D.O. - Thesis

I'm a hustler baby, I just want you to know It ain’t where I been But where I'm bout to go! [Top of the world!] - Jay-Z I Just Wanna Love Ya

In the video for I Just Wanna Love Ya, rapper Jay-Z retreats to his own private party - a remote cottage full of attractive women partaking in his limitless supply of the world’s finest champagne’s and exotic liquors. After four commercially successful CD’s, Jay-Z attributes his success to his ability to “hustle,” that is, to verbally outmaneuver his competitors. By mastering the verbal art of rap, Jay-Z acquires money, power, and the adoration of women - the ultimate successes of capitalist society defined by the cinematic version of the hustler, Al Pacino’s Tony Montana character in Scarface. Spontaneous speechifying is one of the most prized expressions of black masculinity because it combines key elements of African oral tradition, particularly tonal semantics, and braggadocio. From the spontaneous sermons of the Black minister, to the quick paced verbal wit of the dozens, male rap is the culmination of African American linguistic practices and best exhibits it spontaneity through the act of “freestyling.” Emerging as a genre in the late 1970’s, rap enters the twenty-first century as the pre-eminent form of African-American male expression. Faced with day-to-day survival amongst staggering rates of crime and poverty, many African-American youth, particularly males, view rap as a way out of the ghetto and achieving financial stability. For the emerging rapper, rap is not a job because rappers prefer manipulating the system, making a living performing their hobby as opposed to the term ‘job’ which indicates the necessity of performing a difficult task to make a living. Because of the inconstancy of an ever-changing marketplace, rap is not a career either. Rap is a hustle. Rappers embrace the figure of the hustler - a cool and stoic character who exemplifies these traits through clever word play. The hustler uses brains over brawn, and tongue instead of fist. For the hustler, rap becomes the optimum forum to display verbal boasts while it also follows in the continuum of African oral tradition. Geneva Smitherman in Talkin And Testifyin suggests that oral tradition is part of the cultural baggage the African brought to America (77). Referring to the belief that there are magical powers in the word, the African concept “Nommo” suggests that:

All activities of men, and all the movements in nature, rest on the word, on the productive power of the word, which is water and heat and seed and Nommo, that is, life force itself… The force, responsibility, and commitment of the word, and the awareness that the word alone alters the world. (78)

In the tradition of the “Nommo,” the word is not limited to a cerebral, intellectual concern; but rather, by being both “water and heat” the word encompasses the mind, body and soul for a complete and holistic impact. Signaling the importance of performance, Smitherman writes: “So strong is the African belief in the power and absolute necessity of Nommo that all craftsmanship must be accompanied by speech. And it is not uncommon for a verbal battle to precede or accompany warfare” (78). In order to excel in capturing the full “life force” of the “Nommo” one must have oratorical skill in reciting the word.

The responsibility of sustaining and reviving African oral tradition is often left to the artist. The African tradition of the “griot” refers to the tradition of West African bards, orally passing on the cultural history of their people. Dr. Pearl E. Primus writes,

The art of the griot requires music and song skill and also an unerring memory. The spiritual life of the citizens of the community, past, present, and future, rest in the virtuosity and unerring exactness of the griot. The songs of the griot are more precise than any history book (Barnes and Gross 12)

