In My Ear. Out My Head

By Cherina Jones

Every year the title of “greatest rapper alive” gets passed around like black eyed peas at Thanksgiving dinner. Old and new rappers alike are boastful about how the have or will change the “game.” The conversation has become boring and frankly mainstream rap seems to be more defined by who produces, rather than who spits on a track. Back in the day when a song came on the radio, you didn’t have to sit through 30 seconds of a the producer shouting his/her name at the beginning of a track.

Sure, any song that you want to popularize needs to be catchy. You need a dope hook that is virtually unforgettable. Now a days you have to also have some kind of unique appeal (read as “swag”). Shit, it seems like all you need now is a hook and a dream—ask Soulja Boy. It’s not a diss, and it’s not “hate” either. There is a hell of a lot of room for listeners to be critical of artists, and quite frankly the wackness needs to come to a indefinite pause.

I could be wrong though. Perhaps mainstream hip hop is morphing into something that will win back some of its once loyal listeners; maybe she is just experiencing growing pains and we need to be patient. Although I grew up in the eighties, I’m not married to the 80’s hip hop music. Despite my criticisms of the mainstream rap game, I’m pretty open to new music and the evolution of rap music, but our expectations of mainstream rap have become virtually obsolete. We fall back and praise the underground cats for their heart and love for what many may characterize as “real” hip hop music. But underground means just that, underground. It means that “real” hip hop is NOT getting into the hands of mainstream rap heads.

Real hip hop doesn’t have anything to do with “consciousness,” a word so inappropriately and carelessly used by many people. I have heard some people say that no one wants to hear that conscious shit all the time—I agree, we don’t. I like to shake my ass like the next person, but I am completely turned off when a raw beat hits my speaker and some self proclaim “greatest” begins to mumble unconscionable phrases, filling the track with braggadocio rants, and call that shit dope. It seems like the hunger for the art itself is missing, clever word play is inconsistent, solid rhyme schemes are no longer needed, and unique storytelling seems to be a thing of the past.

I know people are trying to get their pockets lined correctly. Hip Hop has become quite the lucrative business venture for many cats. Smart people such as Jay-z, Russell Simmons and Sean Combs have turned their love for Hip Hop into corporate cash cows, and it has worked successfully for them. When the motivation is money though, doing anything for a buck becomes quite the reality. It becomes about a look, about your swag. You retire your pen and you become a puppet, allowing white men in suits to pull your strings and control your tongue.

I love music, period. I listen to a lot of shit, but I think the quality of mainstream rap music has hit an all time low. I’m all for creativity, but some things are not creative. Having your shit all over the radio doesn’t always mean you're the most talented person, sometimes it just means you have some EXCELLENT PR people.

Radio and music executives will tell you, they play music the people want, but I am a member of “the people,” and I surely didn’t ask for this shit.