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.
