My first (and more than likely only) Utah Christmas has come and gone. What does this have to do with hip-hop you say. Ah, only everything. One of gifts this year was Jay-Z's new memoir titled 'Decoded', which purports to break down the story behind the songs. I was a little skeptical at first, but the book is very insightful (whether he wrote it or not) and the layout is real nice. But I digress.
A major theme of the book is the role hip-hop has played in defining this generation of African-American males and just how terrifying that definition is to most of America. Jay quotes a famous Biggie line that concisely displays this them:
Look at our parents, they even fuckin' scared of us...
Jay-Z's life is undoubtedly worthy of a memoir. The story of the rise of a young black man from the Marcy projects to being in Forbes magazine is enough, and really Jay-Z's entire career has been centered on telling that story from start to finish. But what has always made Jay-Z's music special is that his story is incredibly normal despite it's exaggerated nature. While he may tell it eloquently, the theme has always been the struggles of what has come to be known as the hip-hop generation
But even the label of hip-hop generation is misleading, for the message of the hip-hop generation is omnipresent, but it is one white America is often hesitant to confront. Go to any urban center and you will see the same problems. You will see the dilapidated public schools, corrupt local governments, police brutalizing, and the ever-increasing amount of young black people being put into the prison system. Despite this, there seems to be a consensus from white America: we have done enough.
It is no secret that America's discussion of race has stalled. And what this has led to is a view of African-Americans that is still defined by a homogenization of stereotypes. This can be said for hip-hop as well, and it is something that Jay-Z indirectly addresses throughout his memoir. He often complains that there is much more to his music than many have given him credit for, and this is a statement that applies on a much broader scale. In his book Decoded he writes:
To tell the story of the kid with the gun without telling the story of why he has it is to tell a kind of lie. To tell the story of the pain without telling the story of the rewards is...a different kind of evasion. To talk about killing niggas dead without talking about waking up int he middle of the night from a dream about the friend you watched die, or not getting to sleep in the first place because you're so paranoid from the work you're doing, is a lie so deep it's criminal. Jay-Z tells the story of the hip-hop generation with this statement: there are more complexities existing within the hip-hop generation than many care to admit. And this gets to a much deeper point. Not only do many not want to examine these complexities and lend a critical thought to what it means to be black in America in the present day, but there still exists a deep, visceral fear of African-Americans that many refuse to confront.
And this applies very much to my rather liberal Utah community. There seems to be a notion that most will vote for a black president and espouse liberal ideals, but for most people's comfort levels concerning race ends. Jay-Z once wrote on The Black Album that he had '...demons deep inside that would raise when confronted'. This is an incredibly telling statement for the hip-hop generation. And while Jay-Z has made a career from speaking for the hip-hop generation, is a message that still hasn't been heard by most.
For this selection, there was no doubt. Kanye West may have created not only the best hip-hop album this year, but the best album period. As the release date for this album approached, people were expecting big things. Kanye was on a roll with his G.O.O.D. Friday series and even went to the lengths of creating a short-film to promote the album. We all knew that RZA, Pete Rock, Pusha, No I.D., and Q-Tip were hanging out with Kanye in Hawaii as he was putting the finishes touches on the album, and we all struggled to predict what would be the result of an album they all said was incredible. But even with all these factors that pointed towards My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasybeing all sorts of fantastic, I don't think anyone expected anything like this.
What Kanye has created with his latest album may very well be his masterpiece; his album that helps redefine what rap music is, and this is due to multiple factors. As with every Kanye album, the production is unparalleled. From the triumphant 'All of the Lights' to the more understated 'Blame Game' and 'Runaway', Kanye seems to be able to combine where hip-hop has been to where hip-hop should go. But one of the most common knocks against Kanye is that his rapping skills would keep him from creating that era defining album. And then he created 'Gorgeous', a song that may be the lyrical song of the year:
I was lookin' at my resume Feelin' real fresh today They rewrite history I don't believe in yesterday And what's a black beetle anyway? A fucking roach? I guess that's why they got me sittin' in fuckin' coach
But this album is more than just the epic beats and Kanye's best rhymes to date. This album is something only Kanye West could have created. From the moments of unrelenting bravado on 'Power' to the self-deprecating moments on 'Runaway', the album shows the power hip-hop (an all music) can have when raw emotion is channeled through a talented vessel.
Almost a decade ago, Jay-Z created the now legendary Blueprint and it's supposed theme was that it would be what all hip-hop artists would try to emulate going forward. People did try to emulate it, but what made it so special is that no one truly could recreate it. When listening to Kanye West's My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, this realization comes back even stronger. It's easy to see that this album, hyperbole aside, will be the benchmark for the coming decade. It is, in essence, the next decades blueprint. But it's also easy to see that it will be a blueprint that all will fall hopelessly short of, perhaps even the creator himself. This is a testament to the completely uncompromising work Kanye West has created, and it certainly is not only the best album of this past year, but an album many will be trying to catch up to for years to come.
In many ways, Big Boi's long delayed album Sir Lucious Left Foot represents the state of modern hip-hop in it's current retrofuturism movement as it is attempted to be molded by the record label forces that be. Big Boi's album had become as famous as Dr. Dre'sDetox for it's seemingly never ending delays. But while listening to this album there is one question that pops into one's mind: Who in there right mind would delay the release of this album?
Big Boi has often been thought of as the other guy in Outkast, and when many heard that his solo album was finally going to see the light of day, many were skeptical. It was possible to think of Andre without Big Boi but impossible to think of Big Boi without Andre. It's now fair to say that there is no 'other member' in Outkast as Big Boi has proven that he was more than a passenger in creating Outkast's funked out southern beats that have come to define the Atlanta duo. That same sound that defined Outkast is in full force on Sir Lucious Left Foot.
