Evolution of Media - Hip-Hop Narrative Entry #9

For my final (official) entry for my hip-hop intersession class, I'll be commenting on a handful of tracks that have been making their rounds around the web in the last week.

Arguably the highest profile track that has been circulating the blogs is Britney Spears' highly-anticipated first single off of her upcoming album, "Hold It Against Me." For me personally, Britney Spears hits her best strides when producers allow her to become a vehicle for trend-setting. The reason Britney was once widely considered to be the Madonna of our (my?) generation is not because she was as edgy or envelope-pushing (she's neither), but because she set the standards for everyone else to desperately keep pace with in her chart-topping singles.

With "Hold It Against Me," the dialogue surrounding the track mostly deals with the heavy dubstep influence being represented. Dubstep is a subgenre of electronic music best characterized by its proclivity for propulsive percussion, sample clipping, and - perhaps most famously - wobbly, droning, and heavily syncopated bass lines. The production on dubstep tracks is generally very tight and is thrust along with urgency every time the instrumental breakdown hits.

Dubstep takes a lot of cues from preexisting forms of electronic music, including techno, jungle, acid, drum ‘n bass, and – of course – hip-hop (especially with sample clipping and the emphasis on percussive elements). Vocals may be interspersed throughout a track, but tend to be a great deal more on the sparser side compared to vocal trance or trip-hop. Unlike much of music which includes vocals, they are usually not the centerpieces to the actual dubstep tracks themselves.

It’s is hardly a new subgenre, but dubstep is poised for its biggest push into American mainstream when Britney Spears finally introduces dubstep to the rest of the world, even if it is considered a somewhat diluted version. There have been a handful of artists (specifically hip-hop artists) in the last year or so who have bolstered the visibility of certain elements from European style dance and electronic music, including Akon, Taio Cruz, Ludacris, Usher, and Far East Movement with Dev (“Like a G6”). “Hold It Against Me” will be the first time I’ve heard anything as explicitly dubstep as this out in the open, and it features enough of a hip-hop feel for it to be embraced by the club crowd.

It also seems that Britney has Rusko in her corner for this upcoming album (an electronic producer who specializes in radio-friendly dubstep), which actually keeps her vocals as close to the front and center as possible. A lot of elitist dubstep connoisseurs clown on Rusko for that very reason, but as we have learned in the music world time and time again, ease of accessibility always leads to increased visibility, and I think Rusko will end up having the last laugh as far as that goes.

Unsurprisingly, the lyrics are nothing special, and Britney’s voice is heavily sifted through an autotune filter. Her level of artistic input on her records seems to be diminishing as she has gotten older, and little things like that will go a long way toward eroding her longevity as well if she’s not careful. For now, however, it looks like Britney’s got another pending mega-hit on her hands.

Yelawolf is another cat I’ve been listening to more frequently since I heard his eccentric delivery on Big Boi’s Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty this past summer. He’s an Alabaman white rapper with American Indian roots, and while he boasts a lot of similarities with Eminem (he’s focused on precision and quality of lyricism, and wisely showcases his impeccable sense of rhythm and metric timing), he definitely doesn’t sound much like him. Yelawolf’s output up to this point has been unabashedly Southern, and he seems to enjoy switching up his flow in various ways in order to fit the feel and tempo of a track.

I didn’t like him very much at all on the first few listens of the track he shared with Big Boi (“You Ain’t No DJ”), but it was hard to ignore that his verses, while delivered wildly and erratically at a spitfire pace, were well-written. Then I heard his mixtape Trunk Musik 0-60 shortly afterward, and I got to sample a far greater palette of styles that Wolf was capable of. A leaked song featuring an older standby Houston rapper named Trae called “Shit I’ve Seen” is, so far, my favorite thing I’ve heard from Yelawolf, and demonstrates that he has a really good ear for beats as well. I’m not sure if he’ll change the world, but it’s been awhile since I have been genuinely excited about an up-and-comer with actual talent.

Finally, Kanye West and Jay-Z’s first collaborative single “H.A.M.” dropped last week, and I think it’s complete shit. West is definitely using the tide of critical acclaim from the last two months to his advantage by masking his more familiar terrible flow and rhymes beneath the somewhat interesting and sometimes cool production.

