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October 30, 2003
The Gripe
First it was Novaslim. Now it's Santagati. Way back when it might have been me, but I've been on the other side so long that the memory is fogged. What do we have in common? The Gripe.
De La Soul's version of The Gripe was best exemplified in the rap "Stakes is High"
I'm sick of bitches shakin' asses
I'm sick of talkin' about blunts,
Sick of Versace glasses,
Sick of slang,
Sick of half-ass awards shows,
Sick of name brand clothes.
Sick of R&B bitches over bullshit tracks,
Cocaine and crack
Which brings sickness to blacks,
Sick of swoll' head rappers
With their sicker-than raps
Clappers and gats
Makin' the whole sick world collapse
The facts are gettin' sick
Even sicker perhaps
Stickabush to make a bundle to escape this synapse
Folks in the grip of The Gripe are mostly well-meaning and sensitive, intelligent and hopeful. But there is a difference between hope and optimism. Optimism is the belief, based on evidence, that things will get better. Hope persists in spite of evidence to the contrary. Those who Gripe about hiphop are hopeful, because hiphop ain't going anywhere. This is why Gripers get on my nerves, because in the end they are just pissing and moaning about market share.
Tell me what is more ridiculous than hoping for a new and improved public? It is the public, the masses, the proletariat, the hoi polloi, everyday, joe schmoe, mainstream, faceless, American grade-B peasant that constitutes the bulk of the populus. This is the nation of millions that makes Proctor & Gamble billions just because each of them buys lotion, soap and deodorant. (And now 5 dollar toothbrushes in case you haven't noticed). And this is the nation of millions that holds back the aspirations of the Gripers, who seek refinement, discernment and enlightenment in their entertainment. Say What? As sympathetic as I am to the elevated cultural and political sensibilities of my bretheren of taste, I find myself constantly having to remind them that they are a minority inside an enclave within a fraction of an elite.
Hollywood, Madison Avenue and all other capitalistic enterprises bent on prying the last nickel of disposable income from the great unwashed masses don't give a rat's gnat about the breathless desires of the Gripers. They do a good job of pretending which ironically is just enough to keep the Gripers in thrall. It is this half-assed codependence which generates the kinds of screeds against the Bad in hopes for any Good.
My advice to Gripers is not to get a life, but to get a child. Because when you get married and have a baby, you suddenly find that you don't spend so much time at Tower Records or the cinemaplex. You can't shake your ass down at the club or bullshit at the local head's hangout as much as you used to. All that unfocused vagued disillsionment finds direction and purpose in the integrity of your child's mind - that and wiping baby food off the cieling.
The mavens of the cultural marketplace are not heeding your calls. The best you can do is get invited to their parties, because once they blow up and collect enough ducats, they too get sick of the peddled pabalum that paved their paths to plenty. Does anyone honestly believe that J Lo listens to her own records? That's a scary thought; it might be true.
Ultimately Gripers grow up. We finally decide that there ain't no public worth reforming and grow comfortable in our own little nasty worlds. We take time and read books, and then get our Vladimir Horowitz on. We dig on Terrance Blanchard and Countee Cullen. We decline backstage passes to Black Eyed Peas and everyone else who's trying to make the Crowd say 'Ho!'. And best of all, we don't miss it. Post-Gripers don't say 'Ho!', and there's not a party over here and we don't really care any longer.
The sooner you know it, the better off you'll be.
Posted by mbowen at October 30, 2003 09:50 AM
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� steady on the grind from Negro, Please Don't Hurt 'Em!
Stakes is High. [Read More]
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Comments
From age 11 to 18, I walked the thug life. Gang-bangin', stabbin', ho slappin', etc. And you know what, I didn't listen to ANY MUSIC. Not even hip-hop. It was all background noise to me, hoss. Cause I was a THUG. A walking homicide waiting to happen. Wrapped in my own dark thoughts and vices. I didn't hear hip-hop until AFTER I got out of the dark. So when I hear so-called hardcore gangsta rap, it feels fake to me. Because a real hardcore, gangsta rap tune sounds like this:
...............*SCREAM*
Nothingness and a scream. Can't listen to that.
Hip-hop had some revolutionary voices but those are long since gone to the BMGs and Universals of the world. Now, all you should hope for is just good music made by good artists, plain and simple.
Posted by: S-Train at October 31, 2003 12:48 AM
Train has a point about the revolutionary voices. Take the words of the gripe and think about the progression (or should I say devolution?) of hip-hop over the last 20 years.
I used to enjoy it - in fact I still do. The old stuff that is. All of this new crap is formulaic waste. Bling-Bling, cash money, bitches, hoes and hummers is the order of the day.
Train hit it on the head - we can't relate. It's like the new generation of rappers is on another planet or something. Rap isn't about real life anymore.
Like you said, wiping baby food off the ceiling gives you perspective.
Posted by: Robert at October 31, 2003 09:11 AM
I'm still looking for "new" hiphop, not the crap on TV, but voices out there that I can't hear because Nelly and Chingy (he calls himself what?) standing in the way.
And while they aren't new, I still love the Roots and Blackalicious. I think they fall under the "artist" category instead of the "spectacle" category. I also appreciate that they use live instruments and take artistic risks with their lyrics.
I read an article that called these two groups "backpack rap," insisting that the only people who listen to them are white mac geeks with ipods. I heartily disagree - I do not have an ipod. ;)
Posted by: Ms Lauren at October 31, 2003 01:39 PM