However, to say this album was just a throwback to the Outkast days would be missing the other half of it's greatness. On songs like 'Follow Us', Big Boi succeeds where many have failed in creating a hip-hop song crossed with a dash of indie rock as Vonnegut makes a guest appearance. But the theme of this album is there is always more, and while the unbelievable sound of this album is enough to wow the listener, the lyrics are what elevate it to the next level.
Big Boi celebrates the past while reminding us all that he is still one of the best rappers in the present. He plays the part of street connoisseur, conscious rapper, disgruntled veteran, and the sweet talker. What it all combines to make is one of the most refreshing albums in hip-hop. It is neither revolutionary nor formulaic. It has the songs that are clearly meant for mainstream play (like Shutterbug and Tangerine), but they still have a certain twist that Big Boi throws in to make them a little more unique, whether it's the thumping bass on Tangerine or the funked out Shutterbug. It's just one of the best albums of the year, choke full of great songs from start to finish, that never seems to get boring to listen to. And all from one of the most unappreciated artist in hip-hop. Big Boi - Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty
Ok, I know, it's not a hip-hop album. But Cee-Lo is perhaps the greatest dual threat when it comes to singing and rapping. From his days with the legendary Goodie Mobb to his more recent works as the singing member of Gnarls Barkley, it's fair to say that Cee Lo's talents are diverse. And for that reason, coupled with the fact that Cee Lo's newest solo album titled The Lady Killer is irresistibly great, Cee Lo finds himself on this list.
Of course, when most people think of Cee Lo these days they think of the smash 'Fuck You' which is most definitely one of my favorite songs of 2010. But Cee-Lo's album is so much more than the one hit. Cee-Lo's gift, whether he is rapping or singing, has always been his soulful voice and it is on full display here as he creates an album that immediately transports the listener to the time of Motown and soul.
In an interview conducted in the midst of the the 'Fuck You' madness that swept across the country, Cee Lo said that the song was about the music industry, and on closer examination this makes perfect sense. The music industry has been notorious for it's mishandling of a talent such as Cee-Lo. And you have to wonder if 'Fuck You' wasn't a demand by the label in order to have an easily marketable single.Of course, in true Cee-Lo style, 'Fuck You' is not your normal single. It's still musically glorious and, of course, has the profane chorus that is undoubtedly directed at the music industry. But despite the enigma that is Cee-Lo, he has managed to create what is not only one of the most unique albums of this year, but one of the albums that is simply the most fun to listen to. And, for once, people are finally realizing his talents.
The Roots have become hip-hop's consummate professionals. Evidence of this fact can be found on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, but it has more to do with the remarkable consistency of The Roots without the benefit of a true smash hit or what one would define as a typical classic album. Still, The Roots not only perform one of the best live shows in hip-hop, but they are also able to put out a new album every so often that sounds like it's just a little bit further ahead than everything else everyone is trying, and that is certainly the feeling that their latest album, How I Got Over, presents.
The album features the same unbelievable production that seems to be formulaic for The Roots, but would be revolutionary for everyone else. It also features the rhymes of Black Thought, one of the most underrated rappers of this era. But the Roots also branch out slightly on this album, calling on the services of the Monsters of Folk and Joanna Newsome.
With all of the indie rock guest appearances and the late night show, it's easy to think The Roots have gotten complacent. That their music has perhaps become a little too business. However, on multiple listens to How I Got Over this thought is easily dispelled. For most other groups, The Roots subject matter would immediately earn them the label of conscious rap. The Roots, for the most part, escape this categorization. This is mainly because The Roots have created their own lane in rap, and there is no other musician (or group of musicians) to even compare them to. In an age where flash is one of the several defining themes, The Roots still manage to make great music and people still manage to depreciate it.
Hip-hop is motivational music. It's hard to listen to legends such as Rakim and Jay-Z and think that you are doing enough with your life. This makes sense when one studies hip-hop and realizes that one of the defining themes in the genres history is making something out of nothing. This is why hip-hop was birthed out of the concrete jungle of the South Bronx with little other than a crate full of old disco and soul records and a speaker system.
However, with the multi-billion dollar industry that it has grown into it's tough to recognize those roots sometimes. With artists like Kanye making a short-film to help promote his own album, it's fair to say hip-hop is no longer an underground genre. However, the modern music industry presents complications. With record companies completely unwilling to take risks in an era of depleted record sales, many artists are left to fend from themselves. And where most artists flounder under such weight, Big K.R.I.T. rises with one of the best, and certainly the most motivational, hip-hop album of 2010.
In an era of hip-hop consumerism, Big K.R.I.T. stands out as an artist on his own. Complaining on the song 'Viktorious', "I'm making my own beats what the fuck!" this album displays the thoughts, ambitions, and frustrations of a young artist with the music industry that he desperately needs to break into. Even the title suggest a person anxious to leave their mark on the world whether others want him to or not. And even though he had to write insightful lyrics, produce his own beats, and ultimately distribute his own album, it's fair to say that mark has been made.
Days after his K.R.I.T. Wuz Here was released, labels came knocking at his door. They will undoubtedly be looking for the next 'Country Shit' or the next 'Children of the World', but what is on full display in the career of Big K.R.I.T. is the embodiment of hip-hop traditionalism. He is an artist that no label expected anything from, and while that is a shame and it shows the continued dysfunctional relationship between hip-hop artists and hip-hop labels, it have been for the best. In an era of hip-hop consumerism, Big K.R.I.T. was forced to return to the hip-hop tradition of making your voice heard by any means necessary and with it created one of the most unexpected hits of this year.