I’ve always had a problem with Kanye’s actual rapping for years, and I think a lot of his issues stem from the fact that he doesn’t have an intuitive approach when it comes to interpreting tracks. Since figuring out how to ride a track doesn’t come naturally for him, it makes sense that his best rhymes are usually borne out of months of painstaking writing and brainstorming (the majority of the songwriting on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy was tolerable and even good at times). His verses on “H.A.M.,” on the other hand, find Kanye drifting back towards mediocrity, as demonstrated by the following wack-ass lines:

Like a nigga ever left up out this bitch, huh?
And if life a bitch suck my dick, huh?
And I bet she fucked the whole clique, huh
By the way nigga, you should fuckin’ quit, nigga
Just forget it, you talk it, I live it
Like Eli I did it, jokes on you muthafucka and I get it
No paper hoe, but you can have some more of me
Or-gy, or are we speaking metaphorically

People have championed Kanye West for being “not your average mainstream rap artist” for the better part of the last decade, but his output from at least the last two years have preoccupied the very lyrical space that people slag hip-hop for in the first place.

[Reserved for Jay Electronica]

(I’m in Jamaica and in a hurry at the moment, so I’ll have to finish the rest of my thoughts later)

Evolution of Media: Hip-Hop Narrative - Entry #8

It's funny and interesting how the trajectory of an individual's own personal history and public celebrity can go a long way toward shaping outside interpretation of his or her artistic work. As I noted in my last entry, I'm generally in the business of evaluating music and other forms of art purely on their own merits, divorced from my personal feelings about its creator. But sometimes outside influence from components of the artist in name's life can have a great and profound effect on how you view their art, whether you like it or not.

In the case of R. Kelly, it has not only served as a platform for remaining relevant in the public sphere, but he demonstrates with his most recent album, Love Letter, how it can be used as a vehicle for reinvention as well.

If anyone has been paying a minutiae of attention to Kelly over the last decade, they will be able to quickly identify that his songwriting has been on a slow downward spiral into the pits of the lowest common denominator in terms of bizarre sexual metaphors. This already starkly contrasts with the first half of his career, where his music embodied the cheese, smooth soul, and slow-burning romance of 1990s R&B; a style that could be more likened to Boyz II Men. The thing about Love Letter in particular, however, is that it is not necessarily a direct return to the core tenets and styles he initially built his career on. This record sounds much more modern than that. The production crisps, smolders, and breezes by in a rush when its appropriate, and it spans decades' worth of different styles and iterations of R&B and classic soul.

Additionally, all of his shockingly sincere proclamations of love throughout the album carry with them Kelly's knack for being immediate and captivating, since Kelly's effusive personality and lyricism defiantly shirk a lot of qualities that characterizes the much-maligned neo-soul. He's able to convey the sub-genre's soulful earnestness, but in a decidedly charming and lighthearted way.

The kicker about this album that I'm not so sure it would be as head-turning as it is had it been put out by someone like Ne-Yo or Maxwell (the latter of which carried the title of my favorite R&B record from 2009). My sentiments about this record is, admittedly, amplified slightly because of how much Kelly's sexually deviant fantasies have informed his music for the majority of the new millennium. To qualify this statement, it's also worth distinguishing that Love Letter isn't good simply because "it couldn't have gotten any worse." Considering R. Kelly's history, it's tempting to assume that stance. But really, it's a great (amazing?) album because of how effortlessly Kelly channels the spirit of older R&B styles, paying homage and sounding neither antiquated nor self-important while doing so. The suppression of his nefarious ego gives the record its shiny and candid finish; Kelly is, after all, used to deploying his charisma in order to sell tasteless sexual innuendos of epic conceit. These things also contribute to making the arguably greatest voice in modern R&B the focus of his music once again.

While the back story preceding the inception of this album definitely makes the music more interesting, it is also just categorically great and compelling in its own right.

On "Lost in Your Love," Kelly openly and defiantly declares that he wants to "bring the love songs back to the radio." For the duration of Love Letter's 50-minute running time, he has me absolutely convinced that he can single-handedly do just that. Here's to the hopeful rise of one of the most interesting figures in the world of popular music, period.

Evolution of Media: Hip-Hop Narrative - Entry #7

The recent rash of incarcerations and re-incarcerations of hip-hop stars is starting to both annoy and disillusion me. T.I. has been my favorite rapper for the last 7 years, but his recent trip back into the joint has forced me to revaluate my attitude regarding rap artists whose careers are consistently plagued and beleaguered with breaking the law.

I remember an episode of Growing Pains (at least I think it was that show) where Mike Seaver (Kirk Cameron, if we’re still assuming this is Growing Pains) meets his rock star idol and subsequently discovers that he is a tool bag. His dad, Jason Seaver (Alan Thicke, father of Robin Thicke, weeeeird), caught Mike tearing down posters of his idol and throwing out his records, and he proceeds to tell Mike that, even though that the guy was a douche, he should not let that come between him and his enjoyment of his music.

