Rapping for a revolution

Rapping is a great way to get a message across. From Paris to Palestine, hip-hop has been the voice of disgruntled youth all over the world. Chuck D, one of the pillars of political rap, has called it “the CNN of Black America.” Its lyrics may be politically charged, but can rap change the world like no other form of music has done before? Not really. As black political commentator John McWhorter writes in his book, All About the Beat: Why Hip-Hop Can’t Save Black America, hip-hop isn’t as influential as its followers would like to think.

It’s easy to dismiss rap music as a genre that encourages “gangsta” ideals like hedonism and misogyny. 50 Cent’s song Candy Shop, is about letting his girlfriend lick his lollipop. A similar song by Lil Wayne, entitled Lollipop, shows that the metaphor still hasn’t gotten old. Meanwhile, mainstream rap lacks any valuable message. You’d be going too far to think that Soulja Boy is telling young blacks to “Supahman!” out of poverty.

But defenders of hip-hop’s political significance cite a sub-genre called “conscious rap,” which is less likely to be about pimpin’ hos, and more likely to be about racism and life in the ghetto. Though even conscious rap’s message is lacking.

A classic example of conscious rap is N.W.A.’s F**k Tha Police, which is five minutes of waving a middle finger at authority. More recently, the underground rapper, Immortal Technique has been arguing about how “Bush knocked down the towers,” referring to conspiracy theories surrounding 9/11.

You can’t expect a rap song to carry the substance of a policy paper, but at the same time, the message has to have more to it than just cursing at the government.

Though, some underground rap groups, such as Dead Prez and The Coup, are more substantive. They’re Marxists who rap about the evils of capitalism. But like their mainstream counterparts, they fail to come up with any solutions.

While hatin’ on the government has become second nature, most rappers fail to be introspective about what they and their listeners can do about their own problems. Instead of calling for responsible citizenship and an end to gang violence, rappers tell the police to take a hike. Similarly, unpleasant social issues within the black community — like HIV/AIDS, one of the biggest killers of African-Americans — are often overlooked. Rap isn’t so “conscious” after all.

By giving its listeners what they want to hear, and not what they possibly should hear, most political rap can’t even be called political. It celebrates a way of life and encourages little personal responsibility for the problems of the ghetto. Instead of changing the status quo, rappers indulge in it. In doing so, it reveals that rappers who condemn the evils of capitalism are not much different from the likes of Soulja Boy; even for “socially-conscious” rappers, attitude is more important than activism. Most rappers are driven by superficial motives when they muse over social issues. As McWhorter points out, “Insisting that things are still so simple that black people need to get together and rise in fury against an evil oppressor makes for entertaining hip-hop.”

In addition to a flawed message, hip-hop is, essentially, just preaching to the choir, and in doing so, doesn’t achieve much. Struggling blacks don’t need to hear about the injustices they themselves face every day. Likewise, grandmas won’t become compassionate crusaders for the ghetto just by listening to rap. Hip-hop won’t invigorate its listeners’ dissent. Neither will it convince non-listeners to change their minds.

According to the Hip-Hop Summit Action Network, a political group, hip-hop is “an enormously influential agent for social change.” But these claims are exaggerated. Kanye West didn’t make George Bush unpopular by declaring that “Bush doesn’t care about black people!”; Bush already was. Like Kanye’s statement, hip-hop as a whole is only the product of, and not the reason for, bitterness towards the government. Again, hip-hop isn’t as influential as many of its supporters would like to think.

But that’s not to say that rap music is completely useless. It communicates to young people like no other genre of music today. The sheer volume of lyrics in a single rap proves that it’s expressive by nature. Its beginnings in forgotten, inner-city neighborhoods around the world have linked it closely to social issues from day one. And today’s rappers, at least to some extent, have reflected this in their songs.

I’m just skeptical about whether those songs can change the world like an insurrection from da hood. Rap isn’t so exceptional that it goes beyond mere music to constitute a full-fledged revolution. Hip-hop can influence people, but only in the modest way that any other genre of music can.

In that sense, even mainstream rap has something to offer. Simple, mushy messages like the Black Eyed Peas’ Where is the Love? can quietly change people’s attitudes. Ironically, that upbeat message is more challenging to its listeners than F**k Tha Police, which flatters them, instead of inspiring change.

As it turns out, a song asking “What’s wrong with the world, Mama?” is as confrontational as rap gets. And in that sense, political rap is no more explosive than country music.

Although sometimes disagreeable, John McWhorter’s All About the Beat: Why Hip-Hop Can’t Save Black America is an interesting read on an unlikely subject.

*  *  *

For comments and suggestions, e-mail me at levistel@gmail.com.