Rap music has established itself firmly within popular culture and become a credible art of expression. The label of rap has come to be synonymous with lyricism and rightly so. Indeed, in spite of their origins in the grime scene, lyrically proficient artists like Scorcher, Wretch 32, Kano and Durrty Goodz are commonly regarded as rappers in denoting their penchant for lyricism. Nonetheless, despite its roots in artistic expression, rap struggles to achieve universal recognition as a legitimate art.
As a genre underpinned by storytelling, lyricism is a cornerstone of rap. The ability to articulate tales with imagery, metaphors, double entendres and other wordplay, all the while doing so through intricate rhyming patterns, is no throwaway skill. Nor is the range of emotions and perspectives rap is able to create with words. From the vivid narrative of inner city life in Skinnyman’s Council Estate of Mind, to Lowkey’s incredibly moving and personal Bars for my Brother, rap clearly isn’t limited to its woefully flawed and narrow stereotype of boisterousness and braggadocio.
The attributes of rap wouldn’t be amiss if discussing poetry or literature in academic or cultured circles. After all, spoken word artists like George the Poet demonstrate the synergy between rap and poetry. However, hip hop culture typically doesn’t portray a likeness that is befitting of more traditional performing arts.
For many outside of the culture, being unable to see past this image is part of the issue. Institutionalised and largely social prejudice can lead to a closed mind in failing to realise the art that is present within rap. Rap, like other MC-based genres, is typically dominated by artists from working class or lower socio-economic backgrounds and largely blacks, Hispanics and other ethnic minorities. Most rappers therefore project many of the sensibilities and vernacular found in their communities. As a result, the image they portray can become a distraction for anyone that would usually expect such well-articulated rhetoric from a middle class, well-spoken individual. In fact, just as it is often perceived in wider society, it’s almost a display of chutzpah for someone of a certain class or ethnicity to offer intelligent and coherent discourse, let alone via the medium of rap.
An inability to empathise with an unfamiliar lifestyle contributes to this blinkered outlook. Many rappers provide social commentary that is instead confused with glamorisation of a negative side of life. But it’s said lack of empathy that feeds the ignorance of this stance.
As the then leader of the opposition, David Cameron criticised Tim Westwood’s Radio 1 rap show for playing music that "encourages people to carry guns and knives". Admittedly, some of the content played by Westwood would probably have done just that – and not too articulately either. But some would have provided narratives of a life that Cameron has never been and never will be able to relate to. Yet his broad criticism illustrates how dismissive someone with his perspective can be of the merits of rap – all the while reserving admiration for traditional art forms that in essence share similarities with the genre.
In literature, Charles Dickens’ ability to provide compelling social commentary and critique is frequently praised. But albeit a different art of storytelling, the principles of Dickens’ work, or indeed William Shakespeare’s, are no different to much rap. The parallels might be subtle to some, but they’re certainly evident for anyone open-minded enough to appreciate them. Furthermore, just as Dickens’ and Shakespeare’s works are appreciated for their strength of storytelling and the vivid pictures they paint, so should rap be.
Never Change, Jay-Z’s introspective account of his life “before rap”, provides an example of the imagery rap can evoke through lyricism. The lyrics “keep coke in coffee, keep money smelling mothy” create a scene for the listener that is undeniable poetic. You can almost smell the residual scent of coffee while imagining the texture of used and dirty dollar bills touching your fingers against a backdrop of drug paraphernalia. And that’s without having any experience of the life he’s referring to, nor feeling it’s a life that’s being glamorised. The assonance and the consonance, the cadence and the soulful production that samples the David Ruffin classic, Common Man, all contribute to creating this picture so deftly that it cannot be described as anything but powerfully poetic. With material like this, how could anyone deny rap as an art?
Alas, part of the problem lies in the other side of rap. Notwithstanding the lyricists within the genre, there are also the likes of Soulja Boy, waiting to spew garbage lyrics over production that sounds like it was created using a toy keyboard. There’s also the cringeworthy ignorance that rap music sadly isn’t immune from, as showcased by Kanye West’s verse on Clique –
The ignorance and stupidity of those lyrics are arguably more damaging for the perception of black culture than rap culture. But they certainly do rap music no favours. Instead, they merely pander to the negative stereotype that hip hop culture struggles to distance itself from in asserting itself as an art rather than a modern day minstrel show. Unfortunately such offerings are so disposable that they permeate mainstream culture with ease and are sadly passed off as representations of rap.
Chasing commercial success can also diminish rap’s ability to be taken seriously. Drake is arguably one of the better ‘current’ mainstream rappers and I was an early supporter of his earlier material including the So Far Gone mixtape (that’s when it was still a free mixtape rather than an EP for sale). Though presumably in a bid to experience mainstream success, much of his subsequent material has seen its quality diminished. This dichotomy between commercialism and authentic culture isn’t exclusive to rap. Nonetheless, it’s a disappointment when commercialism triumphs to the extent that the culture is compromised, especially when it devalues what the culture has to offer.
