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hip-hop

Indulge me. Watch this video and tell me what’s your first reaction.

If your first reaction to this video was “Girl, get a job!”, whether you’re a woman or man of any color or stature, you’re enacting on sexist behavior. Yes, I got this from rapradar.com and also saw it on another website. While I thought Rap Radar did an effective job of just putting this in the fore, the other sites I’ve seen it on already turned their heads on Eliza Rios, who doesn’t even sound remotely desperate. Yet, the minute people saw the screen shot of a dark Puerto Rican lady with twists in her hair and a Bronx-tinted accent living in a shelter, they’re already willing to tell her she’s no good.

That, my friends, is sexist.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in my formative years reading a little bell hooks and Audre Lorde (frankly, not enough), but I understand the intersectionality of the -isms we place upon people, and how quickly we’re willing to turn on people who we consider ourselves a part of if they don’t fit the criteria  in another group we’re a part of. For instance, let’s say we have a group of middle-t0-upper class women all in the room sharing in these activities, but one happens to be Black. Regardless of her esteemed attributes and her acceptance into the group because of her stature and sex, her race makes even things like her cooking unacceptable to the other members in that group.

In the same way, I found many of the commenters who probably live in her same neighborhood, drink the same things she drinks, goes to the same clubs, grew up around or in the same situation she did, and loved the same man she did for years on end (for completely different reasons) extremely critical of Ms. Rios, maybe even BECAUSE Big Pun admittedly physically abused her. For many of the people I read, that in and of itself was a non-issue, a sure indication that they don’t think physical abuse of the mother of one’s children is relevant to why she feels in the slightest way entitled to whatever he said he’d provide for her and their children. In other words, sexist.

I can already smell some of you saying, “Why doesn’t she get a job? She looks lazy, slovenly, like she can’t do for self. She could use an education.” People really have a hard time differentiating between seeing people on their screen doing a TV interview and what actually do day-to-day. Secondly, she said, even with the six-figure sum she was paid when he died, the bills accumulated higher because the man couldn’t provide at that point. I don’t believe that the woman always has to be the caretaker in a marriage; that’d be sexist of me. However, I believe that’s the role she chose; Big Pun’s talents were the bread, the butter, and the whole table setting (check his record). She no more could have predicted his sudden death than any of us.

A large part of me feels like it’s because Big Pun was a phenomenal MC and not just a regular dude in the hood that she’s being maligned or disregarded as such. Then again, even on The Maury Povich show, people more often than not pull for the guy to not be the father just to see him dance than the child to have a father and at least have him be financially responsible for what he helped produce. In no way am I saying that women shouldn’t also feel some sort of responsibility. Not-so-big secret: I too was raised mostly in a single-parent home for all intents and purposes, and my mother helped make something out of me. But statistically, I’m an exception. Statistically, I beat the rather ominous odds, and so did all these other bougie fools typing their comments from their Sidekicks trying to hate on Ms. Rios.

In the last part of the video, it’s easy to see that she’s not looking for someone to come in and swoop her from her situation. She fully understands what’s going on, and frankly, was too conservative about the way Fat Joe and everyone else who’d fed off her husband’s gifts (mis)treated her along the way. I guess if we can’t put the women in a g-string on top of a car or showering them with money, then they get relegated to the squalor of home, never to be seen or heard from until something tragic happens.

Yet, something tells me everyone who already wanted to oppress her made their judgments before they played the video. Sexism feels comfortable for those who need to elevate themselves as such.

Jose, who can’t wait for what you might have to say …

{ 7 comments }

Jay-Z Vibe Cover

Jay-Z Vibe Cover

Recently, Vibe Magazine closed its doors, at least in print form. For those who never ventured into black publication, Vibe Magazine was a Black-based magazine started by Quincy Jones last decade. The ostensible vision of the pub was to highlight Black culture, but with a bit of a White lens. It mainly featured R&B and hip-hop acts while also dipping into some rock and dance artists from time to time. While the racial aspect of the magazine’s foreclosure has been done almost to death in blogs and other chat venues, I consider this turn of events truly irking.

Here’s why: growing up (and growing up literate), hip-hop and R&B magazines kept me abreast of all that happened in the hip-hop community in ways I wasn’t really allowed to explore in my youth. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to go to my favorite artists’ concerts because I couldn’t really afford to. I was also very limited in my exposure to rappers until high school when I found out the Roc-A-Fella Records offices  (the former home to artists like Jay-Z, Beanie Sigel, and Memphis Bleek) were a block away from my high school. I still have high stacks of magazines from the Source, Blaze, Vibe, and XXL that I’ve kept over the years.

Comparable to the way we used to be fascinated by time capsules, these publications represented everything that was hot and cold during my lifetime. While not everything resonated with me (Cash Money articles, here’s looking at you), I found myself taking whole days out just reading the latest cover with DMX or Eminem on the cover, and wanted to collect every cover Jay-Z or Roc-a-Fella ever appeared on. And forget about Biggie and 2Pac covers; they never got old to me. Every little detail was important to me, from the producers and managers to how one rapper’s style differed from the other and the creation of that rappers’ music.

