Dating back to the days of NWA and Public Enemy, white rap fans developed a thirst for the what they considered the most rebellious and ‘most authentic’ forms of hip-hop. For those who were first exposed to it through Run-DMC, the Beastie Boys or MC Hammer, it didn’t take long for audiences to seek the more abrasive and rebellious stuff, such is the nature of teenagers everywhere. While the mainstream media considered PE and 2 Live Crew to be a threat to the ‘decent, god-fearing’ white youth of America, there was no denying the power of the music. Even the most militant attempts by the powers-that-be to keep them off the radio and out of the record stores failed to make a dent on their sales or impact, with even the more hardline stances of groups like X-Clan or Da Lench Mob being embraced by pale-faced rap fanatics who were often less concerned with being labeled as a ‘devil’ than with hearing a dope beat.
The rise of Eminem provided an excuse for the last remaining sceptics to get on board the rap hype train, as here was a white dude who was immediately identifiable to even the most closed-minded Caucasian teenager (with the exception of Kid Rock fans, but that’s another matter entirely). As with Vanilla Ice before him, Slim Shady’s popularity raised concerns that he was going to make like Elvis and lead to hip-hop being yet another form of black music co-opted by corporate America for commercial gain. While they certainly both set the stage for the recent rise of Macklemore and Iggy Azalea (and the resultant implications of white privilege) in recent years, hip-hop has still been able to retain a strong link with its black and Hispanic roots.
Following the release of Kendrick Lamar‘s To Pimp A Butterfly album in March, some fans declared it the blackest hip-hop album in some time, in that it took musical and conceptual risks that spoke specifically to the black American experience. I’m not in a position to judge whether or not that’s accurate, but assuming that it’s true, then it could be argued that some cracker from Australia has no damn business forming a valid public opinion on the album, as I lack the necessary life experience. I’m always going to be a ‘cultural visitor’ to rap music, as I grew up in an environment that’s completely foreign to the socio-economic forces that created hip-hop. That doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
By the same token, the same cultural divide also applies to the music of Eminem, since I can’t personally relate directly to growing up in a trailer park and having a mother who was strung out on drugs. Even the music of Action Bronson – which is far closer to my ideal of great rap music based on the fact that Bronson hails from Flushing, Queens and has been influenced by the Juice Crew and the Wu-Tang Clan in much the same way that I have – still isn’t entirely relatable to me since he comes from a background and a lifestyle that is equally foreign to my day-to-day existence. American culture as a whole is still quite alien to me in many ways, despite the numerous slang and mannerisms that rap music has exposed me to.
What is it that makes a qualified music critic anyway? Does someone who has digested thousands of hip-hop albums over their life automatically qualify as an ‘expert’? Or should that be the job of an album’s target audience, who have traditionally been teenagers or young adults? I’d argue that it’s a moot point in this day and age. While an LP receiving a 3.5 mic rating in The Source in the early ’90s might have discouraged high school kids on a limited budget from picking it up, the fact that anybody with a phone or a computer can legally stream most music or illegally ‘preview’ an album before it’s even available to buy means that they’ll never again have to experience the bitter taste of disappointment that I felt when I blew my last $20 on that Erick Sermon solo album in 1993. Qualified or not, the only platform that a writer really has is the integrity to express their opinion without considering whether or not they might upset advertisers, editors or the artists themselves. Don’t front, you know I gotcha opin.
Keep up with Robbie’s ‘No Country for Old (Rap) Men’ here.