I have a love-hate relationship with Hip-Hop.
For me, one of the first allures of hip-hop music was its abrasiveness. The first two rap songs I ever memorized were Snoop Doggy Dogg's "Gin and Juice" and Ol' Dirty Bastard's "Shimmy Shimmy Ya." Snoop's explicit stories over that G-Funk and ODB's non-sensical ramblings over those two dirty piano notes were so rebellious. For God's sake, the guy's name was Ol' Dirty Bastard! And where were you the first time you heard "Shook Ones Part II?" I don't remember for sure, but I guarantee that I did something wild that day, maybe started a fight for no reason or shoplifted my lunch from William's Convenience at the corner of Pape and Cosburn. That hardcore element of the music spoke to the rebelliousness of those of us that came of age in the 1990's the same way that wearing plaid and not showering spoke to white kids that overdosed on Kurt Cobain in the same time period.
I really got into hip-hop on the second day of grade 10 at my new high school when I grabbed my brother's Walkman, hoping to look cool in the hallways where I knew almost no one. I hadn't even looked to see what was in there, and it turned out to be Nas' new It Was Written cassette. The first three songs blew me away, but his classic "I Gave You Power" concept song showed me how intensely lyrical hip- hop could be, even while telling a story, or an epic screenplay on wax, if you will. Working my way backwards to Nas' debut Illmatic, which is still the best 38 minutes in the history of hip-hop, I decided that I would never settle for anything less than mind-unraveling lyricism. Guru, Big L and Common fed my appetite for notable quotables while Biggie, Mobb Deep and Raekwon combined the two schools of rap, impressing me with thugged-out, thinking-man's hip-hop.
But I never fully understood the true power of hip-hop until I got into the music of one Tupac Shakur. More than any other artist he is representative of hip-hop's various qualities and shortcomings, both uplifting and depressing, positive and negative, abrasive, lyrically athletic and political all at once. 'Pac showed with tracks like "Brenda's Got A Baby," "Keep Ya Head Up," "Dear Mama" and even "Hail Mary" and "Hellrazor" that hip-hop can have a message. It can speak on poverty, racism, sexism and even fight back against negativity in today's music. One of the best post-'Pac examples of music with a politically-charged message is dead prez's debut Let's Get Free. Going into my freshman year of college DP put my mind on a completely different intellectual level while encouraging me to fight back against redneck cops, do something for my community and still invite all my high school teachers to "suck my dick!" For so long hip-hop had been about partying, being fresh, gangbanging or about hip-hop itself, 'Pac and DP showed me that hip-hop could be about SOMETHING.
Since the beginning of Canadian hip-hop history there have been artists in all of these categories. Maestro ("the hip-hop tic-tac-tician") could spit with the best of 'em and move the crowd at any 90's basement jam, while Drake, Classified and Adam Bomb can out-rap anyone on the radio as well. Point Blank's hit "Thin Line 2002" is probably my favourite Toronto hip-hop song ever, with its moody, minor- scale piano riffs and boastful hood tales and there is no shortage of Canadian artists glamourizing what's happening in their townhouse complex with the brown fences. Shad, everyone's favourite young'un outta London, Ontario, is bringing back positivity to hip-hop and speaking out against society's (and hip- hop's) negativity at the same time. He battles stereotypes on "Brother (Watching)," pokes fun at hip-hop materialism on "The Old Prince Still Lives At Home" and beams with family pride on "A Good Name."
So does a true hip-hop head only accept one type of hip-hop? If so which type? Old-school, boom-bap, syllable-counting, rhyme-scheme-flipping lyricism? Textbook-critiquing, black-gloved-fist-raising, political raps? Or grimy, shoot -'em-up, East Coast hood narratives?
There is no right answer.
To be hip-hop is to be a contradiction. It is the world's most schizoprenic culture, full of artists that can't decide who they really are. So we ask Nas, is it "Black Girl Lost" or shorty owe you for ice? And we ask 'Pac, is it no wonder why they call women bitches, or do we tell them to "Keep Ya Head Up?" And Drizzy, was she the best you ever had, or do you just wanna hit it from the back until her f***in' bra strap pops?
I refuse to divide and fragment hip-hop any further than it already has been. I don't wanna have to choose between the hardcore shit and the tongue-twisting lyricists and the kufi-wearing thinkers. I want to enjoy my boy L. spitting "I GZA on a hoe and tell her Proteck Ya Neck" as much as Shad imploring more women to rap ("We're only getting half the view of the world"). I want to hear as much about Drake's "Fear" as his threesomes ("I don't like my women single/I like my chicks in twos"). And of course I want to hear Shad rap in his role as "the underdog spazzin' on a track" ("Yaa I Get It").
But if your music isn't real, isn't about anything AND you can't rap... Sorry son, you gets no love.
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