Cover art of Boogie Down Productions’s ‘By All Means Necessary.’ Photo: RCA Records.
“I heard that brother got knowledge of self” said by Brand Nubian, a popular 1990s rap group, in“Wake Up.” Like many great rap artists in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, Brand Nubian laced its beats with large doses of black knowledge through lessons in history, religion, self-determination and nationalism.
The last few days of Black History Month are upon us, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to decide whether or not knowledge of self was the forefront of this year’s celebration. There were the endless memes on Instagram and Twitter feeds that honored, in jest, made-up historical figures like “Thelma Jenkins — The First Black Woman to Go Through Her Man’s Phone.” There was the shocking defacement of the statue of the most prominent black figure in our school’s history. It was hard not to wish that something as easy as turning on the radio could give me a healthy serving of black awareness to put me in the festive mood.
Rap music is the foremost medium in our society that is actively maintained by black youth in America. Although not exclusive to blacks, it would be hard to argue against its birth, growth and dominance within minority culture. In the genesis of its development as an art form, it would have likely proved impossible to listen to its most well-known acts without hearing a wealth of black historical content.
Organizations that had their fingerprints all over the expansion of rap in its early years include the Universal Zulu Nation, a collective formed by Afrika Bambaataa, and the Five Percenters, an offshoot of the Nation of Islam. Through the influence of artists like A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Eric B. & Rakim, Queen Latifah, Monie Love, Poor Righteous Teachers, Public Enemy and Gang Starr, black ideologies that once belonged to abolitionists, political activists and the elite thinkers of black history found a new home over beats and rhymes.
KRS-One used the entire second verse on “Ah-Yeah” in 1995 to mention many of the black change-makers he felt the chapters of history books overlooked. “I came as Harriet Tubman, I put the truth to Sojourner, other times I had to come as Nat Turner,” he wrote, imagining his spirit being reincarnated throughout history. “They tried to burn me, lynch me and starve me, so I had to come back as Marcus Garvey, Bob Marley.”
There are even examples within the work of one of rap’s biggest selling artists, 2Pac. On his first album, 2Pacalypse Now, he asked the questions, “No Malcolm X in my text, why is that? ‘Cause he tried to educate and liberate all blacks” and “Why is Martin Luther King in my book each week? He told blacks, if they get smacked, turn the other cheek.”
This February, the hottest song I’ve heard on rap radio was “Danny Glover” by Young Thug, a song with a title that to some may sound like a tribute to the black thespian best known for his contribution to the lengthy “Lethal Weapon” series. Where Young Thug sets the stage for what could have been a pretty decent lesson on how black men could fight oppression to excel in action films opposite Mel Gibson, he falls drastically short. The song ends up being a party jam that most people probably will not be able to understand, considering Thugger’s squeaky, spastic delivery. If any one is able to decipher the lyrics, they will be treated to learning about topics like a Bentley that came preassembled with a girl already inside or the time that he left $10,000 inside a taxi.
In the landscape of hip hop today, artists who integrate much of the same thought as KRS-One, Brand Nubian and early examples from 2Pac within their rap repertoire are pushed out of the mainstream in favor of artists that are more commercially viable like Wale, Juicy J and Drake. Artists who carry the torch for black awareness through rhyme like Immortal Technique, Dead Prez and Brother Ali are left to peddle their music to niche blogs and festivals.
There is an opportunity to teach the masses about the issues of the black community, through the lens of those who deal with them every day. Is the responsibility on us to support those artists who are presenting interesting conversations, using black history as a context, or does it fall on the artists we know and love to produce music with more thought-provoking content related to the past and present of their culture?
Maybe by next February there will be a clear-cut answer.
— Jared Boyd
jlboyd3@go.olemiss.edu