Hip-hop, like any genre, is subject to classification. Hip-hop fans obsess over categorizing what is real hip-hop and what isn't, whether something is conscious rap, cocaine rap, gangster rap or any of the other countless subgenres. This practice is hardly unique to music, it can be found in studies of literature to cinema. But every once in a while their comes along a musician, artist, or author that seems to defy classification. They seem to defy everything their genre portrays and stand out from the lineage of progression along which most others can be found.
This is certainly the case when listening to Shad's TSOL. Make no mistake, the album features your traditional hip-hop beats and it's focus is still the clever wordplay that has been the focal point of hip-hop for over two decades. But none the less something about Shad seems different. Perhaps it's that he's from London, Ontario (which is perhaps the least likely hip-hop setting of all time) but Shad seems to be outside of the hip-hop tradition yet steeped in it at the same time.
A fine example of this can be found on the song 'Keep Shining' which decries the absence of woman in hip-hop in what is the most appropriate example of self-reflection any hip-hop artist has displayed on the subject in a while. And in reality, the song not only applies to hip-hop but to American society in general. Shad pin-points a fact that few can grasp in a mere three minutes: equality has less to do with a shallow mirage of acceptance and more to do with a deep understanding of the other and this can only be gained through letting others do and speak for themselves. This lyric can truly be transformed to almost every aspect of American society:
I talk to women I just can't talk for women, that's for you We need women for that, more women in rap
Shad will undoubtedly be labeled a 'conscious rapper', and this is truly a shame. Not only is his wordplay some of the cleverest I have heard all year, but to pigeonhole an artist like this is a mistake. Shad is so unique it's tough to make sense of him. He raps about typical conscious rap subjects but does so in his own creative way that still focuses on creative writing as well as important subject matter. He's a Kenyan born Canadian bred rapper working on his Masters in Liberal Studies. He's an artist too unique for specific categorization and that's what makes this album so uniquely great.
Sometimes the familiar is best. In a new age of hip-hop where ringtones can make a rapper it's comforting, and in some ways precocious, to go back to what made hip-hop what it is. This is not to say that modern hip-hop is dead, as so many like to say, and I hope this list proves at least that. But for every album like Black Milk's Album of the Year, which strains the limits of what we thought hip-hop could do, it's important to have an album that falls back on hip-hop's traditions, a meat and potatoes album if you will.
In this age of hip-hop futurism, Freeway and Jake One have delivered that classic hip-hop meat and potato album that is full of all the genre's staples. Freeway's tough talk rhymes are laid perfectly against Jake One's head nodding beats full of soul samples. And if you had any doubt of what this album was going to sound like, Freeway and Jake One clear all doubts with the opener, 'Throw Your Hands Up', which just has a sound that seems to perfectly describe what a pure hip-hop should be.
And while the formula may seem simple, Freeway and Jake One prove that less can mean more. With the passing of Guru of Gang Starr it's becoming increasingly clear that the close relationship between rapper and producer is disappearing. Very rarely is an entire album produced by one person as artists increasingly focus on appealing to a wide audience and hire different producers to create the soundscape they desire. But it becomes clear that with Jake One producing the entirety of The Stimulus Package that the producer-rapper relationship is still incredibly important.
But this album is about more than simply trying to recapture the golden era of hip-hop. Upon one listen of this album, it's clear that it's not incredibly marketable. It wasn't going to get a whole lot of publicity and it wasn't going to garner much financial success. But Freeway lays out the purpose of the album later in the album when he raps:
I am not going to hate on the state of hip-hop In fact, all I'm here to do is give you real rap
While a simple line, this type of work is becoming a scarce commodity. In an age when far too many rappers are trying to grab a piece of the seemingly boundless hip-hop market, Freeway and Jake One deliver something that many people are forgetting: real rap.
It's no secret that hip-hop receives it's fair share of criticism, and sometimes rightfully so. But one of the criticisms that I have always felt has been completely ungrounded is the argument that hip-hop is far too nihilistic; far too angry. The argument typically goes that a certain old person heard some random rap song on the radio (which usually isn't the best barometer for what most fans of the genre would consider truly good hip-hop music) and were disgusted by how angry it sounded, how in your face it was, and how it lacked any constructive message like all that great music that was released when that person was growing up in the 1960's.
It takes little immersion in the hip-hop genre to realize how ridiculous the argument that rap is hopelessly vapid is and the latest album for Reflection Eternal, comprised of Talib Kweli and Hi-Tek, sheds light on the absurdity. Rap excels at being the modern realist poetry and truly great rappers are able to rhyme about something many people are feeling but in incredibly complex and nuanced patterns. This is precisely what Talib Kweli does on the song 'Ballad of the Black Gold':
There is no other genre that could possibly display the far-reaching consequences of our societies addiction to fossil fuels in such a nuanced way as when Talib Kweli pens:
Loyalty to petroleum royalty spoiled the economy We won't get it poppin' till we oil free If you're oil rich then we invadin' They call it occupation but we losin' jobs across the nation
But perhaps it isn't that hip-hop is as nihilistic as it has been portrayed. Maybe it's just proudly declaring a message that most of America doesn't want to hear. But in this fact lies hip-hop's greatest strength. At it's best, it is almost viciously unapologetic, holding up a world that most would rather ignore. When one listens to an album like RPM they can't help but notice that most hip-hop is not vapid at all, but instead irresistibly engaging.
Collaboration albums always seem to come out a disappointment. This may be the result of the initial collective fan freakout that inevitably follows when it is discovered that successful artist X is pairing with successful artist Y for a full length album and the resultant let down when all realize it's not an instant classic that will redefine rap. Too often concerning hip-hop collaborative albums, the whole is not greater than the sum of it's parts, but less than. Sorry Aristotle.
