My hip-hop heads know that, over the last weekend, many of us commemorated Christopher “Biggie Smalls” Wallace’s (a.k.a. The Notorious B.I.G.) anniversary of his murder 11 years ago on March 9th, 1997 in Los Angeles, CA. Unfortunately, the murderer still roams free (or so we presume), and while the lawsuits are still ongoing, many in the hip-hop community already have tons of conspiracy theories, none of which have proven solid enough in the court of law, or in the ever-bungling LAPD. He still remains a legend, ranking in almost every hip-hop aficionado’s Top 5 rappers of all time, and his legacy continues in everything from the club to the studio, where even the most popular artists borrow portions of his lyrics to this day.

The one thought that came to me this morning was “What if Biggie was living today? At 37 years old, his point of view would most likely be completely different than at 25, still fresh out of crime. It’s similar to something that was said about Tupac Shakur upon his death: Martin Luther King was still a small town preacher at 25, and Malcolm X was still hustling at 22 before he was incarcerated at multiple prisons. Yet, I’m definitely not somebody who wants to put words in someone else’s mouth. Rather, this is an exercise in trying to understand the complexities of his persona and the lyrics that he left for us to ruminate over. Others may simply disregard his lyrics because of their misogyny and negativity, but rather than ignoring them, understand where they come from, and let’s find solutions that hip-hop yells about.

Ed. Note: I didn’t use any material post-Life After Death. If he didn’t want it out, then I wouldn’t use it.

Without further adieu:

Sup, y’all? It’s the Notorious One a.k.a. Mr. Wallace.

(::applause and screams::)

Mr. V wanted to talk to y’all about school. My mom already blew up my spot years ago, but I used to be a straight A student in high school. I wasn’t a geek ::ahem:: but in school, I put it down. My mom used to be a teacher, and she got her masters, so I was chillin’ in Bed-Stuy, BK. We didn’t have money like that, but we was aight. It wasn’t until late in high school I was messin’ up my life, runnin’ around, doing drugs, and other stuff you don’t really need to be playin’ with. For all my grades, though, I got a scholarship, and a good one, too. Planned to go to college, too, but I lost my scholarship money to pay for bail. No regrets, but that area in my life was dark.

So aight, I got no job, no school, and my moms ain’t too happy with me, so what I do? Sell drugs. I can’t front; sometimes it was fun, but for the most part, I hated it. All the ugly things I seen, the people I shot, and having to stay up at night scared for my life didn’t help. I slept with a glock near my bed, but still had no peace. When jail became a revolving door, I did what you know me for now: rap. I rapped on the corner, rapped at the burger joint, rapped wherever you wanted me to. I even made a demo under the name Biggie Smalls, and DJ Mr. Cee, a legend, got it, who passed it on to The Source, who put me onto “Unsigned Hype” section of the mag, and that’s when I said, “OK, this could work.” Cats was gettin’ me gassed, but I kept workin’ at it.

Then somebody called me up and said, “Somebody wants to speak to you.” Turns out, it was dude Puffy from Uptown Records! Puffy came up to me, called me in for a meeting, and signed me on the spot like “Here you go.” He wanted to make me a star, and I was down. I won’t talk about the particulars, but I didn’t care, I was hyped, like “I’ma make it.” Record after record, I kept at it. Oh you want me on a Mary J. Blige record? No doubt. Heavy D? Aight. Super Cat? Let’s go. Dudes was hot, but I wanted to be the best. Puffy told me he was gonna make a new label, but I’d have to quit the crack game. I mean, I handled my business, but at the end of the day, you’d have to be a fool to not stick to the rap game. I had to make money to feed my daughter, and I was hot. I even had a new girl and she was on the label too.

But the more money you get, the more problems come around, and jealousy and envy is part of the game, but it’s something that cats gotta deal with. Just then, 2Pac, who was my dude for a while, we were comin’ up in the game, started cuttin’ on me on records claiming I got him shot, this, that, and the other, but then at awards shows, he’d come up to me, and say “Yo, it’s about sellin’ records, man. I ain’t mad at cha.” Then again, I had my own part in how that turned out, ’cause whoa, that coulda gotten ugly. I ain’t trying to go too deep into that, ’cause whatever problems was happening because me and Pac ain’t nothin’. I wouldn’t want to wish death on nobody ’cause there ain’t no coming back from that.

