Evolution of Media: Hip-Hop Narrative - Entry #6

So, with all the conversations I've been participating in regarding what hip-hop is and what constitutes an actual rapper, I have to ask myself one question: Is Travie McCoy, lead vocalist of alternative upstarts Gym Class Heroes and a general menace to legitimate rapping talent everywhere, hip-hop? I guess he unfortunately is, considering the broad definition of the concept I've been peddling in and out of my hip-hop intersession class. This, of course, won't keep me from getting the following off my chest.

I try not to wallow too terribly much in all of the negative aspects in an entire year's worth of music (although it's been hard to divorce myself from that sentiment, especially since I have been personally perceiving the quality of music to be on a disturbing decline in the last four years), but "Billionaire," McCoy's flagship single for his debut solo album, has to be one of the worst songs I have heard this past year and beyond. I can already see what his thought process resembled:

"I am going record a faux-humble beachy, 'Santeria'-aping surf jam about a carefree hipster-slacker wishing he was rich. But wait! - I'm already fairly rich due to the freakish accidental success of awful pop tunes that are already in my back catalogue, so it wouldn't be right for me to be singing about wishing I was a millionaire. I've got to put this into realistic perspective: I will have to wish I were a billionaire."

Thus is the genesis of 2010's most appalling and patronizing pop song: a song, released during the worst recession for 100 years, in which a mere million dollars is deemed not quite sufficient enough to get by on. Thanks a lot, Travie McCoy, for making 2010 a lot more insufferable than it had to be, and for your stupid first name. And thank you too, Bruno Mars, with your equally worthless and faceless contributions to the R&B sector, and your equally stupid whole name. There were fewer songs released this past year that made me switch over to NPR faster than this song did. And in a year featuring the pop dominance of the likes of dollar-sign Ke$ha and Katy Perry; Taio Cruz's Euro-dance electro-R&B garbage; a Nelly comeback; the inescapably annoying Nicki Minaj; and the most irritating Train single since the last irritating Train single, that's definitely no mean feat.

Evolution of Media: Hip-Hop Narrative - Entry #5

I'm pretty ambivalent when it comes to female rappers. There are a whole host of different categories that the female rapper can fall into, and not all of them are what you could consider palatable.

First you have traditional female rappers in the vein of Missy Elliott, Eve, MC Lyte, Rah Digga, Lauryn Hill, Foxy Brown, Yoshamine, Lil' Kim, Shawnna, Trina, and Lady Sovereign. They are exactly what the label implies: females who have the technical ability to rap at varying degrees. Nicki Minaj is also fall under this broad interpretation of a traditional female rapper, although some would argue that she extends it a bit with her theatrical delivery (although I would counter that a difference in delivery doesn't really necessitate an entirely separate category of rap in this case).

Then there is another camp of female rappers that can be more aptly described as talk-rap, or sing-song rap. Probably the earliest (and most prevalent) example of this style would be Gwen Stefani, who more or less helped the style gain traction in the mainstream. Other pop artists quickly followed suit, including Fergie, Nelly Furtado, Uffie, Isis Salam (of the electronic duo Thunderheist) Lady GaGa, Katy Perry, Ke$ha, and Dev (of "Like a G6" fame).

The thing most people will note about the talk-rap camp is that most of them are white (or at least not black). Fergie could be argued to have at least some degree of technical skill (she was able to match Nelly pound for pound with her triple-time follow-up bars on "Where the Party People At?"), and even Nigerian-born Isis Salam makes a convincing hip-hop presence on her debut album, so where does that leave these other girls?

There is one thing about this latter style that desperately needs to be acknowledged: accusing a vapid artist such as Kesha as neither being a legitimate rapper or nor hip-hop in any sense of the word is no longer a valid claim. Kesha, of course, is the furthest thing away from my personal concept of what a good female emcee ought to be; but her very existence and ability to move singles and records by commodifying a two-dimensional take on rapping challenges not only the traditional notions of what a rapper is, but also what can be considered hip-hop.

This doesn't even take into consideration the fact that she either matches or exceeds Nicki Minaj in both popularity or commercial success, someone most people would consider to be more thoughtful, technically talented, and avant-garde than Kesha. Conversely, Kesha's lyrical content and presence share a common strain with blunt frat humor; and punch-lines are generally shallow and are usually the product of obvious rhyme structure. But it's obvious that technical ability doesn't always dictate the ability to sell or outsell another, and the unfortunate broadening of Kesha's own skills with each song she puts out makes it more difficult to marginalize her as completely talentless.

