Why Doesn’t Hip Hop Respect Its Elders?
Contributor Lauren Carter
Most cultures hold their elders in high regard. It’s safe to say that hip hop in its current form is not one of them.
In today’s hip hop landscape, pioneers are typically dismissed and
marginalized by the mainstream, trotted out once a year during VH1’s
“Hip Hop Honors” and then conveniently forgotten.
There is a sense that aging rap artists need to “move out of the way”
or “stay in their lane” to make way for new artists, as if classic
rappers could be any further out of the way than they already are and
new artists are actually worth getting out of the way for.
One has to wonder why rock artists are revered well into old age
while their rap counterparts are generally ignored and then branded
“angry and bitter” when they object to being tossed aside like
yesterday’s garbage.
Rockers aren’t told to move aside and make way for the next
generation. They’re regarded with a level of respect and awe that often
borders on hero worship, because listeners understand that people age
and styles change, but quality music is timeless.
It’s well known that The Rolling Stones still sell out stadiums, acts
such as Steve Miller Band, Allman Brothers Band and Fleetwood Mac can
still pack arenas and amphitheaters, and their shows attract multiple
generations of fans — something I can attest to personally after seeing
these groups several times. Classic rock and adult contemporary stations
keep the catalogues of “old” rockers in heavy rotation, and artists
like Bob Dylan and Tom Petty still land on the cover of Rolling Stone
magazine.
The nationally televised 12-12-12 fundraising concert for Hurricane
Sandy victims proved yet again that rock artists with AARP cards remain
relevant; the lineup was stacked with classic acts like Eric Clapton,
Billy Joel, The Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen & the E Street
Band, Roger Waters of Pink Floyd, The Who and Paul McCartney.
No, hip hop and rock are not the same, and there’s no attempt here to
equate the two. Although they’re both young genres with roots in
rebellion and angst, they’re also different styles of music that appeal
to fan bases of different sizes. Most rap artists will never claim the
number or breadth of fans that major rock acts like the Rolling Stones
do. But a rock-to-rap comparison isn’t exactly to “apples and oranges”
either. While the size and makeup of rock and rap fan bases differ, it
stands to reason that if quality artists in one genre can still garner
radio play, media coverage and respect well into old age, then quality
artists in another genre should receive similar treatment.
And yet classic rap artists are typically treated like they don’t
exist. There are few, if any, terrestrial classic hip hop stations; the
most we can get for throwback music in Boston, for example, is a half
hour of hits from the ‘90s and early 2000s at lunchtime, or whatever
might play on college radio. The Hip Hop Gods tour that Public Enemy
headlined late last year was universally ignored by major media outlets,
even though Chuck D is as important to hip hop as someone like Bob
Dylan is to folk and rock, and Public Enemy is one of the most
groundbreaking groups in all of music.
Local rap radio stations will proudly promote live shows for 2 Chainz
and Trinidad James, but barely mention tours by rap legends like Slick
Rick and Big Daddy Kane, who helped to create the genre these stations
are busy milking for its last dollar.
Artists like Jay-Z, Kanye West and Eminem have managed to maintain
superstardom well into their 30s, but they are the exception and not the
rule. Most aging hip hop artists — Ice Cube, LL Cool J and Queen
Latifah, for example — have chosen to branch off into other endeavors
like film and product endorsement to stay relevant. It’s nice that Chuck
D and LL got to close out this year’s Grammy Awards, but considering
how infrequently hip hop pioneers play on a national stage, it was
baffling to see them perform an unfamiliar new song rather than a medley
of their classic hits.
Which begs the question of why hip hop legends who helped to create
this now-global culture are seldom given the respect or platform they
deserve.
It’s true that hip hop is youth-oriented and built around battling
and besting the next man, and that’s not necessarily a mindset that
breeds respect. And as The Guardian noted in its music blog, the urban family structure may influence hip hop’s treatment of its elders:
“Culturally, the lack of a father figure in a majority of ghetto
homes also plays a role. Hip-hop manifests this as an obsession with
one’s immediate peer group and a dismissal of elders. Knowledge isn’t
handed down; what little knowledge there is gets shared by peers. People
raised in ‘the streets’ know nothing but ‘the streets.’ The codes and
the rules of the streets don’t necessarily allow reverence for elders.”