Primus places authority in the oral tradition over the dominant cultures’ valued written tradition. Rappers function as the present day embodiment of the griot, combining “music and song skill” while paying homage to the history of African American culture that rap owes its history too. Resulting from oppressive conditions of slavery, the trickster and the badman were heroic figures for their ability to trick authority through acts of defiance (Roberts 173-174). The personification of the badman is the folkloric character Stackolee (also known as Stagolee). Known for his womanizing, gambling, and homicide, he is said to have been born with supernatural powers that were enhanced when he later sold his soul (Spencer Blues and Evil 8). Although the selling of ones’ soul could suggest that the badman is aligned with the devil, and thus, evil; this perspective is gained from the dominant Western model of good and evil. The badman tradition can be traced historically to the African trickster-god Legba. As a considerable portion of the slave market in America came from Yoruba and Fon, it is no surprise that their traditions were prominent in African-American religious tradition (Spencer 11). The badman is a tragic hero; relegated as “bad” he assumes the position of unprivileged, and fights the underside of history. Jon Michael Spencer, in Blues and Evil draws a parallel between the badman and the blues man. He indicates that the “black blues singer was traditionally viewed by the constituency of the “overculture” (the culture of white dominance) as a “bad nigger” (7). He suggests that bluesman Robert Johnson was known for his badman tendencies “akin to that of the legendary Stackolee” (Spencer 9). The badman’s appeal is his indifference to law and order, which suggests that he is above the law. Spencer’s insight shows how Blues fits into the oral tradition. This implies that the blues is a predecessor of rap as they are both located in African-American tradition and combine verbal skill with music. In dominant Western culture, the written tradition is favored over the oral tradition. Through binary opposition, Western culture depicts African oral tradition as untrustworthy because people can lie, and opinions can change unless recorded. In binary oppositions, Western culture tends to position itself, and its traditions as superior to other cultures. Rap, as a continuum of African tradition favors the oral tradition over the written tradition. Partly as result of its association with the oral, and with African tradition, Western culture historically tends to place lesser importance in black culture and black music. Langston Hughes in his essay “The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain” indicates how jazz, a form of music associated with black culture, is undervalued by dominant culture. Hughes responds to allegations that he should not write about low-class jazz culture:

Yet the Philadelphia clubwoman is ashamed to say that her race created it and she does not like me to write about it. The old subconscious "white is best" runs through her mind. Years of study under white teachers, a lifetime of white books, pictures, and papers, and white manners, morals, and Puritan standards made her dislike the spirituals. And now she turns up her nose at jazz and all its manifestations__likewise almost everything else distinctly racial.

Hughes personifies dominant culture through the “Philidelphia clubwoman.” According to Hughes, it is difficult to escape the dominant culture’s ideals that are incessantly supported through education (“teachers” and books”), through media (“papers”) and through religion (“Puritan standards”). Hughes suggests that treasuring these “white” ideals causes one to unfairly devalue black art-forms such as the spirituals and jazz. Hughes would likely agree that rap is the latest “manifestation” of black culture to be undervalued. Rappers see the attempt of dominant Western culture to suppress rap as a continued custom of devaluing African culture. Gangster rapper Ice Cube argues that criticism of rap is based on the practice of trying to disrupt a common language emerging amongst black people. He locates his argument historically, suggesting that censorship in rap is similar to “four hundred years ago, when black slaves were brought to America, Africans who spoke the same language were separated from each other” (158). Ice Cube’s central argument is in his title of his essay, he summarizes that: “Black Culture Still Getting A Bum Rap.” For Ice Cube, Western culture’s binary oppositions historically favor Western Culture while relegating the other culture as inferior and this practice occurs in rap music, modern-day continuum of Black culture. Part of the reason that rap is undervalued is because it stems from low-class culture. The male rapper, usually from an economically depressed area is constantly reminded of his disadvantaged status in capitalism. Unable to physically escape the confines of the ghetto, the rapper fantasizes of infinite power, displaying this power through command of words to insist that he/she is able to manipulate the system and acquire wealth. The term “play” suggests the disturbance of the hierarchy established by binary oppositions. Play is a process of deconstruction that seeks to reverse the hierarchy assumed to inhere in the binary oppositions by interrogating the histories, rhetorical practices, symbols etc. that continue to perpetuate the hierarchy. Careful interrogation and assessment of these histories culminates in either the displacement of the hierarchy, or a calling into question of the dominant concept in the hierarchy. In a current society, rap culture uses the terms “player” and “hustler” to indicate one who manipulates “the system.” Contrarily, one who is in disapproval of a “player” or “hustler” is termed a “player hater.” As players and hustlers, rappers critique power structures through language. Ice-T, in “New Jack Hustler” embraces the Western capitalistic system - if he can manipulate it. Frustrated with lack of opportunities to compete in “the system,” Ice-T accomplishes success by dealing drugs, ambivalently rapping:

