British culture minister Kim Howells’ continued commentary on the ‘idiots’ of rap culture and their glamorising influence on gun crime in the UK is, of course, grossly misinformed, typically reactionary, and, I would suggest, not so much racist as classist. The pop/garage act that Mr. Howells has singled out, So Solid Crew, is more a product (and thus a reflection) of socio-economics than a victim of genetic determinism. However, what really causes offence is the level of uninformed debate that follows such outbursts, with white middle-class journalists spouting off on a subject about which they know less than little. But if you are going to attack music for society’s ills, why stop at hip-hop? Surely the Sugababes, Britney Spears and Jonathan King should take equal blame for promoting paedophilia. And if we could just ban Oasis, yob culture would soon see its end. Then, of course, if Pink Floyd and The Beatles had never existed the country wouldn’t now be awash with cannabis and other class C drugs. And if you believe that, then you deserve a job in politics.
If Kim Howells really wants to get to the heart of hip-hop music then a good
place to start would be the BADMEANiNGOOD compilation (Whoa Music). Put
together by San Francisco DJ/producer/luminary Peanut Butter Wolf, this
18-track CD is essentially a mix-tape charting some of the pivotal and
influential tracks in hip-hop’s history. An eclectic journey starting with
Grandmaster Flash, via legendary names such as The 45 King and Roy Ayers,
through to the Human League and heavy dub basslines from Prince Far I, it’s
a history lesson from a true hip-hop don, and an absolute pleasure to listen
to. Records like this give you faith in music and make you believe that,
like curating a good exhibition or cooking a great meal, DJ-ing, when done
right, is an art-form in itself.
Incidentally, I was at the 2002 Turner Prize after-party when the DJ dropped
a track from the new Snoop Dogg album, Paid Tha Cost To Be Da Boss (Capitol
Records/Priority Records). And guess who was in the centre of the dance
floor giving it his best John Travolta impersonation? That’s right, culture
minister Kim Howells, bustin’ those old-school moves. And fair play to the
geeza, everyone loves Snoop, but to come back a few months later and diss
your boys: that just ain’t right. Snoop’s
P-funk riffs and rhymes charting the whys and wherefores of pimpin’, 6,000-dolla’ suits on Long Island beach, and ‘thug life’ in general are put to good use on this latest LP. Featuring an impressive list of collaborators including Jay-Z, Ludicris, and Midas-touch producers The Neptunes, there are lots of great tracks on this record and some first-class cheese. But the way Snoopy does it, even the cheese rocks. The charmingly titled I Miss That Bitch is typical of this musical equivalent to fondue. It’s the tale of a big-time gangsta whose ladyfriend has walked out on him and, hey, she was a bitch, but he still misses her wicked ways. This album will have you crying with laughter while shaking your booty, whether dressed in K-Swiss or Savile Row.
The main difference between British and American hip-hop is that the stuff coming out of the UK is still a direct voice of the invisible underclass. Where the same may once have been true for the US equivalent, it’s now so seeped in fictional mythology that it’s hard to decipher the truth from the lies. Blak Twang’s album Kick Off (Bad Magic Records) is a case in point. A Brit-hopper rapping about Damilola Taylor, Yardies on Coldharbour Lane, and Eastender’s Phil Mitchell (now that is a reflection of UK street crime!), combining Ragga-tinged vocals with slick production, Blak Twang addresses society’s inequalities better than any New Labour politician could ever dream of. The album also includes the club smash hit So Rotten which is worth the cover price alone.
Roots Manuva is another native Saaf Londoner, and Dub Come Save Me (Big Dada Records) is the remix LP of his highly acclaimed Run Come Save Me album. As remix albums go this one’s unusual in that it does not bring in big-name producers to add their trademark style to someone else’s songs, but instead turns the album tracks into proper Reggae dub versions ‘ina de traditional Jamaican stylee’, as my Russian mate Sasha would say. The mood of the record is as upbeat as down-tempo gets, but still as heavily chilled as you’d expect from a dub record. Lots of wigged-out electronic bleeps and traces of the string sections from the original album add depth to a sound Lee Perry would definitely approve of. The lyrical style of roots rap is smooth enough to keep the ladies dancing and ruf enough to keep headz noddin’.
For something a bit more Baroque, try Bronx-based collective The Majesticons. Their solid gold classic Infesticons (Big Dada Records) EP earned the crew ‘major props’ back in ’02; now they’ve returned with the high-concept LP Beauty Party. Subjects under scrutiny include slum gentrification, how to blag your way into Brown University, and looking good while being half broke down at the polo game. The album’s an old-skool beats-fest with phat and edgy electro basslines, eighties-style backing vocals, and high-speed subliminal raps about the pros and cons of liposuction. The female MCs on this record also brag about their super-powered oestrogen. Bizarre, yes, but as The Majesticons say, ignore this record and you’ll ‘end up looking like Lil’ Kim, with the tassels off’.
Cedar Lewisohn is the Music Editor for contemporary