I’ve always held that advice closely to me, and I’m aware that I probably enjoy and consume a lot of music and movies made by people I would probably hate if I ever met them face to face.

The thing with hip-hop stars, however, is that these people’s serial brushes with the law literally seem never-ending. Their proclivity for violating their various probation terms and outright disregard for the multiple opportunities they receive to rejoin society blows my mind; at that point, it becomes impossible for me to ignore the possibility that not only could you be a douche bag or an idiot (or both). This psychological inability of theirs to kick old, bad habits also has a debilitating effect on their music, as causes all sorts of internal mayhem at record labels in terms of release deadlines and contract fulfillment. Rappers lose their free pass the moment their own idiocy compromises the main thing I care about: their music.

It would be nice to think that since these guys are artists and all, they would be able to channel some sort of lyrical or thematic inspiration from serving time, but so far, these lofty expectations have been a bust. 2Pac has far and away been the only clear exception to the rule (he reportedly wrote much of the outstanding All Eyez on Me during his 11-month prison term for a sexual assault conviction); everyone else, as far as I’m concerned, is on notice.

Even the mention of 2Pac in this case has one glaring caveat: he never managed to fully rehabilitate himself, and ended up being personified by the press as something of a public menace as a result of his increasingly erratic behavior and incivility, all the way up until his murder. So really, this makes 2Pac the best and worst example I could have used to make my case.

Depth of lyrics takes a distant second place to how well put together a track is sonically in my overall considerations as to what I consider good music. I’m no stranger when it comes to fun or disposable pop, and I appreciate it in the same way I appreciate songs sung in Spanish or French; I don’t typically don’t mind or care for whatever is being said as long as it sounds and feels pleasant. Even though my enjoyment of rap is predicated more on the technical side of things (a rapper’s ability to emcee, skill of production, etc.), my enjoyment is inevitably linked back to what these guys are literally saying.

This hasn’t bided well for the personal satisfaction I used to derive from listening to T.I. He’s already framed Paper Trail (2008) in the context of redemption and remorse, right before he went to jail for the second time in his life. Now, T.I.’s in jail again, and we have last month’s unfortunately-titled No Mercy, which means we have entire second round of tales of played-out apologetic bullshit.

The worst part about this is that the comeback album that he originally intended to release (which he ironically called King Uncaged) featured a host of leaks and songs that completely outclassed all the garbage that we eventually ended up with on No Mercy. All those monster tracks are shelved, and who knows when they will see the light of day? It feels as if the window of opportunity for those specific tracks (“I’m Back,” “Yeah Ya Know (Takers),”Ya Hear Me,” etc.) have passed, and even if they ever receive a proper release, I’m not sure I would be able to divorce myself from the sheer stupidity associated with them in order to fully enjoy or appreciate them as I once did.

It really baffles me how even the best and brightest of the pack – 2Pac – was never able to truly break this cycle. Pac was a sharp and talented cat, even academically. Not only was he into classical theatre and a prolific poet, but he was well-read; he was well-versed in political philosophy, and two of my favorite writers (Sun Tzu and Niccolò Machiavelli) were his as well. It’s obvious that all of the literature that 2Pac absorbed over the course of his lifetime informed much of his lyricism, as they often occupied racial, economic, and sociopolitical spaces. There’s absolutely no question that the dude was educated, but it’s also apparent that it didn’t do a damn thing for him in the end, as far as his own sense of self-preservation goes.

I’ve been wrestling and rationalizing contradictions in hip-hop culture for a long time, but if there’s one thing that’s become crystal clear to me after all this time, it’s that rappers need to cut the bullshit and clean up their act. There’s a coming of age in every man’s life where rapping about how you are a product of your environment and blaming bad decisions on one’s poor upbringing is no longer a sufficient excuse.

It’s also really unfortunate that hip-hop culture has more or less institutionalized this kind of cyclical pattern of criminal misconduct, and for what? – All in the name of “staying hood” or “keeping it real?” This problem not only makes question marks over the quality of life in urban/poverty-level areas of the country more pronounced, but it also makes evident the need for a more serious push for prison reform.

“Once a thug, always a thug” doesn’t necessarily have to be the truth, but a notable handful of rappers are doing a hell of a job making a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I came across a couple of news blurbs a couple of days ago stating that both Gucci Mane and his new protégé Waka Flocka Flame were re-incarcerated in completely separate incidents. Gucci just got out of jail himself not too long ago either. Good luck to both of you idiots, and long live the Dirty South.

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)