All I know is, I’m good, livin’ good, you can see, eatin’ good, but rap is what I do. Some of you got it confused; rap ain’t my life. It’s my hustle. I’m a father with kids, and I got bills to pay. I gotta pay back that advance I get from the majors, plus I got another family to run, my Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique. They all doin’ their solo thing too, but I’m the head of my own label and my clothing line. I’m doing concerts, shows, TV appearances, guest records, and a million other things y’all can’t understand right now. Plus, when I was young, I didn’t know anything else besides rapping, selling crack, and all the temptations that come along with that. If I was flippin’ burgers at McD’s, I’d rap about Big Macs, word to my moms.

I went through a lot, and right now, my daughter’s livin’ good, eatin’ good, my family’s good, too. I’m having a hard time not cursin’, but it’s all good to me, you know? Selling drugs and all that, that ain’t the life. I’m not doing it anymore, and I would never go back to that life. I still got stress, but 11 years does a lot of good to a young man. But like I said before, sky’s the limit. Once you think you’ve stopped going, naw, keep going. I still made it after all my hardships, so if you keep at what you’re doing with the school work, you’ll make it too. Don’t let anybody stop you from dreaming B.I.G. Aight, peace …

federal agents made cause’s jose’s flagrant, tap his cell, and his blog from my basement …

In a recent conversation about rap over at Bionic Teaching, I highlighted the essence of how teachers should approach rap and hip-hop in general:

I think if you’re going to do it in the classroom, do it from the gut i.e. have a true and honest discussion. After all, that’s what rappers do when they use history, math, and current news to formulate their rhymes. They’re the most current record keepers of everything that happens at that point and time. For instance, Joe Budden was the first to talk about A-Rod’s demise in the playoffs in 2006 and Cory Lidle’s death as a metaphor for himself and how hip-hop’s dying around him (”Broken Wings”). But do we want to ignore his rhymes because he uses profanities that are part of the world or do we instead discuss why those profanities come into play, especially in this urban art form? Hmmm.

First, we must recognize that school isn’t simply where they learn their three R’s: it serves as their central socialization unit. They more readily find out about the neighborhood news and the latest on every and anything they like in the lunchroom than they would even from the Internet (though usually that one person heard it on the radio the night before or looked it up online). That understanding leads us to envision how children have to come up with original ways of reporting what’s happening or simply discussing their personal fears, anxieties, joys, and accomplishments, and do it better than the next person, a continuation of the oral tradition.

The disrespect that most teachers show for the hip-hop generation and their language emanates from the inherent racism of this country against young poor Blacks and Latinos and inversely from a preference for what the White culture deems as acceptable and immaculate. Older generations usually have an aversion to the younger culture, but rap has sparked a much more vigorous conversation mainly because of the complex issues it takes and embraces head-on. From drugs and violence to misogyny and police brutality, rappers are musical historians, using tidbits and similes pulled straight out of pop culture and ancient history to diversify, illuminate, and aggrandize.

Rather than completely discarding the culture completely, it’d be more advantageous to incorporate multiple literacies into the classroom, demonstrating that much of the literary techniques many rappers operate with come directly from the classroom. After all, many of the biggest rappers and hip-hop enthusiasts once graduated and found success in the classroom. The Notorious BIG was once a straight A student, close to going to college until he needed his scholarship money for bail. Method Man was also a straight A student in high school. Common once went to college in Florida A&M until he dropped out to pursue his dream as a rapper. Chuck D graduated from Adelphi University. If 2Pac wouldn’t have landed in San Marin, he would be well on his way to his doctorate by now. Cam’ron almost went to Manhattan College on a basketball scholarship. In other words, the line between academic literacy and hip-hop literacy is not that rigid.

Even those who didn’t graduate from an academic institution used their lyrical wisdom to dominate, outwit, and mystify millions. Rakim, arguably the greatest rapper of all time, used alliteration and assonance with the best of these literary award winners. (”My self-esteem makes me super superb and supreme, but for a microphone, still I fiend.” Wow!) Ghostface Killah and Raekwon can describe situations so vividly but succinctly, it makes people wonder how they fitted it in 16 bars and still left us feeling like we were there. Jay-Z’s understated supremacy lies in his ability to rap as if he’s conversing with you, but nonetheless makes a well written soliloquy.

These are the voices of a generation of millions who want their message not only spread, but explicitly stated. They come from the same neighborhoods many of these urban school students come from, and even as the level of lyrical dexterity decreases (see Young Jeezy, Juelz Santana, Rick Ross), we still see a legion of young fans who have either met the rapper himself or have a shared experience with the rapper. They also provide an extreme escapism for the young urban males that follow so many of the rappers, lauding the life of dealing and using crack and having irresponsible sex with a plethora of women.

