How ironic that on the
seventh anniversary of rapper Notorious B.I.G.'s death, we learn
that police are conducting their own little COINTELPRO on hip-hop
artists who increasingly live and party in Miami and Miami Beach,
supposedly to prevent the kinds of turf battles that killed Biggie
and fellow rap icon Tupac Shakur.
Biggie and Tupac fueded for over a year on wax, via the media and
through surrogates, and died six months apart in September, 1996
(Tupac) and March 9, 1997 (Biggie). They were arguably the best rap
artists ever (with all due respect to Run DMC), and the epitome of
what hip-hop used to be: utterly original, ironic and real. Their
beef was about lyrics, respect and the sometimes violent trajectory
of African-American manhood.
Fast forward to today, when in the guise of preventing a repeat
of their fates, police are cracking down on a hip-hop industry that
has become nothing if not corporate, predictable, and safe. Cops
claim that the artists might be gang members. You're kidding, right?
Most of these guys live in the Hamptons. Do we really believe party
MC's like Chingy and Nelly are gonna shoot it out poolside at the
Delano?
Hold onto your nightsticks, officers. The worst that will likely
happen when rappers and their crews come to town will be loud
parties, Bentleys over the speed limit, big dry-cleaning bills to
get the Grey Goose off a brotha's Roberto Cavalli, and possibly some
lost or stolen bling.
Unfortunately for those of us who love it, hip-hop has become, in
a word, boring. The music that was so innovative in the '80s and
'90s has become as derivative as Big and 'Pac were original, and as
phony as Justin Timberlake.
Even the so-called battles, between 50 Cent and Ja Rule, or
between Eminem and -- is it still Moby, or has Marshall moved on? --
seem calculated more for record sales than mix-tape supremacy. The
best battle in the last five years, between Nas and Jay Z, was the
exception in an industry that otherwise has become, as Jay Z himself
recently said, ''corny'' and not just soft, but ``softtttttt.''
Worse, hip-hop seems to have ceded the political ground seized by
groups like Public Enemy, as well as the cultural criticism and
complex storytelling of acts like De La Soul and A Tribe Called
Quest. If the Miami P.D. wants to save the artists from themselves,
they should work with the FCC and fine rappers 25 cents-per-legal
download every time they use the ''N'' word, call a woman a ''ho''
or lavish excessive praise on a fashion designer.
Roaming the sidelines
Facing arguably the most important election in my lifetime, it's
disappointing to see hip-hop on the sidelines. Where are the lyrics
about the social and political realities facing America -- and not
just black America, since rap has now officially left the 'hood and
entered the 'burbs? Who's rapping about the young people fighting
and dying in Iraq and Afghanistan and now deployed to Haiti, while
the rest of us fuss over our iPods and Playstations? Anybody care to
address the ravages of divorce, illegitimacy and incarceration in
the black community? Who is our modern-day Tupac? Surely it's not
over-worshipped Eminem, who spends most of his time talking about
his mama.
To his credit, rap's godfather, Russell Simmons, is doing his
part to keep the music politically relevant. His and Ben Chavis'
Hip-Hop Summit Action Network is recruiting rappers to help register
young voters. Chuck D will soon have his own talk show on the
liberal Air America radio network. And there are still innovative
artists in the game: Outkast, The Nappy Roots, Nas, Jay Z (who's
retiring), Redman, Method Man and others. But they are becoming
rare.
Hip-hop shouldn't be all about cash, cars, sex and jewelry. It's
better than that. As for the police: let MTV watch what rappers do
in their spare time. I'm more concerned about what they do on the
job.
