Ryan ChartrandHip-hop is dead. It was a culture unifying the art forms of breakdancing, rapping, graffiti and DJing and today, little evidence of its original intent and feeling can be found.
What we see labeled as hip-hop today is a reflection of that basic culture distorted by capitalistic values and a lack of social awareness. To understand this point, you first need to understand hip-hop’s roots.
Hip-hop as a musical art form was given birth in the ’70s by a DJ named Kool Herc. He took two turntables and a couple of copies of the same record and alternated between the two, extending the funkiest part of the song – the “break” – that made dancers go crazy. Kool Herc hosted block parties throughout New York, driving people wild with his new sound.
Similar DJs such as Afrika Bambaata began hosting parties, bringing together breakdancers and rappers to move large crowds. These events were the pinnacle of hip-hop culture and were carried out with positive intentions. A former gang member, Afrika Bambaata saw hip-hop as a means by which to express oneself and compete without resorting to gang violence. His idea was that if you want respect and territory, you had better be able to dance, rap, DJ or paint to earn it. If a fight were to break out at an Afrika Bambaata show, he would get on the microphone and threaten to pack up and leave.
Breakdancing got its start when Manhattan’s inner-city youths felt themselves invisible to the world. Dealing with the social and economic pressures that came with New York’s Urban Renewal project, they expressed themselves through aggressive dance moves that could be substituted for fistfights. Breakdancing crews were established, and their reputations on the street were determined by how well they could embarrass opponents with innovative moves. Everyone was given a name that said something about his or her unique style.
Rapping came from Jamaican-style toasting, which was basically shout-outs over the DJ’s music at a party. When rappers joined the hip-hop culture, they each had a unique style and character that defined them and what the energy their hosted party would be like. They were the masters of the ceremony, and their job was to keep the party people live and hyped with call and response and creative rhymes. MC Busy Bee was known in the late ’70s and early ’80s for his comedic rhymes and his battle aptitude. Back then, a rapper’s credibility was determined by their lyrical prowess, not their off-the-mic activities.
Graffiti started in the ’70s as well, and saw artists running from cops, painting trains and bridges, and fighting those who copied their style or ruined their piece. Respect was again innovation in the form of color and style as well as placement and visibility.
There are some similarities between hip-hop’s earliest form and its contemporary manifestation. The competitive nature still exists but is based on a different set of values. Today, innovation does not necessarily guarantee respect. In rapping, economic success and lyrics about the amount of “weight” (drugs) one can move are the epitome of credibility. It is important to note that there were rappers in the ’70s and ’80s who touched on these topics (the Funky Four Plus One More’s Lil’ Rodney C! rapped about private jets and sports cars) but this is when these sorts of lyrics were new. And songs about drugs in early hip-hop were usually about their damaging effects and not their economic opportunities. In Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five’s hit “White Lines,” MC Melle Mel rapped about cocaine addiction and the differences in punishment for drugs offenders depending on their race. This is a far cry from the message of newer songs like DJ Khaled’s “Brown Paper Bag.”
Furthermore, hip-hop’s initial emphasis on originality is lost in today’s sales-oriented music culture. When Soulja Boy released “Crank Dat,” it seemed overnight that a song called “Crank that Batman” hit the radio from the Pop It Off Boyz. This would have been labeled whack in the ’80s because biting someone else’s style was the ultimate disrespect and was cause for a fight or a battle in one of the four elements. But in today’s culture, if something’s successful, you piggyback on it and squeeze all the money you can out of it.
This repetitious nature has ensured hip-hop’s death. It’s no longer a cultural movement to make the lives of the disenfranchised visible and to create something positive out of a negative environment. In the hands of record companies, it has become commodified, stripped of its soul, with the four elements separated. While it may say something about the state of culture and the mindset of people in America today, the “hip-hop” we see and hear says little in congruence with the founder’s intentions. Then again, is hip-hop’s death it’s ultimate message?
Brian McMullen is a journalism senior and a former reporter for the Mustang Daily.