Rap on the rocks

And I suppose this is why I find myself more and more disappointed with the direction of rap.

I won’t pretend to be an expert on rap. But from the history I do know, I can say rap can be considered an extension, or rather, a descendent of hip hop, a powerful movement beginning in the streets of New York in the 1970s in which black men could express themselves as they lived through economic and social suffering. It was pure in its complete, unapologetic rawness. And most importantly, while it was personal expression, it simultaneously reached out to others in similar situations and created a new sort of unity.

It is because the origins of hip hop can be found in such empowerment of the people that I am so angry when I see how artists of today have degraded the genre. Of course, this isn’t a new concept. It’s not like I woke up today and thought, “Rap has really lost itself.” However, I did wake up and talk with my sister about recent articles on the sorry state that is, more often than not, rappers and their lyrics.

The first article was about Rick Ross, who’d lost a deal with Reebok due to these illustrious lyrics: “Put Molly all in her champagne. She ain’t even know it. I took her home and I enjoy that. She ain’t even know it.” After an unexpected backlash from women — go figure — Rick Ross made sure to clarify he did not condone rape or even use the word in his lyrics. It was obviously all a misunderstanding. Because putting drugs in someone’s drink and taking her home to “enjoy” her cannot be interpreted as rape. Obviously.

As if reading this article hadn’t incensed me enough, I then read an interview with A$AP Rocky where he felt he needed to dole out advice for the ladies: “I feel like with the red lipstick thing it all depends on the complexion … You have to be fair skinned to get away with that. … What do dark skin girls have that you know fair skinned can’t do … Purple lipstick? Naw, that looks stupid on all girls!” Oh. All right. I’ll just be sure to dispose of that red lipstick I got the other day. Not like that Sephora employee’s expertise can compare with A$AP Rocky's.

I would say these two instances, among the many that I could list, depict the three major reasons my relationship with rap is on the rocks. The first is obvious: the gross attack on women, and in A$AP Rocky’s case, black women. The latter sheds light on the ongoing politics and discrepancies of light and dark-skinned black women. As for the former, it’s one thing to wax poetic about a woman’s ass. It’s another thing to suggest rape, putting Molly in her drink and enjoying her, if she’s not particularly moved by your words. This callous, almost violent approach dehumanizes all women and sequesters black women who have historically played major roles of empowerment, only to now be reduced to objects many rappers feel entitled to.

The second issue is of the decline of significance in lyricism. I won’t overgeneralize and say that there is no meaningful rap left. But I will say that finding rap reminiscent of its former glory can be a tedious yet worthwhile game of hide-and-seek. I would be less upset if the music simply declined from its once social commentary to marketing fluff. But it often goes past fluff and into dangerous territory like that of Rick Ross’s “slipup” which is a travesty of what rap and hip hop originally were.

The final problem is that this sort of music is the most pervasive. It is the most popular depiction of where rap is today, and it is everywhere. Just this past Saturday, amidst protests, Tyga, famous for “Rack City” and lesser-known songs like “Bitches Ain’t Shit” performed at Harvard’s Yardfest. But don’t think our Orange Bubble is impenetrable to this. It’s in our dance troupe performances — because "Mercy" does have any amazing beat — it’s blasted at that pregame, and it’s unconsciously on my mind as I find myself murmuring about a “wifey, girlfriend, and mistress.” It’s true that music speaks. But what is spoken may not always be real, and what is heard may not be the best conveyance of truth. Still, music continues to reflect and transcend society. Rappers may continue to spew words of irrelevance, objectification and inward divisiveness, but at some point, this music that was once meant to empower will inevitably end in unconscious self-subjugation of both its creators and listeners. And that hurts.