So at what point does it become impossible to eschew these white sing-song rappers of any consideration of what it means to be either a rapper or hip-hop? All it has taken for a number of high-profile R&B and pop artists to garner more hip-hop credibility was for them to get guys like Timbaland or The Neptunes in the studio with them, and for the artist in question to adjust their flow and delivery a bit and boom! - we're suddenly saddled with previously innocuous stars like Nelly Furtado knocking out chart-topping club jams. Kesha recently got producer Bangladesh (best known as a Lil' Wayne collaborator with "A Milli" and, more recently, "Six Foot Seven Foot") to produce a track or two on her new EP, Cannibal, and her mic presence sounds admittedly fuller and slightly more agile. Is this enough to make someone like her hip-hop, or does the fact that her personal lifestyle is not a representation of the traditional "struggle" or "plight" of the black man make her somehow inauthentic?

Also, why hasn't West Coast talk-rapper Dev (best known for her hook duties on "Like a G6") been levied with the same attention or criticisms regarding her authenticity? I have to admit that there is a breezier and more effortless cool associated with Dev's performance, making her presence more appealing; but is that enough to give her a free pass? There just seems to be a lot of double standards and confusion regarding the topic, even if we correctly assume that not all talk-rap is created equal.

In the very least, it's worth sidestepping traditional assumptions that talk-rappers like Kesha are artistically worthless in order to evaluate what kind of impact their popularity or influence will have on hip-hop and the marketplace. I don't see how, in 2011, it is at all possible to divorce hip-hop from commerce, and commerce has definitely become a driving force behind reshaping what hip-hop has become and what it will look like down the road.

Evolution of Media: Hip-Hop Narrative - Entry #4

English producer and occasional hip-hop collaborator Mark Ronson (Lily Allen, Amy Winehouse) had a Christmas-themed rap track leaked featuring Saigon and Rhymefest a couple of nights ago called "Wreck the Halls." I didn't have to listen too closely to it to reach a handful of conclusions before the 30-second mark:

1. Saigon and Rhymefest are two extraordinarily talented emcees. How has Saigon in particular gone so long without one official major-label release? And why is he still only known as that rapper on Entourage? His level of renown in the hip-hop world are at criminally low levels.

2. The same can pretty much be said about Rhymefest as well, although I think he's more or less boxed himself into a perception that he is only a serious, no-fun-nancy hip-hop activist. While his contributions to community awareness relating to a number of social issues are notable, it is important for him (and a number of other "socially conscious" rappers) to extend the reach of their sound by showing off their technical abilities on tracks that aren't always steeped in heavy topic matter.

3. Mark Ronson needs to become a hip-hop producer full-time, or at least consider contracting his services to more high-profile talent. He's got a great ear for beat-matching, and very distinctive funk/Motown flavor to what his idea of hip-hop sounds like. His creative approaches could go a long way toward reinvigorating the sound of a lot of ailing stars.

Lookin' forward to Saigon's official debut, as long as it doesn't get delayed again.

Mark Ronson - Wreck the Halls (feat. Saigon & Rhymefest)

Evolution of Media: Hip-Hop Narrative - Entry #3

A new leaked track popped up in the blogosphere a couple of days ago, one presumably pulled off of Dr. Dre's fabled and comically delayed Detox. I'm personally beyond any inkling of excitement or curiosity about a Dre record right before the dawn of a new decade, especially since his presence and relevance in the previous 10 years was questionable at best. Dr. Dre's sound, like a slew of other high profile hip-hop producers, haven't aged as gracefully as I would have hoped, and Dre couldn't have picked a worse lead single than "Kush" to reaffirm my suspicions about where his quality of work currently hovers around.

This track, on the other hand, made me do a slight double-take. "Syllables" was curiously labeled as an Eminem track featuring Jay-Z, Dr. Dre, 50 Cent, Stat Quo, and Cashis. It's a track that showcases some entertaining social commentary regarding the shallow and vapid state of rap music, mostly on the parts of Eminem and Jay-Z. Em's fluid internal rhyming and proclivity for channeling that into making his raps more conversational naturally makes his bars the best; Jigga, although pretty sharp and compelling in his own right, comes up a somewhat distant second (as it usually goes when these two get on the same track together). The commentary lamenting the deterioration of I guess what these guys consider "good rapping" drops off significantly with everyone else, and the rest of the verses turn out to be pretty forgettable fares comparatively.