Here I come, so you better break North, As I stride, my gold chains glide back and forth. I care nothing bout you, and that's evident. All I love's my dope and dead presidents. Sound crazy? Well it isn't. The ends justifies the means, that's the system. I learned that in school then I dropped out, Hit the streets, checked a grip, and now I got clout. I had nothing, and I wanted it. You had everything, and you flaunted it.

Ice-T is a “badman;” so suave that he does not walk, but “stride,” so powerful and rich that he can afford chains so big that the movements are emphasized as they swing “back and forth,” and so cool that he does not care about anyone else. Implying an audience, Ice-T identifies himself as “I” in relation to “you” - the audience. The implication is that because Ice-T is so “bad” and his presence is so powerful, one should not be in the same area as him. Known for being individualistic, the “New Jack Hustler” values only “dead presidents” a metaphor symbolizing money. Responding to Western ideology that contends that drug dealing is not an acceptable means of success in a capitalistic society, Ice-T through “hustling” invokes a “play” on the capitalist system by calling it into question. The hustler is clever; seeing the contradictions of capitalism, and the lack of benefits from going to school, he seeks alternative modes of survival. Part of his cleverness lies in his resourcefulness; from having nothing except desire, Ice-T ascends through capitalistic system by not paying attention to “player haters.” Rappers exude confidence as hustlers through tonal semantics. Tonal semantics indicates the importance of verbal power that is achieved with words and phrases carefully chosen for sound effects (Smitherman 99). The “way something is said” is especially crucial in an African American tradition where “players” and “hustlers” abrogate previous meaning by signifying. For instance, if one is to read a rap where the adjective “bad” is said, one may not know its context until it is performed. Through emphasis, one gains the understanding if “bad” indicates the positive or the negative. In pursuit of maximizing sound quality through constant repetition, rhyme and rhythm, sometimes the “words may or may not make sense; what is crucial is the rapper’s ability to make the words sound good” (Smitherman 100). The Black Preacher relies heavily on tonal semantics. Rhythmic fluency and sound is provided by use of the preacher’s ritualized cadenced tone and breathy pausing after each structural phrase (Smitherman 126). Although Christianity is based in the Western written tradition that is symbolized by the bible’s authority, African-American Christianity depends heavily on the oral tradition. During slavery, performance was a necessary component of African-American religion, as most blacks did not read the bible because they were forbidden to or because they were not taught how to read. Will Coleman suggests in Tribal Talk that Black Preachers fulfill the role of “Mediator.” Living between the realms of the physical and the spiritual, Coleman indicates that the Black preacher is the “charismatic and/or shamanistic leader within the slave community precisely because he or she was attuned to influences emanating from the spiritual world” (38). Working in the oral tradition of the “Nommo,” the Black Minister transforms the outdated, and sometimes convoluted language in the bible, making it relevant for his community by vocally emphasizing and articulating his interpretations through heartfelt and sometimes gut-wrenching expressions. In search of an emotionally charged performance, one nineteenth-century vernacular preacher admits: “When it comes to handling the Bible, I knocks down verbs, breaks up prepositions, and jumps over adjectives” (Benston 261). Although improper in his use of conventional grammatical usage, the preacher brings attention to the aggressive, emotional element of black preaching by indicating the onomatopoeic quality of the “knocks,” “breaks,” and “jumps” that brings the scripture to life. The Black Arts Movement of the 1960’s led in part by Amiri Baraka serves as a precursor to rap in the African American linguistic tradition by its use of tonal semantics in poetry. Influenced by Black Power politics of the time, writers of the movement endorsed the “Power to the People” rhetoric of Black Power with the goal “to create a literature that will reach and reflect common black folks” (Smitherman 179). This desire to emphasize community concerns illustrates a key difference between the Black Arts Movement and the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920’s, and indicates why rap is more of a result of the former, rather than the latter. Harlem Renaissance writer, Langston Hughes in his essay “The Negro Artist and The Racial Mountain” urges his well-educated peers not to allow their newfound status to cause them to neglect writing to the black masses - many of whom fell into the poverty bracket. Facing a similar dilemma, the Black Arts Movement chose to focus on the black masses, but encountered a devastating problem – that “black people do not read books” (Smitherman 179). One solution was to write smaller books that could be stored in a pocket and read during a work break, another was through performance of poetry. Through performance, poets were able to capture the rhythms and sounds of Black American speech. “Rhythm Blues,” by Amiri Baraka demands performance for an enhanced understanding, Baraka raps:

I am the boogie man, the woogie man Catch us catch can, The rabbit, the monkey Blue hard, blue slick Blue slow, blue quick, Blue Cool, Blue hot Everything I am, everything I’m not Slave boy, Leroi from Newark Hill If capitalism don’t kill me, racism will.

The words “boogie” and “woogie” are conventionally united as one term: “boogie-woogie,” indicating a style of playing the blues or jazz on the piano; this suggests a desire to re-concile musical elements of performance with poetry. Through alliteration in the second line, “Catch us catch can” Baraka emphasizes the evasive, defiant element of the “badman” by inviting pursuit; but following in the tradition of animal tricksters such as the “rabbit” and the signifying “monkey,” it is difficult to “catch” him. One reason it is difficult to “catch” him is because he locates his position beyond the realm of Western binary opposites; he is both “hard” and “slick,” “slow” and “quick," “cool” and “hot.” In order to locate the speaker, one cannot use the Western discourse of binary oppositions, but rather must be familiar with African-American linguistic tradition to grasp the poems' significance. In the early forms of the genre, raps tended to be speedily recited, fired without restraint, and often in a staccato, machine-gun like style. The emergence of Rakim in the mid 1980’s signaled a crucial turning point in the music. Through soft, mild-mannered, but confident speech, rap’s version of the hustler was born on Eric B. and Rakim’s first single “Paid In Full,”

Thinkin’ of a master plan Cause ain’t nothin but sweat inside my hand So I dig into my pocket, all my money is spent So I dig deeper, but still comin’ up with lent So I start my mission, leave my residence Thinkin how could I get some dead presidents

The restrictions of written tradition make it unable to transcribe Rakim’s calm and deliberate rhyme pattern, or “flow,” which is the best indicator of his use of tonal semantics. The adjective “sweat” indicates detest for hard work, the conventional way of attaining the American dream. Rakim would rather “think of a master plan,” a grand plot and calculated scheme of how to succeed and hustle. Favoring using his intelligence in the pursuit of “dead presidents” or money, Rakim reflects on a past of crime, “I used to be a stick up kid,” but suggests that his ability to hustle is built on knowledge – “now I learned to earn, cause I’m righteous.” For Rakim, education improves his ability to “hustle,” because it makes him wiser, and thus more skillful and dangerous to any would-be competitor. In order to out duel his competition, the male rapper uses braggadocio and hyperbole. The tradition of braggadocio in African-American culture is rooted in such badman characters as Stagolee. Even for Stagolee it was not enough to say he is bad, it is through metaphor that he emphasizes his badness. Julius Lester, referring to the tradition of the badman and Stagolee states that:

Stagolee was, undoubtedly and without question, the baddest nigger that ever lived. Stagolee was so bad that the flies wouldn’t even fly around his head in the summertime, and snow wouldn’t fall on his house in the winter. He was bad, jim. (Smitherman 160)