But rather than take the opportunity to develop conversations about those experiences, even amongst ourselves as teachers, even when it repulses us to think of the worst case scenario, we’d rather just look down at it as “something the kids do,” shutting off all dialogue completely. Every subject can earnestly tackle the many issues that arise in their lives, and why they chose hip-hop to address the complexities of their rather exigent life matters. What once was a simple matter of talking in rhyme over a beat at a party became this worldwide phenomena that at once entrenches its authenticity in the residences of its spokespeople but also have demands from the record labels helping to promote them.

Rappers, representatives of the hip-hop culture, serve as reporters (not solely), and that’s how most of them should be viewed. Their message resonates because it’s someone that looks like them, influences how they dress, and have shared experiences upon which the rapper usually expounds more thoroughly. Take a minute: think about it.

All this to say that, to those who didn’t originate in the hip-hop culture, I wouldn’t suggest they cater to the youth by dusting off some Master P record, or even putting Freedom Writers on loop (not a fan of the chosen one coming to save the savages story), but creativity goes a long way. Tomorrow, we’ll analyze a few of my favorite lyrics and maybe brainstorm about how we can actually use hip-hop in the classroom. Yes, those of you who aren’t educators are always welcome.

jose, whose blog ain’t no fun if the homies can’t have none …

I wrote this a few weeks ago in another site in response to someone’s inquiry as to why I believe Rakim’s the greatest rapper of all time. It bothers me a little that he doesn’t have an official website, and the last time someone tried to pay homage to him through a site, it was taken down. Yikes. Rakim’s the greatest. Timeless …

Venturing onto Jamaall’s blog, I noticed a comment by my homie Kika, who asked, “What makes Rakim the best rapper ever?” I thought it was a valid question, and one that I could respond to while Jamaall was coming up to on his own time. Rakim is the greatest rapper of all-time for 3 main reasons:

1) He is the absolute embodiment of a Master of Ceremonies in terms of presence and confidence behind the microphone

2) He achieved and continued to achieve at least some commercial success without selling his own message and agenda of P.E.A.C.E. short, which means that people are bending to him, and not the other way around.

3) He was a revolutionary when it came to rap flow. Rather than stick to the simple subject matter and rap flows that were popularized by his predecessors, he used tons of alliteration, alliteration, and other techniques that many rappers hadn’t even thought of to that point, and did it with such ease, that every rapper after him thought they could somehow emulate that.

To this day, people still can’t touch his combination of flow, charisma, and omniscient. Even his worst rhymes have often been favored by true hip-hop fans versus the more contemporary artists. He’s had the greatest influence of any hip-hop artist, living or dead, just off fact #3, and he also made it cool for rap lyricists to jump on an R&B track, now a staple for many rap and R&B albums for collaborations.

Jamaall went on to call him the Wilt Chamberlain of rap; I guess that’s an OK analogy, but I would more readily compare him to Muhammad Ali or a Malcolm X in his later years: awesome storytellers and lyricists, who didn’t necessarily have a “team” around them, and who people regarded highly in their respective populations. Then again, I would more compare him to Malcolm in his later years only because people only talk about him as part of the Nation of Islam, and not when he founded his own organization and spoke of peace after coming back from Mecca. Even those are weak analogies to the god MC, whose legendary status was sometimes ignored by younger rap fans.

By the way, that “Classic” with Kanye, Nas, Rakim, and KRS-One is nice, but honestly, they could have all hit harder. Maybe it’s because it became part of a Nike promo.

Updated: For more Rakim, you MUST listen to:

“Follow the Leader” by Eric B. and Rakim
“I Ain’t No Joke” by Eric B. and Rakim
“Microphone Fiend” by Eric B. and Rakim
“Don’t Sweat the Technique” by Eric B. and Rakim
“Eric B. is President” by Eric B. and Rakim
“Paid in Full” by Eric B. and Rakim

features he’s done:

“The Watcher 2″ with Jay-Z, Truth Hurts and Dr. Dre
“NY State of Mind” with Alicia Keys and Nas
“R.A.K.I.M.” off the 8 Mile Soundtrack (*** HIGHLY SLEPT ON ***)
“Militia II” with Gangstarr, and WC

Whatever happened to P.E.A.C.E.?

PEACE PEACE PEACE!!!

jose, who tells competitors to not sweat the technique …

p.s. - Anyone that mentions Lil’ Wayne, Juelz Santana, or (insert random rapper who doesn’t even belong in the same paragraph except with the word “not” in between) needs to check themselves before they wreck themselves.