Approaching Truths In Hip- Hop

May 16, 2012 by Leave a Comment

I spend a lot of time thinking about Hip Hop.  The energy. The bad rappers. The  kick ass activists. The record labels. The legends. It’s a conversation that can often be overwhelming but not necessarily mundane because  such spaces of dialogue allow me to define, interpret, and process in order to reach definitions of truths. Here, I consider a truth to be any belief a person may hold about the music, art, or business of Hip Hop.

Truth, however, is a strange word when thinking about Hip Hop.

There are multiple realities and identities that intersect and converge. A young emcee rhyming in Brooklyn in 1988 may or may not think about the game the way  a young emcee rhyming in Dallas in 2012 would. The southern- womanist -writer-in me engages with Hip Hop in a manner that could be unknown or irrelevant to a 16 year old DJ learning how to spin in his basement on Chicago’s South Side. It is a safe space where I interrogate conceptualizations of blackness or sharpen my writing skills or refine my weekend dance skills ( ’cause yes, sometimes a girl just wants to juke. blame it on my residency in the Chi.)

It may not be that deep for you.

And that’s perfectly fine. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s how things are supposed to work.

I recently attended an artist talk with photographer Mike Schreiber where he discussed his new book  True Hip Hop. A collection of black and white photographs, the  book features portraiture of  some of the most interesting Hip Hop artists from the last decade. When asked by the moderator why he  had chosen to title the collection True Hip Hop, Schreiber simply responded that the book was a Hip Hop as he had experienced it, a Hip Hop that marked a moment of his life as a young professional. It was a truth that Schreiber, as a photographer, defined and created in his own language. It wasn’t really about the artists as much as it was about the connections Schreiber cultivated with the artists in order to tell a story.

And maybe I’m the only person in awe of this concept but I had an epiphany. As I engage in conversation about the culture across boundaries- age, class, geographic location- I  have learned that multiple truths must exist because it is in the tension that an art form truly flourishes. Without the interaction of truths, there wouldn’t be room for a Foxy Brown and a Lauryn Hill.

And so what if Nikki G wants to ink Thug Life on her forearm in honor of a fallen flawed poet? Shouldn’t her truth be allowed to speak to and with Pac’s truth, despite what may appear to be an inherent contradiction of feminism and gangsta? Someone has to talk to our men about misogyny and love and greatness.

If I may adapt Chimamanda Adichie’s language: there is a danger in a singular understanding of Hip Hop. While universal, it is full of specificities. I learn from these details.

I’m convinced no single truth can ever exist in Hip Hop  because it carries on its shoulders so many experiences.  Folks evolve and with this growth comes new knowledge and responsibilities that shape us or our truths. And if we can change, our truths certainly can.

Although, I think I will always strongly dislike Chief Keef. That’s just me though…

How do you define truth in Hip Hop?

 

 

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British Duo Native Sun Warms Listeners with Diasporic Energy

February 28, 2012 by 1 Comment

Discovering new music is such an invigorating process for me because I am able to encounter new stories of culture and language and growth. It feels good to sing along with an artist who knows how to speak to my soul in a new way. Such was the case when I discovered British Duo Native Sun who blend afro beat melodies with Hip Hop lyricism in order to charm and inspire.

When you listen to Native Sun, you are invited into diaspora. Group members, Mohammed Yahya and Sarina Leah are both musicians committed to not only quality music but edifying words through a message of peace. Their new album, Indigenous Soundwaves, is a testament to the fact that brothers and sisters around the world are speaking truth to power in the most creative of ways. Zora had the pleasure to chat with the duo as they prepared for their first Chicago performance. Effortlessly cool, the group dropped their thoughts on the recording process, listener support, and spirituality.

Zora: Thanks for speaking with us today! For those of us new to your music, can you talk about how you two connected? How did Native Sun come about?