Those publications brought a certain amount of access to the artists I obviously couldn’t get anywhere else. Plus, the writers who’d bring those stories didn’t have their names all over the piece, but brought a certain style, grit, and fluidity to their pieces that parachuted us into their subject matter that made me want to become a writer secretly. And I guess without these publications, we don’t get the opportunity to see that type of writing in full bloom. In the digital world, people often say that sohh.com and sandrarose.com will replace the need for the aforementioned publications, and in a way, I see that as a valid point. On the other hand, though, I have yet to see the caliber of writing like we’ll see in those publications. Many of the bits we see look more like AP pieces or, in other cases, just crap.

And that leads me to the present situation. Where do all the writers that have followed the Raquel Cepedas, Toures, and Dream Hamptons of the world go? The ones who want to be the Edward Murrow, William Lloyd Garrison, or Bob Woodwards of their time? It’s a really shaky time for those who want to take that profession as their full-time position, and make those of us with day jobs, like me, wonder what becomes of those in the writing profession. Where do the future stories about our favorite mainstream and underground artists come from? Where do the good, in-depth stories come from?

No way am I saying it’s Armaggedon for the business of journalism / investigative writing is dead. There must be change for people to keep up with the new demands on information. Yet, I strongly feel that the pickings will be much slimmer, and the panorama of memories and experiences with the writing may become more limited. And a small part of me feels like we’ll have to settle for the obscure quip. That is, if the newer blood doesn’t get a chance to start. For urban youth, Vibe was a good place to start, much like Spin, The Daily News, or Ebony would be a good place to start for burgeoning writers in that niche.

What do you guys think?

Jose, who wants to re-read his old magazines now …

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Blackstar

Blackstar

Dear Mos Def and Talib Kweli, (or whoever decides to read / respond / reflect)

Your concert piece last night reminded me why I’m such a big fan of yours. A myriad of followers from all over the Tri-State area, of all different backgrounds, ages, and cultures came through to show these two Brooklyn men love. Without any songs on the radio or much publicity, you turned out 2 sold out shows, one of which started close to midnight. And we waited for you. For that alone, I can assume you’re ecstatic and grateful to your fans for sticking around that long.

Meeting you, Talib, always came at the weirdest times. The first time I met you, it was in Union Sqaure while you were running around with your friends (literally). I remember just a really cool, humble Brooklyn dude, but little did you know this came right before I was going to purchase Quality, and since then, I was sold. I’ve converted many a non-believer with that one alone. I saw you at Syracuse University’s Block Party in 2004 with Wyclef, saw you at your free concert in downtown Manhattan, and even at a Barnes N’ Nobles, where you were getting some books with your kids. In all those moments, you never came off as larger than your fan base, never too cool to speak to anyone.

Same with you, Mos. You went and did a couple of solo joints, but have been equally as memorable for all your outside endeavors. Top Dog / Underdog. Def Poetry Jam. Brown Sugar. 16 Blocks. OK, maybe not the last one. But we dug the episode of House. And your random appearances on Talib’s materials. Again, all good to us. For some reason, your affable nature makes it easy to like you. If you walk down the street, you don’t consider yourself too big to walk down a street and grab a slice.

What’s weird is that, maybe you two never got that, but the rest of us, as anticipatory as we were, started losing our patience. Like how we got irritated with 88-Keys for being the second opening act when we were all there to see Blackstar. Like how we got irritated at the sound crew and everyone else who walked on stage before you guys, making us wait so damn long  for you all. Like how @realtalibkweli and @mrbey at first didn’t reply to fans at all, but your fellow celebs and hip-hop intelligentsia. And when @realtalibkweli started to, you sounded a lot like @rhymefest, asking us questions about trivia. Like how we only had you two in concert for exactly an hour and not a minute longer. Like how there hasn’t been a (joint) Black Star album since the first one, even with such visible chemistry on record and in real life.

And yet, here there we were, bopping our head to every damn song, 40$ a pop in the hole, making sure we had our cell phones, cameras, and camcorders out for this event in hip-hop.  We could care less about the people who appeared at the event, or the VIPs crawling the space. We just wanted that raw NYC hip-hop. We thirsted for those lyrics, and a reminder that the intelligent hip-hop fans / geeks matter, too. We wanted to dance, sing, rap along, and not feel like subservient model chicks and posers, but people of a movement that almost seems long past us.

For that feeling alone, and for keeping those flames, then, Talib and Mos, we have to thank you. Sometimes, we have these unrealistic expectations of our Black stars, especially those that touch our lives so profoundly, who write letters to their grandmothers that sound like ours, who offer us a way to get by and reach for the stars, who define and redefine our beloved music for us, who challenge us on so many levels, like we’re asked to simultaneously look at your humanity while we all reach for a divinity of sorts.

