This article is the second in a two−part series on hip−hop. Yesterday's installment focused on Dr. Dre's most recent single, "I Need a Doctor." Today's article examines Dr. Dre in the context of the changing face of hip−hop.
"Detox" will not be a game−changing album. Neither of the two officially confirmed tracks, "I Need a Doctor" and "Kush," are mind−blowing, and the rest of the unofficial leaks have been decent at best. But it's going to come out, and it's almost certainly going to be a hit; more importantly, it will be a fascinating artifact.
Hip−hop is less than half a century old — most hipstorians (see what I did there?) date its origins to a back−to−school party thrown by DJ Kool Herc on Aug. 11, 1973, at 1520 Sedgwick Ave. in Brooklyn — so Dr. Dre is more or less the first rapper to go through a midlife crisis and express it in his music.
Although there are rappers older than Dre, they have stopped producing new music. As it is, sadly enough, most of the O.G. rappers have died. Dr. Dre's new video also features clips of his contemporary, Tupac Shakur. If Shakur, Biggie, Big L, Eazy−E — and all the rest — hadn't burned so brightly and died so tragically young, rap would be something wholly different today. But they did.
Jay−Z, four years younger than Dr. Dre, has successfully taken up the mantle as hip−hop's elder statesman. He's mellowed as he approaches middle age and has been fully accepted as one of the mainstream's biggest celebrities. Dr. Dre, however, is a close contender for the title. Whether or not he can take it from Jay−Z (unlikely) or share it (more likely) depends on how "Detox" is received and how Dre carries himself when he re−enters the public eye before, during and after the album's release.
Lil Wayne once infamously said he wouldn't be a middle−aged rapper because hip−hop is a young man's game, but even Weezy is older and, ostensibly, wiser. Just as rock ‘n' roll has found a nice place with "oldies," so will rap, and it's fascinating to watch it evolve and flourish every day.
It's a weird, fascinating, exciting time for hip−hop, especially with the opportunities afforded to kids all over the world who have little more than a crappy computer and an Internet hookup. Soulja Boy, Odd Future, Lil B, Waka Flocka Flame … even Drake owes a lot to the Internet.
Ultimately, though, it isn't just increased visibility that is changing hip−hop. The genre is becoming increasingly accepted by the mainstream as the rest of society changes, too. What was once a somewhat−feared genre has slowly been integrated fully into normative culture.
Lil B, an easy candidate for the position of poster boy for hip−hop strangeness and change, summed it up nicely in a recent interview with MTV: "I think hip−hop is gonna stop being so narrow−minded. Hip−hop is gonna progress to something that is more accepting and more revolutionary for the people because everybody will be included. Hip−hop is discriminatory toward gays, against happy people."
And that's one of the weirdest parts: There are no openly gay mainstream rappers.
None.
There are allegations — whispers and rumors at best — but no rappers, male or female, have come out as gay. It isn't surprising from the genre that spawned the loathed phrase "no homo" and eagerly throws derogatory terms, the likes of which couldn't be printed unedited in this paper, for easy rhymes. Still, it's surprising for this day and age.
Lil B, who is heterosexual by all accounts, often calls himself a "little b−−−−" and a "lesbian," among other things — not just for shock value but, as it seems more probable, in an attempt to shake things up and remove the stigma, to pave the way for positive change.
For proof that things are actually happening in hip−hop, just take a look at who is nominated for this year's mtvU Woodie Awards (MTV's college music awards, given to "alternative," independent and smaller acts) in the category of "Left Field Woodie."
The award is presented, according to MTV, to "artists who've pushed the envelope and taken things to the next level." This year's nominees are: Lil B; the white skater−punk−cum−rapper from Alabama, Yelawolf; the bizarre South African rap−rave group, Die Antwoord; the Wesleyan−educated, mixed−race rap group, Das Racist; and the ever−fascinating Kanye West.
These guys may not all be household names yet, but even if they don't break onto the Billboard charts, their relative success to this point says a lot about the current state of the industry. And that's not even mentioning everything that Kanye West is getting away with.
The guard is definitely changing.
Even if the "Detox" album flops, it will be an important milestone for the genre. Hip−hop is not, contrary to Nas' assertion, dead. It is very much alive and kicking. Now is an exciting time, and things are changing at a breakneck pace. The biggest stars are no longer the most threatening or the most hood, but the most talented — a cocky, bougie producer from Chicago, a powerful businessman, a pink−haired girl from Queens, a tattooed self−proclaimed Martian from New Orleans, a white kid from Detroit.
As Mos Def (another MC primed to become an elder statesman) put it on "Life in Marvelous Times" (2008), "We are alive in amazing times."
But we still have a long way to go.