While collaboration albums always seem like a great idea in theory, they have proven to be incredibly difficult to numerous pairings in reality. This may be because it's difficult enough to create a coherent full length album as an individual, but once another artist with entirely different artistic visions enters the fray the album becomes disjuncted. Or it may be because collaboration requires just that, full collaboration, and without that close artistic relationship the album is doomed to mediocrity.
With all the potential pitfalls, it was understandable that when Nas and Damian Marley announced they were uniting forces for a full length album titled Distant Relatives the fan reaction was split between skeptical and anxiously anticipatory. After all, collaborations are tough enough, but uniting two artists from two different genres seemed like a daunting task. Leading up to the release it seemed fair to ask if this would be a hip-hop album, a reggae album, or both. And if both, could the two artists make it work?
However, where other collaborations fail, Distant Relatives excels as both artists feel at home at all points on the album and neither feels like they are being pulled in a certain direction. This may be due to the focused topic of the album. Most collaborations lack any unified feel and the listener leaves feeling that the two artists just went into the booth to showcase their individual talents and see what happens. This is not the case on Distant Relatives. Both Nas and Damian Marley have become famous for their ghetto stories and becoming a voice for the voiceless. In this sense, the uniting of these two artists makes perfect sense and provides the strength that brings their album onto this list. As is usually the case, Nas' lyrical verbosity is on full display throughout the album and he gives a very apt description for the entire hip-hop generation in a mere two lines when he raps on the song 'My Generation':
Can you blame a generation subject to gentrification Depicting their frustrations over ill instrumentations
This theme of being the voice for the hip-hop nation is what makes this work so ambitious and so powerful. It goes beyond speaking simply for those in American ghettos all across the country and acknowledges the fact that all of the problems that have created our American ghettos and the racial underclass exists around the world. For over a decade now, hip-hop has been a global genre celebrated and loved around the world. This album, with two seemingly very different artists, creates a sound that may be defined as global hip-hop, and without the collaborative effort I doubt the message would have been so powerful.
While Black Milk's ambitiously titled album may have fallen a little short of it's namesake, it is still one of the most forward pushing albums of the year. Known for his producing more so than his rapping, Black Milk attempts to push hip-hop in a burgeoning new direction away from prototypical hip-hop beats and into something that more closely resembles a cross between soul/jazz/funk/rock/whatever else you may think of. With most hip-hop albums one listens too, it's tough to conceptualize how it would play in a live performance. However, hip-hop has grown and with it the expectations for live hip-hop has grown as well and fans are starting to require unique experiences that go past a DJ in the background waving a towel around and shouting into a microphone every fifth word to pass as musical accompaniment.
And in this sense of expanding what live hip-hop is capable of, Black Milk excels. With several big acts now touring regularly with a live band, Black Milk reaches even further and creates an album that begs for a live performance. This is the case for songs such as Keep Going and Gospel Psychedelic Rock as on the former Black Milk creates a beat that seemingly only he could create and on the latter creates a beat that is oozing with Detroit's musical heritage.
However, the album is not without it's missteps. At times, it feels Black Milk is reaching too far artistically to pioneer that brand new sound that hip-hop and it's fans are constantly searching for. But it's hard to truly be upset by the missteps. Black Milk has constantly prided himself on progressing hip-hop, particularly as a producer, and when trying something that has rarely been tried there are sure to be missteps. But overall he produces a work that few else could or would even dare to try, and even though I may be showing a slight hometown bias, I believe he deserves the credit.
The year is indeed winding to an end and with that ends another year of music that has been quite amazing. While T.I. and Weezy have both seen the extended jail time that will occasionally become intertwined in the career of your favorite rapper, hip-hop is also witnessing the rise of it's next generation with stars such as Drake, and depending on who you ask, this may be the next death of hip-hop.
Whether you have love for the new stars that are emerging or not, hip-hop is strangely becoming a genre that revels in it's albeit rather recent antiquity while still striving forward, and this makes the current of era of hip-hop quite interesting. Hip-hop has always been a genre defiant of the ever-present 'establishment', but it is increasingly becoming a genre divided against itself. This may be a result of the now well-documented transition of rap from a grassroots to a commercialized genre or it may simply be a generational difference. A new generation of hip-hop fans are coming of age, and to these fans hip-hop's golden age is nothing but ancient history.
However, for every movement there is a counter-movement and as the new generation of fans have flocked to the likes of Drake and the rest of the Young Money roster, it has forced other artists not just back to the booth to attempt to redefine the greatness that was exhibited in the Golden Era of hip-hop, but also to push the genre forward. So here hip-hop stands, a genre defiant against itself, grasping at it's past while pushing itself towards the future. And I believe many of the albums I will come to describe do that incredibly well.
But before I go any further, let me stress that while I may view this as a top list, it is just that MY top list. I went by nothing other than my pure enjoyment and paid absolutely no mind to record sales, 'hotness', or whatever else you may think of that might cause disagreement.
Before I get into this sure to be epic list that I'm sure will come to define hip-hop music in the year 2010, here are some of my favorite tracks/videos/mixtapes that simply can't be ignored.
Sweet Jesus. I know Rick Ross is a huge phony. I know that the whole persona this song is based on is fabricated and I've never really been able to fully get into his music because of it. But, once again, Sweet Jesus. The best way to describe this song: HUGE.