The actual production on the track itself isn't noteworthy and sounds somewhat anonymous. Dr. Dre's ability to compel as a rapper depends entirely on whether or not Eminem's ghostwriting is on point on a particular day, so that's not really something I look out for in a Dre solo record...but the string of leaks that have been making the rounds on the web definitely don't do Dre's knob-turning any favors, either. These tracks are some of the most boring, dated, or outright terrible beats I have heard, and that's saying a lot. I forced myself to sit through garbage featuring Timbaland shitting on his own legacy a thousand times over with Shock Value II; not to mention having to deal with Pharrell wanting to live out his fantasies as the lead singer to faceless, garbage alternative band in the latest N*E*R*D train wreck, Nothing.

If the rest of the trend plays itself out, Dr. Dre would simply be completing the trifecta of once phenomenal and innovative late 1990s/early 2000s hip-hop producers who have now swan-dived into mediocrity. I'd love for any of these guys to prove me wrong, but so far, they have all demonstrated that ego and brilliance inevitably leads to a sad state of irreversible creative stagnation.

Eminem - Syllables (feat. Jay-Z, Dr. Dre, 50 Cent, Stat Quo & Ca$his)

Evolution of Media: Hip-Hop Narrative - Entry #2

Yesterday's class session showcased a handful of senseless arguments regarding hip-hop and the "direction" it's heading in. One girl in particular was pretty adamant that rap music was not all there was to hip-hop, and that the culture of hip-hop was far bigger than the music; big enough for the other aspects to exist on their own, and that any consideration that could be made about them could be made independently of rap music.

Her argument went something like this:

Classmate #1: "I don't like Soulja Boy, or where hip-hop is going for that matter."

Soapbox Girl: "Why can't we talk about hip-hop without having to refer to the music? Soulja Boy isn't hip-hop, and I don't think we have to talk about rap in order to discuss what hip-hop culture really is."

I was pretty worn out after she repeated her circular arguments, so I didn't bother commenting by the end of her soapbox, but I respectfully and completely disagree with her sentiments. There may be components of hip-hop that comprise the culture as a whole, rap music is precisely what gave birth to the entire movement. Things that hip-hop has come to affect and shape over the years - fashion, vernacular and colloquialisms, mainstream music trends, drugs, media, etc. - are areas that have been directly influenced by rap music, and are able to exist peripherally because of rap music's extensive reach.

Rap might not be all there is to hip-hop culture on the cusp of 2011, but it is arguably the biggest component of hip-hop culture, by far. To consciously omit rap from any consideration of what hip-hop is or the direction it is going in is outrageous, and willfully ignores the primary force that has driven hip-hop culture and its deep mainstream penetration since its inception. If one is attempting to divorce his- or herself from the projected shortcomings that tend to dominate present day rap dialogue (material fixation, misogyny, homophobia, etc.) because that person believes that the heart and soul and hip-hop as it "used to be known as" has fallen by the wayside, that person is just being idealistic. That is one person's concept of what hip-hop culture ought to be, and not how it exists today.

Alternatively, the subject matter that preoccupies much of the rap conversation in the mainstream did not just come out of nowhere, either. These topics have been floating around since rap even started; they have just been pushed to the forefront now due to significant changes in the market landscape of music caused by hip-hop itself. Sex, drugs, violence, and controversy of all breeds have always been prevalent in all genres of popular music, and hip-hop is simply the latest trend to capitalize on the market. Then one also has to consider how the basic "struggle" for up-and-coming hip-hop artists has shifted considerably; the absence of a compelling origin tends to make newer aspiring talent more faceless and appear less original than their predecessors.

Nas famously proclaimed that hip-hop was dead at the tail-end of 2008. Whose hip-hop? There definitely seems to be a stark disagreement about what hip-hop is to begin with, so it is even feasible to have this argument without any sort of consensus?

Evolution of Media: Hip-Hop Narrative - Entry #1

Sorry, Ryan - I'm hijacking this joint blog of ours for the next three weeks for my hip-hop intersession class. Just so you know what's going on, I have to write at least 9 hip-hop-related blog entries, and I plan just writing about whatever comes to mind.

You can have this bad boy back in 2012.

