I am enchanted by hip-hop music. I really am. I came of age listening to it. I grew up on the blues, but that belonged to my grandparents. I grew up on R & B, but it felt like that was really for my parents. Hip-hop was mine – made for young people, by young people.As far as music is concerned, hip-hop is my first love. I have yet to have a musical experience that surpasses the ones I have had while listening to those beats which felt like melodious electric currents. The poetry of it, the raw passion, it’s almost elemental.
My first hip-hop album was Slick Rick's "The Show". On its "B-side" was Lodi Dodi. It was a birthday gift from my parents. I was hooked. This was the ‘80s. I was in elementary school. I must have played that record at least thousand times.
I know that the more sophisticated among us make a distinction between hip-hop and rap...with hip-hop having the more positive and/or cerebral vibe. I'm not among them. Sure, I'm seasoned enough to know that the music has grown into many sub-genres within the larger landscape, but depending on my mood, many of the songs have appealed to me.
When my love first came, it was all good. Kids from all over this country were finding out what those of us in the ‘hood already knew. This music was powerful. This music was a valid expression. Thanks to Public Enemy and Boogie Down Productions, this music gave an intelligent, real life voice to the struggles we were witnessing every day. Young people from the ghetto were becoming millionaires, just by telling their stories over music. Rapping was emerging as a bona fide talent – because contrary to the stereotype, not everyone could do it.
My love was inspiring others to search within themselves and find untapped talent that was waiting to be called forth. Before Dr. Dre came on the scene, I don’t think I knew that black men could produce an album. I’m not sure I knew what a producer was. Groups like X-Clan and Afrika Bambaataa made it cool once again for young black children to be proud of their African heritage – see themselves as descendants of royalty and acting accordingly. Kurtis Blow gave a voice to the struggles of the everyday man – without profanity, without violence…but you felt it all the same.
Then something happened. Something changed. I’m sure that hip-hop historians can point to a pivotal time in American history that was the catalyst, but in my personal relationship, I cannot for the life of me figure it out. Seemingly without warning, my love didn't love me back. My love became abusive and angry. My love had a beef. I didn't know if I could continue the relationship. It was becoming too painful...especially watching the videos. It became less about the music and more about the girls. Except, I was no longer a girl, I was a ho, a bitch, a skeezer, a trick – whichever hurtful word would rhyme. It was now about the cars and the money. It was no longer fun. It became somewhat of a part time job just to search music stores to find the edited versions of songs, so I could enjoy my love without having my dignity as a woman assaulted with every verse.
I came to the conclusion that hip-hop didn’t like women. The realization hurt like hell. I asked myself, how could that be? Weren’t we good enough? Weren’t we holding down the fort as breadwinners and single mothers when our men weren’t around? Didn’t we deserve respect? It was devastating. We’d been reduced to no more than disposable and interchangeable tools, solely put on this earth to service men and just as easily discarded.
I knew that the stories in my love’s angrier creations were based on truths. The human beings behind the words were just as complicated as anyone else. No person is just one thing – we all have an array of experiences that we can speak to. I know that growing up in the streets provides a certain mentality, a unique point of view about life, options, about what you can actually do to succeed. The swagger that develops from it can come in handy in many circumstances, but during that time in my life my mind was in turmoil. If you don't have the stomach or heart to live the lifestyle of a pimp, gangster or whore, what are your options?
At this point, I'd started college. If you had a disagreement with someone, there was a phrase in this world that covered such an occasion: "We will agree to disagree." Both parties could continue on their respective paths, relatively unscathed. Conversely, according to my love, the only way to resolve a disagreement was to eliminate your adversary from this life entirely. This was just one of the ways my two worlds weren’t reconciling.
I know, I know. There were respected female MCs on the scene that spoke about positivity and female empowerment , like Roxanne Shante, MC Lyte, Queen Latifah and Salt-N-Pepa. I listened to them as well, but after a while, even these powerful women were drowned out of radio play by the bitch 'n ho genre of hip-hop. Then, the worst happened: The new breed of female MCs started to use their sexuality as a weapon to create attention and record sales – like Lil’ Kim, Foxy Brown and Trina. They gave credence to the “Ride or Die Bitch” mentality and drew a line: if you weren’t willing to tote a gun, kill, or participate in any other illegal activities for your man well, maybe you really didn’t love him. It was being packaged and sold as female empowerment – that women could get just and down and dirty as the boys - but that never did sit too well with me.
My love became a guilty pleasure. It got to the point where I couldn’t listen to it unless I was alone. There were too many raw and, at times, violent sexual references and an overwhelming amount of profanity - even for me! I felt like I had to hide – like I was a schoolgirl again and I liked a boy, but didn’t want anyone else to know how I felt. Like with any crazy, toxic, back-n-forth relationship, I would constantly question myself, decide to break away and something would bring me back. I would rationalize my feelings endlessly (“I’m not a bitch or a ho, so they aren’t talking about me.”) Sometimes that assuage my guilt, sometimes it wouldn’t.
I needed a break. I had to get off of the roller coaster. In retrospect, perhaps that was supposed to happen. It gave me the opportunities to discover and appreciate other loves, like Rock ‘n Roll, Alternative Rock, Easy Listening and the all encompassing Pop. I never really completely left. There were always at least one or two rap songs in rotation in my car. Tupac was always in the background, pulling me in with “Dear Mama” and then pushing me away with “How Do You Want It”. Ice Cube was there as well. When the Notorious B.I.G. came on the scene, hearing his words felt like coming home. With most of his songs, I could see the story play out like a movie. This was how I wanted to feel. Then there was Jay-Z, Nas and a few others. I wouldn’t leave again.
The road hasn’t been easy. I still have moments where I ask myself why I love this music so much. Why does it seem to resonate with my soul more deeply than any others? When my emotions are at their extremes – especially when I am happy or angry – my favorite thing to do is blast these phenomenal sounds from my car. Doing so always makes me feel free, almost invincible, like I was 17 again.
After all these years, I get it. I know what my struggle is: I don't want the part of hip-hop that I see as the high tech, high dollar minstrel show to seem more palatable because it's placed over a great beat. I feel afraid for our young people, because they don’t yet have the experience to discern between fantasy and reality. This music is the truth, but not always my truth. Like a movie, sometimes it’s just a peek into another soul’s experience on this earth. I want to be able to share this music with my children, but most times feel like I can’t. The message coming across is not the one I want them to receive about how men and women interact with each other, or the hyper-consumerism, the bravado at all costs. It’s not how I was raised. It’s not what I witnessed in my real life.
There’s no neat conclusion to this story. The conflict lives on. However, I’m older now. No music can tell me who or what I am. Sometimes when I hear new songs, I still flinch, but there are new artists coming out all the time. I’m hopeful that more good music can be made and I can be a senior citizen blasting it from my car, getting transported back to being a teenager, just like I always do.
On another note: Thank you for checking out my site. A special thank you to those who have reached out to me via email or Facebook to give their thoughts. I'd also welcome comments directly on the blog. If you're having issues leaving a comment, let me know that too - shayla.height@gmail.com.