Another enormously popular song from this past year, and for this one I can't for the life of my figure out why I love it so much. I am, admittedly, susceptible to a nice city anthem (Whatup Pittsburgh!) and the question of whether I have or have not been to that city is completely irrelevant. Or maybe it's the infectious hook and celebratory beat. Or maybe it's just that Wiz Khalifa sounds so excited about having a huge year and this sound oozes with excitement. Whatever it is, I haven't been able to tear away and haven't really wanted to. As previously mentioned, it was part of a big year for Wiz as his Kush and Orange Juice mixtape also got heavy play.
If there is one fear I have that is totally lacking in an experience, it is rural poverty. That statement is even truer concerning rural poverty in the south. It's a terrifying world that seems completely foreign. The sense of nihilism that Yelawolf portrays in 'Pop The Trunk' does nothing to alleviate these fears but rather exacerbates them.
Speaking of hip-hop trying to get back to it's roots while still striving forward, the Cool Kids manged to get away from their seemingly unceasing label drama to release one incredibly solid mixtape titled 'Tacklebox'. Chuck English really comes into his own as a producer on this.
Speaking of label troubles, it's a real same that this song wasn't on one of the albums that is one of the ten best albums of the past year because it was one of the best of 2010. Hip-hop versus hip-hop labels are one of those never ending conflicts.
Rap, at it's best, is about hustle. It's about being heard when no one else is able, or willing, to speak for you. Hustle was perhaps the greatest characteristic of rap in the 1990's that produced many of the genres biggest stars and best music. Without romanticizing the hip-hop golden era too much, to ignore the differences in financial opportunities for rappers in in the 1990's and 2000's would be a mistake. Hip-hop of the 90's represented more of a grassroots movement, and like most successful grassroots movements, in the 2000's it became an establishment.
As hip-hop not only became artistically, but also financially, established some of that artistic work ethic was lost. One of the biggest developments of the 2000's has been the emergence of the rapper as entrepreneur. Countless artists have translated their musical careers into acting and business careers to make even more money in a modern musical landscape that is becoming less financially viable. Unfortunately, this has had numerous negative effects on hip-hop music, with two being the most important.
Firstly, the attention of the rapper/actor/businessman is inevitably divided. When they go in the studio for an album, if they go in at all, rapping isn't their only job, it's only a part time job. Secondly, because many rappers have diversified their sources of income, rap no longer becomes essential for their prosperity. If 50 Cent or Jay-Z releases an album that flops, their will be almost no financial impact. Subconsciously, it keeps a rapper hungry if he's rhyming to put food on the table.
If there is any positive that can be found from skittish record labels refusing to take a chance on new artists, it's that it accentuates hunger and encourages a return to the hustle prevalent in the 1990's, and this is something evident in Big K.R.I.T. from Mississippi.
On his self-released and free debut album K.R.I.T. Waz Here, his hunger is on full display as he often somewhat brags and somewhat complains that he has had to make his own beats. Even the album title suggests a solitariness from an artist that is determined to leave his mark even if others are seemingly disinterested. This theme carried over into his video for 'Hometown Hero' as he is the only soul you see in the entire video.
It is rare that an artist releases an album for free on the internet and in the week that follows has record label representatives knocking on his door ready to sign him to a deal, but this is exactly what happened with Big K.R.I.T. But the question is, would Big K.R.I.T.'s debut have been as powerful and raw if his path was made easy and those record labels had come earlier? As is often the case, the toughest times in one's life can bring out the hustle in just about any person. The degree to which Big K.R.I.T.'s struggle to gain recognition affected his album will never be known, but it is fairly certain that it didn't hurt.
Hip-hop, unlike any other genre, prides itself on the reality it supposedly represents. It is a genre of music that sometimes seems to go out of its way to be controversial and hip-hop as a whole usually retorts the controversy, whether it be about sex, drugs or violence, by saying they are simply rapping about reality.
However, with the rise of commercial viability in rap has come the unexpected decline of not only authenticity, but also the importance that term carries. Today, it has become a genre that has become infiltrated by fabrication. This is not to say that fabrication hasn't always existed in hip-hop. With hip-hop's growth has also come the growth of the hip-hop fan and many today realize that even though many rappers speak about selling drugs and what not, most have done a small fraction of what they actually claim. However, this has become accepted by the hip-hop fan where before it was a was not.
The clear case in this instant is Rick Ross, who has created a complete fabrication of a life that involves him growing up in Dade County in Miami and coming up through being, seemingly, the biggest cocaine dealer the region has ever seen. Of course, it was revealed this was not true (he instead was a correctional officer, ironically), yet this did little to damage his career.
So the question to be raised is this: Does authenticity even matter in today's rap game? Freddie Gibbs, on his latest EP provides a nihilistic and often terrifying yes. Claiming to rap that 'real reality rap' the listener finds something that Rick Ross and the likes lack, which is truth, in all it's exuberant pain. And as is often the case for those that grow up dirt poor in some of America's most depressed areas, the truth isn't pretty and it's, at times, frightening.
This is exemplified very well in the track National Anthem (Fuck the World). While it includes all the drug posturing made famous long before Gibbs, the artist is able to lend an authenticity that expresses a vengeful pride that has grown from a nightmarish setting that is all too real.
While Freddie Gibbs remains an artist lacking any sort of marketability with this EP, this may be to the benefit of the listener. To take away the the volatility and darkness of Freddie Gibbs would be to take away what has formed his world and thus destroy his greatest strenght: rapping that real reality rap, which, it turns out, still does matter.
As I've noted before, athletics and hip-hop often intersect with both being highly-competitive in nature. Recently, the ever-controversial Milton Bradley said he was the Kanye West of baseball, and really the comparison is fairly accurate. Both have been known to be highlyvolatile and both have been known to call out whitepeople. All in all, I think the comparison is pretty accurate. Both have loads of potential, and while Kanye is slightly more consistent professionally, both have drawn constant ire from white America.