I still can't decide whether or not I am actually incredibly annoyed at the free pass Kanye West has gotten this year with My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, or if I think that the groupthink that has ensued in both the press and popular consensus is fascinating phenomenon, or both. I concede that it's easily the most enjoyable album since his debut with The College Dropout, and that it is probably the most elegantly produced album of the year, period. From a sonic aesthetics perspective, West is in as fine of form as he's ever been, and it's somewhat of a relief for me to be able to enjoy his output again (especially after coming down off of horrible, emo, autotuned warble of 808s & Heartbreak).

Conversely, there are a lot of things to dislike about the record, too. He has an entirety of one genuinely funny punch-line across 14 tracks, and the rest of it is a catastrophic mess of thoughtless and outright bad lyrics, and the fact that Twisted Fantasy is West's best rap showcase in the last three years hardly persuades me that West is more than above-average in that category at best. There are a handful of moments where West allows the subject matter to drift into thoughtful introspection, but the rest of the work is badly marred by a lot of his questionable rhymes.

It's pretty mind-blowing how universal of a consensus the music press have granted this album, considering that these highly childish, witless and predominantly misogynistic lyrics will forever be held in the same company of other five-star, Perfect 10 records belonging to the likes of Wilco, Radiohead, and The Flaming Lips. As a (former) music reviewer myself, I understand that hip-hop criticism is accompanied by a different set of criteria, but under no circumstances should the standards be actually lowered. Truly bad lyrics on an otherwise great hip-hop album should not get a pass simply because mainstream hip-hop has a tendency to be lyrically vapid.

One evaluation of the record (courtesy of TinyMixTapes) interestingly noted that "Kanye West is so big, he's indie." This is pretty illustrative of how 1) "indie" as a descriptor continues to be meaningless on the cusp of 2011; and 2) the sea change of hipsters rushing to legitimize themselves as avid admirers of all genres is finally revealing itself in a really bizarre way.

Although I pretty much call bullshit on this, it is very interesting to see how deeply this album has moved and penetrated the music criticism community, and the hand job domino effect that has followed.

Best of ONE World

My world specifically.

Perhaps, not the "best," but that's a pretty subjective statement I suppose. I'm just going to use this area to unleash little bits and pieces of my life that I currently don't have a place for. The idea behind this blog was initially a way to hone my writing skills while being able to keep in touch with my good friend from Norman, but I suppose one out of two isn't so terrible. So here's a terribly revealing vignette about my life and the kind of things that can send my poor heart reeling in ways that even the sappiest of love songs never do.

I love the Marx Brothers. And it's the worst kind of love. Remember Heidi from grade school? You would rub sand in her hair and steal her shoes and be completely obvious to anyone who wasn't in 3rd grade? Eventually she moves away and you go on with life and then finally one day you look back to analyze the many inane decisions that led you to where you are and you piece together those crazy emotions that your heart had no room for when you were 8. I suppose it's not really love, but it was still as intense as love could be at that age. That's how I feel about the Marx Brothers in a way. I don't misunderstand my emotions for them, but I do love them long after they are gone and it pains me in a profound way. Just like you will never connect with that girl from grade school again in the only way that matters, I know that I will never see a new Marx Brothers movie. Sure I have a few left that I have purposely avoided watching, but I know they aren't the best ones and I will watch them a foreboding presence over me, knowing that I have precious few jokes left to laugh at with the sound of surprise in my voice. The fact that they are all dead looms over me with every viewing too. It gets my sense of humor all tangled up with the awareness of how short a time we have here and makes for a really unique state of mind. Sometimes I end up enjoying the viewing even more because of this and then sometimes I can't bear to wait for the screen to fade to "The End" before I get up and turn off the TV.

There is far too much that I love about the movies for me to espouse in this one entry, but I will hit on a couple, and I'll make them the small moments so you know just how important the big ones are to me as well.

I could point out the musical segments of Harpo, the slapstick mute of the group, playing his harp and be perfectly happy writing a couple pages about that, but I'll go even smaller here and hone in on his eyes. For the uninitiated, several of the movies include musical segments and generally feature either Chico on the piano or Harpo on his harp. Chico playing piano is the same Chico you see the entire movie, brash and loud, haphazardly slapping the keys in unexpected ways and playing to entertain the crowd more than to satisfy himself. Harpo, though, is transformed every time he sits down to pluck. He goes from having that inane smile permanently plastered on his face to a look of complete serenity. As a kid I used to mistake his demeanor at the harp as boredom. I figured he just wanted to get on with the movie so he could pull another blowtorch from his jacket and get in bed with a horse, but as I've grown older I can see the love of music in his eyes. A word I've gotten hung up on for awhile now is "earnest." I want to be earnest in my words, my actions and my life so badly that it sometimes keeps me from being anything at all. But Harpo, my god, the word was invented for that man and you see it in his eyes. You can see him pouring his soul into a filler number squeezed into a anarchist comedy. Who else would care so much about something that means so little in the big picture? The same energy that he attacks his madcap character with is right there on the stool with him, but its focused so purely on one thing, making the music matter to the 10 people who didn't go off to buy popcorn during the number. And then of course as soon as the song is over you see his eyes roll back in his head and the character returns, the true self is pushed deep inside to reveal the facade that we have come to accept as fact. And its all in the eyes, I could watch those scenes without sound (but why would I?) and still feel moved in the silence.