You’re truly Black Stars, against the canvas of an NYC night, appearing a curious celestial phenomena …

Jose, who’s all about the K.O.S. …

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Hip-Hop MC

Hip-Hop MC

On Facebook, I came across a slight problem that most hip-hop heads come across whenever a major hip-hop event happens (i.e. the release of Notorious, the movie): how do we qualify our short-list of greatest MCs and favorite MCs? I put up my thoughts to the masses and got a good 30+ responses, ranging from super-duper-stars to underground All-Stars. I tried my best to hold my lip about the topic because it’s rather controversial, but unlike the 90s when things got hostile, it’s now become a rather fun conversation where we all get to share our favorite moments in hip hop.

“Yo, son, you remember when Illmatic dropped?”

“I still can’t decide between the Wop and the Smurf!”

or how about,

“There’s no doubt Hip-Hop as we know it was born in the South-South BRONX!”

But by and large, this is the best conversation anyone can ever bring up. It’s usually the rambling you hear before or during a cipher, or the conversations we hear at roundtables somewhere in corporate offices with magazine editors. With that said, I naturally have to contribute my own lists. You’re all gonna look at me crazy, but I don’t care much.

Criteria: Much like Blaze’s ill-fated top 50 MCs of all time, I use the thought that “Greatest” MC includes cultural impact, lyricism, records (critical and popular success), and influence. Now that we have that rubric down, check my steez:

rakim2

Rakim

Top 5 Greatest:

1. Rakim
2. 2Pac
3. Jay-Z
4. Biggie
5. KRS-One

1) That was a tough pill to swallow. #1 will always be #1 to me, strictly because of his ability to take rap lyricism light years above where it was. It was no longer simple a-b-a-b: with Rakim on the mic, the rhyme could have been placed anywhere in the lyric, and yet, it was always perfectly placed. He had commercial success, had songs for the party and for the purist, ate every MC he came across with one line, and he paved the way for at least a third of the MCs out there. And even when he could really lyrically embarrass his contemporaries, he never overdid it, and that’s where his magic lies.

2) 2Pac gets HUGE points now for still being alive even when he’s no longer alive. When you rank on lists that include John Lennon and Elvis Presley, you deserve it. Lyrically, he was alright, but what he actually said and how he was one of the most sincere rappers, if not the most sincere, clearly put him above and beyond.

3) Jay-Z’s been the most consistent rapper of the last decade, and his longevity surpasses LL’s because LL hasn’t been relevant since 2003 … maybe. Despite a large portion of his lyrics being borrowed from other sources (and I use the word nicely), we also know that, without them, as he so thoroughly explains in “What More Can I Say?”, he’d still be better than 1/2 of the MCs out there. Plus, he didn’t get with the trends: he stayed one step in front of them and made them every step of the way. Oh yeah, and there’s also the fact that his christening of the South with his “Ha (remix)” with Juvenile and “Big Pimpin’” with UGK turned a lot of the East’s eyes towards our Southern brethren.

4) Biggie may have ranked higher when he was alive, but unfortunately, his untimely passing cut off his potential that much more. I don’t rank on potential; I rank on action, and Biggie doesn’t pass that litmus test. He may still have a huge following all across the nation, but like I said, he doesn’t have enough material for him to go any higher, no matter how much emotion we want to go with.

5) KRS-One, while not my in my favorite list, had a tremendous impact on Hip-Hop. He was its evangelist, and also its symbol: bombastic, witty, contradictory, rugged, snarky, awesome, and super-lyrical. Woo!

But then there’s this funny little list for my Favorite, and while 4 out of 5 of these men on this list occupy my Favorites list (sorry, KRS), I also have a couple more that I have some emotional / hip-hop attachment towards:

A Reasonable Favorites List

Ghostface Killah, On Stage

Ghostface Killah, On Stage

1. Talib Kweli
2. Ghostface Killah
3. Eminem
4. Kanye West
5. Common

honorable mentions:

6. Redman, 7. Joe Budden, 8. Andre 3000

I know that list sounds like a Who’s Who of “underground to mainstream love”, but honestly, these are my favorites. I lean heavily on these gentlemen for most of my rap music. I have Kanye’s, Eminem’s and Talib’s whole discographies at this point, and am working towards the other gentlemen’s discographies, too. I’ll have to get into each and all of these men at some point, but suffice it to say that when we talk about the greatest, I don’t think any of these men crack the top 10. Honestly. At least not yet.

Jose, who wonders how many haters I’ll have to add to my list after this barnburner …

p.s. – My favorite femcee is Lauryn Hill. Yep. That felt good to say. Favorite group? A Tribe Called Quest.

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It Was All A Dream (What If …?)

by Jose on March 10, 2008 · 6 comments

in life

Biggie, the King

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 …

{ 6 comments }

Step Into a World

by Jose on December 3, 2007 · 12 comments

in Uncategorized

2Pac ChildIn 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 …

{ 12 comments }

Follow the Leader

by Jose on April 12, 2007 · 1 comment

in Uncategorized

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 …

rakim

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.

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