Stagolee’s supreme strength is not targeted directly to his competition, but indirectly, by suggesting his power over nature. Stagolee is not necessarily in control of nature, but rather he is so “bad” that he frightens even God. With an ability to frighten God, and Mother Nature, a competitor is warned before battle that he does not stand a chance. Former Black Panther, H. Rap Brown insists that the folkloric tradition of the “badman” and particularly of Stagolee serves as the primary means of education for blacks. In his essay “Street Talk,” Brown states: “The street is where young bloods get their education” (205). The “street” the realm beyond the confines of education or the workplace, emphasizes the importance of the community as a place for young “bloods” or “blacks” to be educated. Dissatisfied with conventional teaching of poetry in school, Brown offers “the Dozens” as a counter form of developing poetic and rhetorical skills:

We played the dozens for recreation, like white folks play Scrabble… Though, the dozens is a mean game because what you try to do is totally destroy somebody with words. 217

Brown makes a distinction between the African oral tradition of the “dozens,” and “Scrabble” a game Brown associates with white culture where the written tradition is emphasized. In the dozens, contestants use braggadocio to show they are “badder” than their opposition. Rogers D. Abraham's, in his article “Joking: the training of the man of words in talking broad” locates the historic significance of the dozens. Indicating the similarities between the dozen’s tradition of insulting a contestant’s mother and similar African traditions, Abraham writes that: “this kind of joking activity is not unique to ghetto blacks. The practice of mother-rhyming has also been observed in various other Afro-American communities as well as in a number of groups in Africa, including the Yoruba, Efik, Dogon, and Wagogo” (216). Furthermore, Abraham’s suggests that the dozens is a result of the continuum in African American oral expression:

One of the dominant features of life style in most Afro-American communities is the continuing reliance on oral expression. This means that there is still a good deal of social value placed on verbal abilities; these can often be best exhibited in a contest fashion. (216)

Abraham’s insights suggests that there is a two-fold process in the dozens: first to use braggadocio to self-aggrandize oneself, and secondly, to use this inflated ego to argue superiority over a foe. In rap, the braggadocio that stems from the dozens is an ingredient in nearly all rap songs. Rapper Big L hyperbolizes his skills in “Put It On,” rapping:

I'm puttin rappers in wheelchairs Big L is the villain you still fear Cause I be hangin it hard and my **** is for real here If you battle L you picked the wrong head I smash mics like cornbread, you can't kill me I was born dead

For Big L, challenging him to a game of dozens is not a matter of win or lose, it’s a matter of when, and how much suffering is involved in Big L’s guaranteed victory. Conjuring images of the “badman,” L is a not only a “villain” but is a supernatural villain “born dead,” and thus impossible to be defeated. Big L insults even the invitation to confront him in a verbal contest suggesting the poor wisdom of his foe by saying that they “picked the wrong head.” The battle is imaginary; there is no direct opponent, but it is meant as a threat or warning to potential competition. Rappers frequently engage in verbal contests with an imaginary inferior foe. Coined by pioneering rap group Run-DMC on the song of the same name, the inferior imaginary foe is commonly referred to as a “Sucker MC.” Through creating this illusionary enemy, rappers enhance the potency of their exaggerations of their oratorical skill. Rap’s central criticism arises from a resistance to excessive braggadocio in rap. These critics interpret rap literally, they condemn its violent and agitating language. Contrarily, Roger Abrahams indicates that rap must be viewed as a process of joking (218). Similarly, Ice-T argues in his essay “Rap: The Art of Shit Talkin’”:

Rap is very funny music, but if you don’t understand the humor, it will scare the **** out of you. Taken literally, the music is so over the top it offends your sensibilities. But within my community, rap is verbal combat. We get around a lot of fights and aggression simply by talking. The misinterpretation of rap comes from people who have no insight into the ghetto mentality and attitude. 103