True enough, but there’s a larger factor in the equation that no one is talking about, and that’s the influence of corporations.
It’s no secret that corporations now control mainstream hip hop culture — if it can even be called a culture anymore.
One company — Viacom — owns BET and MTV. One company — Clear Channel —
owns the majority of radio stations in the country. One company — Live
Nation — produces most of the concerts in the U.S. And since 1988, the
major labels have been reduced from six to three. So the result is a
consolidation of control over our music, and a very small number of
people deciding what a large number of people will see and hear.
Corporations now determine who gets signed, who gets radio spins,
who gets national tours and who appears on “106 & Park.” And this,
in turn, determines who gets covered by your favorite magazines and
blogs, because at this point, hip hop journalism has degenerated from
actual reporting and analysis to blindly promoting “hot” artists in an
effort to draw readers and boost pageviews.
Even “indie” promotional outlets like social media and YouTube are
heavily influenced by corporations; try watching any video without
seeing an ad for Rihanna, Nicki Minaj, 2 Chainz, et al.
The result of corporations controlling hip hop is the total
degradation of our music and culture. What began as a tool for black
progress and a movement with the power to pick up where Civil Rights
left off has become a weapon against the very community that created it,
with a barrage of images and messages that promote the destruction of
self, family and community.
Hip hop’s original tenets of peace, love, unity, fun and knowledge of
self are glaringly absent from the corporate rap paradigm, which caters
to a young, mostly white audience that would rather see caricatures of
black life than hear about the violence exploding in Chicago, or the
number of blacks in prison, or the quality of our school systems.
That’s not to say that old school artists were universally positive
and new school artists are universally negative. There are still bright
spots in the current commercial landscape, like Kanye West and Jay-Z’s
“Murder to Excellence,” and classic rap wasn’t all flowers and unicorns.
Not every old school song depicted inner-city life as vividly as
Grandmaster Flash’s “The Message,” nor did every song advocate for
female empowerment like Queen Latifah’s “U.N.I.T.Y.” or denounce drug
use like MC Lyte’s “Cappucino.” But even when N.W.A. breathed fire on
“Fuck tha Police,” they were protesting oppressive conditions in their
community, not advocating for them as so much modern-day rap does. And
there was a sense of diversity and authenticity in hip hop before the
mid-to-late ‘90s corporate takeover. From Rakim to KRS-One to Ice-T to A
Tribe Called Quest, rappers came off as real people expressing real
feelings, not studio thugs or characters created in some corporate
conference room.
Now, rap has been reduced to mass-produced ignorance. Most artists
sound the same, and every mainstream rap song revolves around some
combination of drugs, alcohol, violence, crime, misogyny and
materialism. You will not hear about the black unemployment rate, but
you will hear French Montana and friends rapping about bitches tiptoeing
on Italian marble floors.
So it makes sense that old school rappers have no place in the new
school corporate paradigm, because these two schools are two worlds at
odds, with clashing messages and goals. One promoted survival; the other
celebrates death.
Of course many older artists are going to fade in popularity. Of
course styles change and new trends take hold. Not every artist can
claim the fan base they once had, not every artist will maintain their
skill level and not every artist wants to be a part of hip hop well into
middle age; some will simply outgrow the culture and move on to other
things. But the virtual erasure of old school hip hop figures from the
new school landscape is not about rusty rappers or fading popularity and
new trends. It is a calculated move by corporations that are busy
selling ignorance and silencing sources of enlightenment. The corporate
rap paradigm profits off of black dysfunction, and old school hip hop artists merely represent a dent in their profit margin.
Lauren Carter is a writer and editor, music junkie, hip hop head
and healthy living enthusiast based in Boston. Connect with her on
Twitter @ByLaurenCarter or visit her blog at www.bylaurencarter.com.
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