Sarina: Myself and Mohammed met about ten or eleven years ago. My best friend is Mohammed’s wife and a member of the group Poetic Pilgrimage so we moved in the same circles and there were various events that Poetic Pilgrimage and Mohammed Yahya would create and one event was called Rebel Music. Because we were like a little family we ended up eventually working together after Mohammed kept pushing me to do a track with him. One track turned into two then three and we decided to be a group and build.

Zora: Has music always been something you knew you wanted to do?

Mohammed: For me, music came at such a young age. I was born in Mozambique and I fled to Portugal where I lived for 10 years and music played a big role because I didn’t have literature that would teach me about my country. I was taught through music so as soon as I was able to read and write, I started writing poetry. I was really, really young and when Hip Hop came to Portugal I thought “Oh my God, this is amazing. This is it.”

Sarina: I used to sing all the time. Back in my era there were tapes [laughs], not CD’s and so I would record alot of radio music like TLC, SWV, and Brandy. I would record the songs,rewind, and then try to remember how to sing it just like the artist.I spent alot of time writing the wrong lyrics [laughs] thinking I was singing the right thing. But it was cool because I learned to write and also sing that way.

Zora: As I listened to your music, I was immediately struck by an energy of an artform that is dedicated to peace and cultural dialogue. Why is it important for these themes to resonate in your music?

Mohammed: I think because it is such a universal message. Me and Sarina both have different spiritual paths in our lives but ultimately we’re trying to project that and as we look around us it’s obvious that the world needs more peace, love, understanding and cultural dialogue because ultimately we have to live with each other regardless of what paths or backgrounds we are coming from.

Sarina: I also think that the things that we write empower our own lives and vice versa. I’ve been a vegan for a year and being conscious of what I eat and what I choose to do empowers our music as well. There is a give and take element that is inspiring.

Zora: Your new project, Indigenous Soundwaves is dope! My favorite track is Gallery of Dreams. What was the recording process like? How do you feel now that the album is complete?

Mohammed: You know, it’s interesting because Gallery of Dreams was actually the first song that we recorded and as a rapper I’m used to writing really quickly, going to the studio and then recording but that song took months to do because we would record it in parts. Alot of our songs start off with us discussing different subjects and during that particular conversation Sarina was talking about children and the song grew from there. It’s a very emotional process.

Sarina: It’s very touching. You know what’s really deep as well? We thought of the title but we didn’t realize that it was G.O.D. Gallery of Dreams. That was such a spiritual thing. Usually, as a vocalist you are given a track and you put your vocals around the track but on this song I sang the melody and then Samantha, who plays the keys on the track, imitated my voice with the keys and it became a deep involvement.

Mohammed: And songs like that, we don’t even believe come from us. They comes through us.

Zora: What artists are you listening to currently?

Mohammed: I listen to people like Ian Kamau from Canada. I also listen to alot of West African Music from countries like Mali, Senegal.

Sarina: I’m really inspired by European Electro music. Little Dragon.And of course soul music is embedded in me as well, Erykah Badu, Jill Scott.

Zora: How can Zora and our readers continue to support you?

Mohammed: Keep up todate with us through our twitter and facebook but most importantly share the music!

Be sure to stay in touch with Native Sun via twitter at @nativesunmuzik or find them on facebook at Native Sun. You can also support the dynamic duo by picking up the digital copy of their soul stirring album Indigenous Soundwaves

It’s good stuff. I promise!

Filed Under: Blog, Culture, Featured, Hip Hop, Interviews Tagged With: , , , ,

So This is Why Hip Hop is Still Complicated for a Sistah…

February 24, 2012 by 2 Comments

By now, I’m sure  you’ve heard about the recent Too $hort interview with XXL Magazine in which the Ol’ G rapper dishes out  fatherly advice about the “birds and the bees” to middle school and high school aged boys. Although, to say his was a discussion about  the “birds and the bees” puts it mildly. Too $hort referred to his wisdom as “mind manipulation” to  ”turn girls out .” In the video interview that has now been removed, he graphically describe a scene for such a process: ”You push her up against the wall,” he says. “You take your finger and put a little spit on it and you stick your finger in her underwear and you rub it on there and watch what happens.” He was sure to preface his statements by asking women listeners to “cover their ears” should they be offended.