For Ice-T, rap is cathartic, a healthy process of relieving aggression. To understand the therapeutic qualities of rap, one must be familiar with “ghetto mentality” and place their self in the realm of the culture. A key ingredient in this culture is the dozens. The implication is that “verbal combat” has transcended from the dozens to rap, and that because of its history, it is not only familiar, but also ingrained into members of the culture at a young age. As a result, one becomes accustomed to it and hence, less sensitive to verbal threats, and can treat the remark as a joke instead of as an insult. While use of braggadocio and tonal semantics are important, the ability to combine these skills spontaneously is a highly valued skill in African-American linguistic practices. In the Black Preaching tradition, spontaneity occurs through “testifyin.” Smitherman defines “testifyin” as a ritualized form of black communication in which the speaker gives verbal witness to the efficacy, truth and power of some experience in which all blacks have shared (58). In the church, testifyin can be done whenever anybody feels the spirit. When an emotional charge happens to the minister, he is free to shift from his topic to engage in discussing his divine inspiration. The rhetoric effect is achieved through heightened crowd involvement, as the minister’s inspiration in turn inspires faith in the congregation. In the Dozens, being able to think spontaneously and create an insult directly related to the competitor enhances the power of the jest. In rap, the ability to rap spontaneously is called “freestyling.” Skilled freestylers incorporate their environment i.e. posters and signs on walls, decorations, and feed of an audience’s clothing, comments, etc. Combining the verbal contest tradition of the dozens, “battling” occurs when freestylers face off in a war of words. Perhaps the most defining battle in rap history was between the Bronx’s KRS-ONE’s Boogie Down Productions (B.D.P.) crew and Queensbridge’s MC Shan’s Juice crew. Declaring allegiance to his borough the Bronx, and subsequent superiority over rival Queen’s and MC Shan in his battle rap “The Bridge Is Over,” KRS-ONE raps:

You see me come in any dance wid de spliff of sensei Down with the sound called B.D.P If you want to join the crew well you must see me Ya can't sound like Shan or the one Marley Because Shan and Marley Marl dem-a-rhymin like they gay Pickin up the mic, mon, dem don't know what to say Sayin that hip-hop started out in Queensbridge Sayin lies like that, mon, you know dem can't live So I, tell them again, me come to tell them again, gwan! Manhattan keeps on makin it, Brooklyn keeps on takin it Bronx keeps creatin it, and Queens keeps on fakin it

In the title of the song, KRS shortens the name of his rival borough from “Queensbridge” to simply “The Bridge.” For KRS, Queen’s is like a “bridge,” that is a structure that joins or connects something. By implying that the “Bridge is over” the suggestion is two-fold, first that the connection to rap no longer exists, and as a result, the borough of Queens is inferior in rap. Indicating leadership in his crew “B.D.P.” KRS uses braggadocio to suggest that others envy his elite crew of which he holds authority in. KRS eschews one from emulating the poor styles of Juice crewmembers Shan or Marley, by suggesting that they are “fakin it,” or in other words, they attempt to pass off written rhymes as freestyles. KRS questions the “testifyin” of M.C. Shan by indicating that he is lying. As a badman, KRS raps “you know dem can’t live” alluding that the penalty of lying is death. KRS’s boasts arise from binary opposition, Shan is inferior because he is one step behind and “fakin’ it” by copying the crafty trickster KRS. Stressing the importance of originality in speech, KRS is “creatin’ it,” authentically “testifyin” by alluding to the spontaneity of his rhymes. Emerging from a culture of poverty hip-hop music is heroically resourceful. Creating musical instruments out of record players because they could not afford instruments or lessons, the disc-jockey tradition of hip-hop was born. The rapper discovers the “Nommo” through the practice of writing. L.L. Cool J describes the empowering feeling of writing his first rhyme in his autobiography I Make My Own Rules, “For the first time in my life I had power. No one could tell me to shut up. I could say something, anything I wanted, and not be afraid. I could be as powerful as I always wanted to be” (57). By tapping into the limitless powers of the imagination, rappers discover the power of language and enhanced self-confidence by an ability to use language skillfully. Spontaneous speechifying reveals mastery of language and oratorical skill from the African griot, to the modern day rapper. With this mastery of words, the rapper becomes a hustler, utilizing their rap skill to retaliate against historic forms of black exploitation by subverting capitalistic system.

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