But Milton's claim got me thinking, what are other rappers baseball equivalents?
Josh Hamilton = Lil' Wayne
Both these phenoms were introduces to fame at a young age, and it's fair to say that it messed both of their lives up. While Wayne joined Cash Money Records as a young teenager, Josh Hamilton was drafted by the Tampa Bay Devil Rays straight out of high school. Both are loaded with potential and have showed it in flashes, but have been derailed at one point or another by drug addictions, Weezy by the sizzurp and Hamilton by the crack, alcohol, and pretty much every other drug ever it seems. To go along with their drug addictions, they both love getting tattoos while under the influence. Both have claimed to have gottenclean, but a setback is always just around the corner. The common theme between the two? Just think of what they could have done and could still do sober!
Jay-Z = Alex Rodriguez
The talents of these two men are undeniable, and they both know it. It is well documented that Hov's biggest fan has always been Hov, and the same can be said about the obsessively narcissistic A-Rod whose 10 year $252 Million deal with the Texas Rangers in the 2000 disgusted fans. Both have been known to use slightly questionable tactics in their rise to the top, as Jay has been accused of backstabbing on more than one occasion and A-Rod used the juice, despite being seemingly one of the best players without it. At the end of their day, both are some of the greatest ever, but they have their share of detractors. And both have been known to spar with the next pair, both of whom were considered the King Of New York at the time.
Derek Jeter = Nas
Just as Jay-Z and A-Rod are considered to be some of the best, so are these two but without as much flash. Once again, the talent is undeniable and in their prime both were considered the King of NY. As previously stated, both had verbal spats with the previous two on this list and both are judged to have come out on top.
Dontrelle Willis = The Game
What a bright start both of these young men had, but personality disorders have left many fans scratching their heads. While Willis was the NL Rookie of the Year in 2003 and won 22 games in 2005, he has been derailed by an anxiety disorder ever since arriving in Detroit. While The Game has not been diagnosed, he has exhibited very irrational and emotional behavior, often asking forgiveness and expressing love for a fellow artist one day, then dissing them the next, then claiming he didn't mean it the day after that. Just as Dontrelle Willis on the disabled list is a common sight, so is an image of an emotionally distraught Game. The common thread between the two is the constant belief that if they could just put a lid on those mental problems, greatness would follow.
Speaking of The Game, here's a new track from his upcoming album produced by the Neptunes.
A couple of the greatest right here, but both have the unfortunate quality of turning towards substance abuse in times of stress. Following the death of his close friend and fellow rapper Big Proof, Eminem became addicted to sleeping pills while the stress of carrying the Tigers anemic 2009 offense drove Miguel Cabrera to a drunkness that many thought impossible. Even with these debilitating addictions, both have thrived and the promise of sobriety and a stable method of stress management suggests continued greatness, or so we Tiger fans hope.
Modern hip-hop can often be characterized by one dilemma: to go for big sales or to make an artistic masterpiece. Unfortunately, in hip-hop the two rarely overlap. However, to display this as a purely a modern problem is incorrect. Even in the mid-90's, when Biggie was making 'Hypnotize', there was a focus on making tracks that could be played in the club and on the radio which usually translate into much bigger sales. While Biggie was talented enough to rap about pretty much anything he wanted and was as much in his element with songs like 'Hypnotize' as with 'Gimme The Loot', other artists struggle with this dichotomy.
This struggle has been accentuated, particularly in the past decade as illegal downloading has risen to prominence. With album sales drastically falling, record labels demand that an artist have at least one radio ready single that will ensure record sales. Translated, this means that the album must have a couple songs that white kids will like and will make them buy the album, as this has become the market which now purchases the most hip-hop albums. It can be argued that this shift in the market is what has called the so-called 'death' of hip-hop, and it is where this modern dilemma is rooted.
A fine example of an artist stuck in record label purgatory is Rhymefest. The self-defined working man rapper, his debut Blue Collar displayed the dilemma well as it featured great songs like 'Devils Pie' but also abysmal songs such as 'Brand New', which shows Rhymefest struggling to come up with his own commercially viable hit.
Of course, Rhymefest is at his best when not worrying about his radio spins or about how many people are buying his records. Unfortunately, this is the last thing his record label wants to hear and it has forced his second album to the shelves for years now despite a promising debut.
This type of treatment is typical in hip-hop. Years ago, there were protests when Fiona Apple's album was shelved by her label from outraged fans, but Rhymefest is far from the first talented hip-hop artist to have his album shelved and he will be far from the last.
However, as his long delayed second album, El Che, gets ready for its May release (maybe you can guess the release date from the mixtape title), Rhymefest has released a mixtape titled Dangerous: 5-18that serves as a prelude to remind everyone that he is indeed finally releasing his second album and, yes, he is still really good at rapping. As is often the case with the mixtape, on Dangerous 5:18 Rhymefest finds himself unbound from the constraints of the label pressures that have weighed him down for years, which allows him to present his personal and passionate style of rapping front and center.
But the underlying and seemingly timeless question of why rappers like Rhymefest can never find financial success despite their unquestioned lyrical prowess and substantive material remains. In a sense, hip-hop has become trapped by its own ambitions to expand from a niche market to a global phenomenon. With so much invested, there can't be a even a small chance for failure. There is no doubt hip-hop has become more formulaic since its expansion, but there are of course many exceptions and Rhymefest will assuredly be one of them.
Those who know me know that I love three things in no particular order. Baseball (specifically Detroit Tigers Baseball), fine literature, and hip-hop music. While all three intersect to a certain degree, it is American literature and baseball that has formed a deep symbiotic bond that has lasted throughout history.
