversation with me about the popular music they grew up on and I will always be able to relate to them.Last time I checked we live in America where, whether people like it or not, we mix and adopt elements of each others cultures on a daily basis. This affects everything we do: how we talk, walk, dance, laugh, love, hate and relate to each other. It should be no surprise that there are young Black-Americans who don’t like rap. There are probably some people in the American heartland that could care less about country music. Yet somehow this isn’t a bad reflection on them as members of the Caucasian group of Americans.
Now I do listen to a very good amount of rap music, but lately I’ve shied away from a huge chunk because it doesn’t sit well with me to listen to certain things being said that are pretty inappropriate (although context is very important). Rock and R&B have been more of a soundtrack to my life and I refuse to hear something like “Ain’t No Nigga” by Jay-Z and opine for the days of my youth. I refuse to be defined by a culture that doesn’t share my values. I still listen to it, but it’s now from more of a distance. Some people might say just live your life and you’ll never have a problem with being defined by anything but your actions. But if that were true, (and this is particularly for my fellow people of color) you wouldn’t look at your friend that way if he happened to blast The Killers instead of Killer Mike.
By the way, I like Jay-Z.
Now I do listen to a very good amount of rap music, but lately I’ve shied away from a huge chunk because it doesn’t sit well with me to listen to certain things being said that are pretty inappropriate (although context is very important). Rock and R&B have been more of a soundtrack to my life and I refuse to hear something like “Ain’t No Nigga” by Jay-Z and opine for the days of my youth. I refuse to be defined by a culture that doesn’t share my values. I still listen to it, but it’s now from more of a distance. Some people might say just live your life and you’ll never have a problem with being defined by anything but your actions. But if that were true, (and this is particularly for my fellow people of color) you wouldn’t look at your friend that way if he happened to blast The Killers instead of Killer Mike.
By the way, I like Jay-Z.
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