I don’t have to tell you that folks weren’t happy, including myself.

As soon as the interview dropped, the godmothers of hip hop literary feminism were up in arms. Writers Joan Morgan and dream hampton turned to twitter to articulate the problematic nature of the interview and have been calling for XXL Mag editor Vanessa Satten’s resignation. They, like me, question the continued sexual assault of young black and brown girls. They, like me, pondered aloud the absurd belief of black and brown female bodies as sites of degradation and hypersexualization.  Why does it seem like Hip Hop is out to get us? As Ebony.com editor-in-chief Kierna Mayo tweeted: so this is why Hip Hop is STILL complicated for a sis…

I feel her.

But I hesitated to write any type of response. What could I say that had not been already said?

How many other ways could I think about Too $hort’s violating remarks? For the discourse about women of color and our sexuality remains a painful dialogue- a conversation that often invites discomfort.

Like the godmothers before me, I know the beauty of Hip Hop. When you love Hip Hop, you love radically. But when Hip Hop hurts, it hurts. I proclaim the profundity of an artistic production, a life movement, yet cringe at words that reinforce harmful ideologies present within said life force that affect the development of healthy relationships.

Instead of writing an immediate response or trying to wax poetic, I decided to talk to my boys. And not my suit-and-tie-degree-toting or kickin’it-on-the-block- got -every jay- track-memorized- boys. Not them.

I am the personal counselor for 20 of Chicago’s freshest boy wonders- a group of quirky sophomores itching to put their grown man on. If there is to be an eradication of the sexist, misogynistic practices present in Hip Hop and more importantly society, young men must become allies. So, it was with these young men- the gentlemen to whom Too $hort directed his advice- that I conversed.

While our collective sessions can often be rowdy, loud, discombobulated centers of teenage hormones, the Too $hort conversation was different. I came into the room somber. I asked for complete silence. I read the aforementioned Too $hort statement. I told them to write the first 3 words that came to mind when the quote was read aloud.

I had no idea what words or phrases my boys would share out but I held no expectations . Even still, my heart hurt when words like foreplay and experimentation were articulated. One student asked: couldn’t this be considered rape? Another student repsonded: If she likes it. it’s cool. Some students fell asleep.

I winced.

When it was my turn to share, I spoke slowly, hesitating between each syllable almost: misogyny. objectification. hip hop. Blank faces looked back at me. I proceeded to stumble over explainations laced with feminist rhetoric. Sentences full of bell hooks interpretations and angela davis tonality. And when the school bell rang at the end of the period, my boys said their usual goodbyes without a single follow-up question. Later that day, a teacher approached me to tell me that he overheard a few of my students giggling about the “sex” talk we had.

They’ve missed the point I thought. Then I realized that I had no clue how to talk to teenage boys about the hypersexualiztion of black and brown female bodies. Of course, they missed the point because in my anxious attempt to “drop knowledge”, I spoke in a foreign language. In my head I had created a scenario in which my students would immedialtely become enraged about the perpetual victimization of their sistahs and take up arms in solidarity with me. Yet, I offered no entry point, no gateway into the movement. I gave them three new vocabulary words without context, and they walked away giggling about sex.

Perhaps it would have been easier to ignore the incident or raise hell on twitter about XXL Magazine or Too $hort. To be clear, I support all the critiques that have been put forth thus far. I just wasn’t sure I had any new ideas to contribute and I hate intellectual clutter. I’m frustrated with this incident  because I am a black woman deeply committed to this thing we call Hip Hop. I’m frustrated because I want to tell my boys for whom I care  tremendously that Too $hort is wrong. I want to explain objectification and misogyny and sexism. I want to speak to the boys who will grow up to become the men who will touch, support, kiss, hug, and hurt our daughters or sisters or nieces. I want to explain the tenants of radical love but so far I’ve failed.

So, if you have any suggestions, I’m all ears.