Baseball is a unique sport. It is a sport embedded in antiquity while being pulled towards modernity. Despite the enormous payrolls and the rampant performance enhancing drug use, it is a game that relies on seemingly archaic practices. One is a catcher stinking his fingers in his crotch and wiggling them around in order to communicate with the pitcher, all while the runner on second attempts to decipher the code and relay what he has discovered back to the hitter. This, of course, is not illegal and there is evidence that it occurs readily.
The sport is filled with fans defined as 'purists' who vehemently hate the designated hitter in the American League for the aspect of shameless promotion it brings to the game and if asked whether they favor an expanded replay system will spit in your face. A large part of this battle against modernity is the claim that baseball is America's pasttime, and it holds its past in high regard. In no other sport are records as highly revered to the point where they take on a mythical quality. By many, players such as Jackie Robinson, Willie Mays, Babe Ruth, and Ted Williams, are revered as beings greater than humans and more as Gods.
Of course, this element of mysticism lends itself perfectly to literature and it often plays a key roll in many of Americas greatest literary achievements. Featured by writers such as John Updike and Don DeLillo, baseball often provides a perfect marker for the times. As James Earl Jones' character in the Field of Dreams (adapted from W.P. Kinsella's novel, 'Shoeless Joe') said:
America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time.
Of course, what lends to this mythical quality is that some of the games greatest players played before a time of 24-hour sports analysis such as on ESPN or the high definition highlight of every play from countless angles. Instead, these plays are often restricted to grainy footage if they were caught on tape at all. Such is the case with Bobby Thompson's 'Shot Heard 'Round The World', which capped off the New York Giants historic comeback over the Brooklyn Dodgers. Of the home run, and the Giants comeback, Red Smith wrote:
Now it is done. Now the story ends. And there is no way to tell it. The art of fiction is dead. Reality has strangled invention. Only the utterly impossible, the inexpressibly fantastic, can ever be plausible again.
The mysticism of baseball allows the writer to exaggerate the greatness of the player and the play and it is an exaggeration that we crave, that we long for. We want these moments and players to transcend reality. Perhaps no player continually destroyed the art of fiction more than Willie Mays, and his play defined as 'The Throw' (as opposed to his ubiquitous 'The Catch'), which has no visual or audio record but is only survived by those in attendance that day at the Polo Grounds in New York City, displays this point. James Hirsch writes of 'The Throw':
Cox bolted for the plate as Mays was barreling toward the right field line, his momentum carrying him away from the play. He was in no position to throw, but when he planted his left foot, he sharply pivoted counterclockwise, his number temporarily facing home plate, his eyes flashing intensely before the bleacher fans. It appeared as if the impact of the ball had given him the additional thrust to pirouette in spikes. Without hesitating or even looking, he whipped his right arm around and fired the ball, then corkscrewed his body into the ground. His hat flew off. He peered under his armpit and tried to follow the drama at homeplate.
According to others, the ball took off like it had a mind of its own. When Cox was called out at home, it is said there was 'a momentary silence, similar in response to when Mays hit his first homer, as if the fans couldn't comprehend what they had just seen. Then the stadium erupted while Cox stared at the plate in disbelief.' Of course, with the lack of video or audio record of the play, there is no verifying 'the throw' and its seemingly unbelievable nature. But this is what made great players into Gods and formed the unique relationship between baseball and literature. In both, mysticism thrives and we treasure those that can do things that push the boundaries of what we as humans thought possible.
However, while baseball and literature often meet to show the mystical nature of a play or moment, it also describes the transcendent nature of the players themselves. John Updike, in his wonderful essay Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu wrote about Ted Williams last at-bat of his career, in which he hit a home run at Fenway Park and ran around the bases for the last time in front of the Boston fans whom his relationship with was described as 'more of a contentious marriage than a blissful love affair'.
Like a feather caught in a vortex, Williams ran around the square of bases at the center of our beseeching screaming. He ran as he always ran out home runs—hurriedly, unsmiling, head down, as if our praise were a storm of rain to get out of. He didn't tip his cap. Though we thumped, wept, and chanted "We want Ted" for minutes after he hid in the dugout, he did not come back. Our noise for some seconds passed beyond excitement into a kind of immense open anguish, a wailing, a cry to be saved. But immortality is nontransferable. The papers said that the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he never had and did not now. Gods do not answer letters.
Even with unbelievable players today, such as Albert Pujols, the sense of mysticism has diminished. The sense of wonderment is often missing from the modern game, but it does appear in short glimpses.
I remember when I was a little kid going to games at Tiger Stadium, I was often more excited to see the great players on the opposing teams than the Tigers, mostly because my team spent years of frustration waiting for Justin Thompson to become a dominant pitcher and Bobby Higginson to become the great 5-tool player he was always meant to be. But there was one player that stood out in the era of my childhood, and that was Ken Griffey Jr.
In many ways, Griffey was the new age Willie Mays. A young phenom known as a five tool player who could not only do everything great, but seemed to do it in ways that defied what we thought possible all the while with an endearing smile on his face. Like Willie Mays, he was nicknamed 'The Kid' and like Willie Mays he was every kids hero and his swing was imitated by every child across the country.
Amid his torrid season in 1997, my father and I decided that we would arrive hours before the game started to watch Ken Griffey Jr. take batting practice, a time honored tradition in baseball which allows fan to expand the mysticism of a player as batting practice is not televised and seen by only a dedicated few.