Rap should be recognised and respected with the same regard as other literary or performing arts. The genre does present content that might not be as commonplace within more traditional performing arts, but that needn’t detract from its relevance or credibility as a form of expression. If anything, that’s meant it’s managed to articulate the experiences of those who often aren’t given a voice to do so themselves. Rap is a legitimate art and despite it not conforming to traditional notions of artistic expression, it deserves to be recognised as such.
As a genre underpinned by storytelling, lyricism is a cornerstone of rap. The ability to articulate tales with imagery, metaphors, double entendres and other wordplay, all the while doing so through intricate rhyming patterns, is no throwaway skill. Nor is the range of emotions and perspectives rap is able to create with words. From the vivid narrative of inner city life in Skinnyman’s Council Estate of Mind, to Lowkey’s incredibly moving and personal Bars for my Brother, rap clearly isn’t limited to its woefully flawed and narrow stereotype of boisterousness and braggadocio.
The attributes of rap wouldn’t be amiss if discussing poetry or literature in academic or cultured circles. After all, spoken word artists like George the Poet demonstrate the synergy between rap and poetry. However, hip hop culture typically doesn’t portray a likeness that is befitting of more traditional performing arts.
For many outside of the culture, being unable to see past this image is part of the issue. Institutionalised and largely social prejudice can lead to a closed mind in failing to realise the art that is present within rap. Rap, like other MC-based genres, is typically dominated by artists from working class or lower socio-economic backgrounds and largely blacks, Hispanics and other ethnic minorities. Most rappers therefore project many of the sensibilities and vernacular found in their communities. As a result, the image they portray can become a distraction for anyone that would usually expect such well-articulated rhetoric from a middle class, well-spoken individual. In fact, just as it is often perceived in wider society, it’s almost a display of chutzpah for someone of a certain class or ethnicity to offer intelligent and coherent discourse, let alone via the medium of rap.
An inability to empathise with an unfamiliar lifestyle contributes to this blinkered outlook. Many rappers provide social commentary that is instead confused with glamorisation of a negative side of life. But it’s said lack of empathy that feeds the ignorance of this stance.
As the then leader of the opposition, David Cameron criticised Tim Westwood’s Radio 1 rap show for playing music that "encourages people to carry guns and knives". Admittedly, some of the content played by Westwood would probably have done just that – and not too articulately either. But some would have provided narratives of a life that Cameron has never been and never will be able to relate to. Yet his broad criticism illustrates how dismissive someone with his perspective can be of the merits of rap – all the while reserving admiration for traditional art forms that in essence share similarities with the genre.
In literature, Charles Dickens’ ability to provide compelling social commentary and critique is frequently praised. But albeit a different art of storytelling, the principles of Dickens’ work, or indeed William Shakespeare’s, are no different to much rap. The parallels might be subtle to some, but they’re certainly evident for anyone open-minded enough to appreciate them. Furthermore, just as Dickens’ and Shakespeare’s works are appreciated for their strength of storytelling and the vivid pictures they paint, so should rap be.
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Alas, part of the problem lies in the other side of rap. Notwithstanding the lyricists within the genre, there are also the likes of Soulja Boy, waiting to spew garbage lyrics over production that sounds like it was created using a toy keyboard. There’s also the cringeworthy ignorance that rap music sadly isn’t immune from, as showcased by Kanye West’s verse on Clique –
"you know, white people get money don’t spend it/or maybe they get money, buy a business/I rather buy 80 gold chains and go ig’nant/I know Spike Lee gon’ kill me but let me finish/blame it on the pigment, we living no limits"
The ignorance and stupidity of those lyrics are arguably more damaging for the perception of black culture than rap culture. But they certainly do rap music no favours. Instead, they merely pander to the negative stereotype that hip hop culture struggles to distance itself from in asserting itself as an art rather than a modern day minstrel show. Unfortunately such offerings are so disposable that they permeate mainstream culture with ease and are sadly passed off as representations of rap.
Chasing commercial success can also diminish rap’s ability to be taken seriously. Drake is arguably one of the better ‘current’ mainstream rappers and I was an early supporter of his earlier material including the So Far Gone mixtape (that’s when it was still a free mixtape rather than an EP for sale). Though presumably in a bid to experience mainstream success, much of his subsequent material has seen its quality diminished. This dichotomy between commercialism and authentic culture isn’t exclusive to rap. Nonetheless, it’s a disappointment when commercialism triumphs to the extent that the culture is compromised, especially when it devalues what the culture has to offer.
Rap should be recognised and respected with the same regard as other literary or performing arts. The genre does present content that might not be as commonplace within more traditional performing arts, but that needn’t detract from its relevance or credibility as a form of expression. If anything, that’s meant it’s managed to articulate the experiences of those who often aren’t given a voice to do so themselves. Rap is a legitimate art and despite it not conforming to traditional notions of artistic expression, it deserves to be recognised as such.
