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 Roots to Rap
Rahiel Tesfamariam
Columnist Page
Friday, November 26, 2004; Page 14
Once Upon a Time, We Pumped Our Fists
Life is very ironic sometimes. It was my intention to write about what I believed to be the essence of Hip-Hop this week after my discussion of the “Cultural Marketplace” in the last issue. The outline was completely mapped out in mind until I received a call from a dear friend, Maurice Whatley, who is a 21-year-old rapper striving to find his way into the industry.
Reese, as we call him, has big city dreams (a fanatic of the New York City lifestyle and culture) but small town roots (born, raised and living in Anniston, Alabama). While our experiences have served to and continue to remind us that we come from two very different worlds, our desire to influence the world around us has been the very thing that merges those two worlds together.
I heard the disappointment and frustration in his voice, as he explained that his producers keep trying to turn his music into club bangers while he seeks to deliver what he believes to be “real Hip-Hop”.
“They’re killing the spirit of the new artist,” he said, as I scribbled his unrehearsed words onto notebook paper. “Everybody can’t relate to that. All the A&R reps. want is what the public is buying. I don’t know if it’s the public or the record label. Everybody’s confused. You take it to the record label and all they ask is ‘where’s the hit?’. It’s poison. It’s sickening. It’s brainwashed Hip-Hop,” Reese concluded after having spoken very patiently about something that has troubled a lot of people for a very long time.
When I think about rap’s origins in the alleys and corners of places like the Bronx, how graffiti once immortalized heroes and their messages, how clothing and hairstyles once served as methods of social rebellion, how artists and their lyrics once scared the FBI so much they opened up cases on them, and how what you saw in a music video spoke to what you witnessed in your neighborhood, I have to wonder when Hip-Hop stopped being a movement and started being the very thing that we had to move away from.
No one is saying that Hip-Hop should be abolished, because it’s so much more than just music; it’s a whole generation’s culture. But as I once heard from an entertainment lawyer: “We must stop making excuses for these artists and hold them accountable. The same way that Al Pachino isn’t a poverty stricken Cuban is the same way that Ice Cube isn’t walkin’ that talk”.
Doug E. Fresh (known as “the first human beatbox in the world”) has told our elders that they can’t start what they didn’t create but Common Sense, who is oftentimes categorized as a conscience rapper, has said, “I learned that I have a responsibility to myself, my people and God.”
In Jay Z’s recently released documentary “Fade to Black”, the rap mogul asks a young artist on his record label why he doesn’t create music that better captures who he is as a person and concluded after hearing the artist’s response that the public makes rappers scared to be themselves. Perhaps if Jay Z’s belief that if you “put the right artist and the right track in the studio with the door cracked and you let God in” is true, then more artists have to leave their work susceptible to divine influence, rather than retail demands.
For Rahiel Tesfamariam send email to rahielt@washingtoninformer.com. |
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