I, along with a group of fans begging to be awed, stood in the overhang of the second deck in right field at Tiger Stadium. We watched in amazement as the smoothness of Griffey's swing transferred to the violent energy of the ball bolting through the air. One hit stood out. As Griffey swung, he pulled the ball right towards us. But this was not a majestic fly ball, but instead a streaming rocket. I'm not sure if I was simply unable to comprehend the speed and the trajectory of the ball just hit or if I didn't dare attempt to catch it, even with my glove, but either way all I could do was stand with my mouth open as the ball approached. In an instant the ball had flown by me, and all others surrounding, and rocketed straight down the concourse tunnel where it eventually banged against the outer concourse wall with a sound that rivaled a gunshot. Had some unfortunate fan been walking up that tunnel to the stands, they would have been killed. Instead, all present stood in amazement struggling to comprehend what we had just witnessed.
This small instance is the part of baseball that is timeless, and is why it will forever remain America's national pasttime.
Health-care reform has cleared what is hopefully the last major hurdle as it works it's way to President Obama's desk and it came at an ugly price. I'm not talking about any of the number of compromises made, but I am talking about the ugliness portrayed in many anti-health care reform demonstrations which, predictably, featured there fair share of racial and homophobic slurs, directed at members of the House, that seemingly transported us back to the early 1960's (not in a good way).
But I also got to thinking about the main argument for 'killing the bill': it's too expensive! All fallacies of this argument aside, to trumpet financially stability and debt reduction under the Republican banner is fairly comical. After all, it was the manipulation of the Republicans that led us into an unjust war which has now cost American taxpayers over $710 Billion. Combine that with our foray into Afghanistan and we're over $1 Trillion spent, and this doesn't even take into account the incalculable loss of life that has occurred in both of these countries. So why the complaining about health care reform? After all, it is much more concrete that the maddeningly abstract issue of national security for which we have spent trillions over the past decade.
As is always the case, hip-hop provides answers for this question. While contemplating why spending money on two wars is so unquestioned yet spending money for health care reform to extend insurance to millions of Americans I turned to 50 Cent who stated this rather fitting statement in Many Men (Wish Death On Me):
Death gotta be easy, cause life is hard
It'll leave you physically, mentally, and emotionally scarred.
If anything, this health care debate has confirmed what is often declared by many hip-hop artists. It's much easier to die than live in this country it seems. The ever volatile 50 Cent wasn't the only to point this out, so did Biggie in his masterful 'You're Nobody (Till Somebody Kills You). Hip-hop songs with similar themes are literally endless and the common critique asks why the genre must be so nihilistic. However, as is often the case, hip-hop is able to reveal something about America that it too often wishes to ignore about itself.
In a country where we invest more in our prisons than our crumbling inner-city schools and don't question fighting two wars half-way across the world but fight tooth and nail to pass (modest) health care reform that would extend coverage to tens of millions of Americans, this nihilism makes a lot more sense. And it's not just hip-hop. William Faulkner expresses a similar sentiment in the equally morbid As I Lay Dying:
It takes two people to make you, one people to die. That's how the world is going to end.
'...But Bo don't know jack, 'cause Bo can't rap'. One of my favorite things about hip-hop music is it's constant crossover into the athletic world for the sake of wordplay. And when you think about, the long standing relationship between sports and hip-hop makes perfect sense. Both exhibit hyper-competitive individuals set on displaying they are the best at what they do. And as I gear up to catch my first Detroit Tigers spring training game of 2010 on the radio I really got to thinking about two things. Just who among the several overpaid candidates will fill out the bottom of the Tigers rotation and the close knit relationship between sports and hip-hop.
Of course, there are varying degrees of sports in hip-hop. It can be as simple as comparing yourself to a great athlete (or comparing a lyrical opponent to a terrible athlete). It can also be a short punch line to serve as a point of reference to the listener, such as when Big L rapped:
And everytime I’m in a jam I always find a loophole,
I got a crime record longer than Manute Bol.
In this case, Big L stating his crime record is longer than a 7'6'' man immediately let's the listener know that Big L has one very long crime record and is therefore a very bad man. However, it doesn't stop there. Hip-hop has even had forays into the extended sports metaphor with my personal favorite being Main Source- A Friendly Game Of Baseball, which compares police brutality to our nation's past time.
There are a few rather uniform sports references that need to be addressed, so uniform that by the mere mention of them immediately conjures up a specific image in the listener. The greatest example of this is a rapper comparing himself to Michael Jordan such as Jay-Z did when he said he's 'The Michael Jordan of Recordin' which suggests he is the best there ever was.
You want to display how quick you are? Around the '90's you probably would have made a Jeff Gordon or even a Mario Andretti reference would do, which is what the Tribe did when they claimed in Award Tour: 'Lyrically, I'm Mario Andretti on the Momo'. Of other note in 'Award Tour' is one of my personal favorite baseball related lines: 'Comin' with more hits than the Braves and the Yankees'. Ah, the 1990's. When the Braves were a dominant force and the Yankees were just burgeoning into the purely evil force they would soon become.
Now, if you want to dish out the ultimate insult to your opponent, a sports reference can handle that too. Just mention how your opponent is ugly like Sam Cassell and you're all set. This is such a definitive reference it can apply to much more than an opponents physical attractiveness. He's just that ugly.
Of course, the rap-sports exchange can go both ways. From Shaq Diesel released four studio albums to Ron Artest stating he wanted to take time off from the NBA to work on his rap career, NBA players have always returned the infatuation. Normally it results in some abomination in which sports references go into overload as they are about the actual rapper. Shaq Diesel is no exception.
Of course this is just an abbreviated summation of the relationship between sports and hip-hop music. They often overlap with athletes wishing to be rappers and rappers wishing to be athletes. Normally this relationship produces vivid visual imagery (such as with Sam Cassell) but when the two crossover, proceed with extreme caution.