Filed Under: Blog, Culture, Featured, Hip Hop Tagged With: , , , , , ,

What we’re reading: Say Word: Voices From Hip Hop Theater

December 31, 2011 by 3 Comments

For more than 30 years, Hip Hop has served as the soundtrack to our life’s narrative. We all have that one beat, that one rhyme, that one break that just won’t quit. Hip Hop has grown into a global phenomenon birthing many of the most dynamic artists of our time. And by “artists” I am not simply referring to those with a record deal. To truly understand Hip Hop culture is to recognize the multiplicity of artistic production and disciplines that exists within this space.

Hip Hop theater is one such discipline. Building upon the energy of classic theatrical techniques and the ever-present cypher, Hip Hop Theater represents a unique performance style of dance, spoken word, dramaturgy, and rhyme. Yet more than plays to be performed, Hip Hop Theater challenges our very notions of content and form becoming critical to larger understandings of identity, race, and gender politics.

In a new anthology, Say Word: Voices from Hip Hop Theater, author/activist/scholar Daniel Banks compiles 8 of the most compelling pieces of Hip Hop Theater from playwrights who push the boundaries of storytelling. Say Word embodies the Nommo. The creative life force of the Dogon people in Mali, Nommo can be understood as the spiritual bond central to language. As Banks asserts in his introduction, Nommo, the word, is inextricably linked to Hip Hop because of the relationship between listener and speaker. In this relationship, both listener and speaker are active participants. It is a provocative call and response. Hip Hop theater then expands upon this relationship by emphasizing the interactive: the relationship between actor, audience, and the elements.

Banks is careful to structure his anthology in a manner that is accessible for old time lovers of Hip Hop Theater and those who are new friends of the genre. Divided into three sections-Spoken Word Theater, Hip Hop Theater Plays and Solo Performances-Say Word moves from the poetic to the personal. Banks is cognizant of the disconnect that occurs when performance pieces are read and not performed however, little meaning is lost as the words of the works within each section speak a certain truth to power.

I, for one, had no trouble falling into the rhythm off Goddess City, a spoken word theater piece by Abiola Abrams and Antoy Grant reminiscent of ntozake’s shange’s for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enuf. A choreopoem for three fallen goddesses, Abrams and Grant create a city in which the goddesses of Fever, Truth, and Nerve reclaim sexuality and pain and beauty. The goddesses (re) visit and (re) imagine moments in life that give, as the GODDESS ANTHEM notes, a voice to the voiceless by sharing stories of the soul.

For example, in the poem BEAUTY SHOP, Nerve grapples with decisions regarding the stylings of her hair-an all too familiar reality for many black and brown sistahs. Critiques of hair texture and color pervade the piece as Nerve is forced to change her hair so many times that it eventually falls out. What is unique about this poem that is representative of the larger body of work is the interaction amongst the goddesses. Nerve speaks her dilemma aloud as Truth and Fever respond forming their own cypher, their own circle of call and response.

The energy of the elements is also present in Joe Hernandez-Kolski’s play You Wanna Piece of Me? A solo performance play, Hernandez-Kolski’s piece is autobiographical in nature and the profundity of his work is found in his interaction with the on-stage DJ. For it is perhaps the presence of the DJ that gives this play its structural fluidity. Hernandez-Kolski narrates his story as a man of Polish and Mexican heritage cued by the musical interjections of the DJ. These interjections provide the basis of Hernandez- Kolski’s storytelling. The Roots, Talib Kweli, Prince and Van Halen curate a kind of bildungsroman that is, if nothing else, a microcosm of Hip Hop’s own coming of age story. As reader/audience member, we are challenged to re-think our notions of identity alongside Hernandez-Kolski as he navigates life on the west side of Chicago. And again we are cyphering.

This is an anthology that must be read.

I am appreciative for this body of work because it has not only introduced me to new writers/thinkers/creatives/playwrights, it has reminded me of my own covenant with Nommo: In the beginning was the word. And that word became flesh and birthed stories of movement and despair and redemption. This word reconciled our deepest creative intuitions with our most acute frustrations.

This word was Hip Hop.

 

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