Another thing I love about the movies is something I would never have predicted me one day admitting as a child. I love Zeppo, the 4th Marx Brother, the straight man, the absolute most boring part of any film he has ever been in. Eventually he left the troupe to go on and form one of the most successful Hollywood agencies, but during the first few films you could always depend on him to play the male romantic lead and perform at least one cheesy musical number, usually performed with the help of the female romantic lead. My love for him has grown out of familiarity more than anything else. There is a certain predictive nature to all the films that is comforting for the viewer, and Zeppo is anything but surprising. My love for him increased even more recently though when I was reading up on the history of the brothers and discovered that most considered him to be the funniest brother off camera. He could also impersonate Groucho so well that even stood in for him during the black out scene in Animal Crackers. So the most boring brother is also the most versatile and completely content with standing in the shadows of comedic giants. Perhaps he thought being more legitimate in the films would lead to solo roles in big budget pictures, but I like to think that he was just happy to see his other brothers shine and did his best to keep the spotlight on them.

So yes, I love you now too Zeppo, and I get sad when I think that you died 15 years before I was born.

Flash back to this evening now....

I was watching At the Circus tonight because it's Monday and I felt like fucking with my brain chemistry without the help of illicit drugs and a mid-late Marx Brothers movie that I've only seen a couple times will usually do that. Especially if it isn't their strongest showing. It's good enough to get me laughing but not absurd enough for me to completely shut off the nagging parts of my self that like to remind me that they ARE ALL DEAD AND YOU WILL BE TOO. I know, fucked up, right?

I finished it and was feeling not too terrible so I started getting ready for my shower because it's Monday and I like to be clean on Tuesday. I was thinking about my dad because he is so close to my love of these movies, it gets a little mixed up in my mind sometimes because of that. You see, he first exposed me to the movies. I can't recall the first one I ever saw, but I do remember being in Y-Indians and having him show us A Day at the Races, truly one of the classics, at one of our meetings, I think it was a sleepover at the YMCA. I really enjoyed it and so did the other kids. The movies are great because even if you are too young to get all the quick turn of phrases from Groucho, you can still sit back and enjoy Harpo antics and the funny mustache. You have to imagine our neat rows of sleepings bags, TMNT if you were lucky and a plain red one if not, and the eager little faces being illumated by the whites and disappearing behind the blacks. You have to imagine our faces lighting up when we finally adjusted to the machine gun pace of the jokes. You have to imagine being a kid again and how every little thing in the world could be THE world for you in that moment and then you start to understand how these movies grabbed such a strong footing in my being. Looking back, it must have made my dad so happy that one of his childhood loves was being accepted by a new generation, he could see himself in us, which is always what kills people when it comes to kids. A kid can do the cutest things and some asshole might not be moved, but when he sees the kid pick at his ear the way he used to or show him a truck that looks like his old one, even the hardest of hearts melts. And now, years later, it gives me such immense happiness to know that my dad was happy that night, and it means SO much to me that he was, there were certainly other times I saw him happy, but I guess I can finally relate to what he must have felt. Nowadays I strive to expose someone to these films and I have to keep myself from watching their faces with nervous expectation, praying that they "get it," that it clicks for them like it did for me and in that moment I have to make room for another person in my heart. I think of my dad sitting at the back of the darkened gym, looking at the kids, maybe focusing on me even, and feeling that elation in the moment when the connection is made and his love is finally shared, with his own child no less. I'm so happy I could give him that.
Hindsight for me is not 20/20 though, especially when it comes to the younger years, but I never want to know if I remembered this wrong because it means too much to me now.

So I thought about that when I was getting ready for my shower and of course the spectre of Marx Brothers death crept in there too and I cried for the first time in a long time because my dad is going to die someday and I finally understand what that means at 24 for the first time.