`Keep hope alive!” Jesse Jackson exhorted his followers on the campaign trail in 1988.
But for many young blacks, that message has been lost in the din of gun shots and screams rising up from the inner-city, where drug-dealing and gangs have become surrogates for jobs and family. No wonder ”gangster rap” has become the soundtrack of their lives.
The gangster rappers-including such million-selling acts as Ice Cube, N.W.A. and Ice-T-depict a world in which gangbangers and crack heads fester in a cesspool of misogyny, homophobia and racism.
As repellent as some of these raps are, their bluntness makes them appear to be uncensored reports from the front lines of the black community-and in many cases, they are. It was in the South Central Los Angeles ghetto where Ice Cube and Ice-T grew up that the protests over the Rodney King verdict exploded into race riots and looting two weeks ago.
In this sullen, unforgiving world, it takes courage to show vulnerability and compassion, to come across as something other than a ”man`s man,” while still acknowledging the burdens borne by the black community.
Yet in the last few months, a handful of new black voices has emerged to offer just such a perspective: Arrested Development, the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy and Me Phi Me. These rappers grapple with the same debilitating realities that Ice Cube does and their quest for identity is no less ”real,” but they hunger for different solutions.
Along with other up-and-coming rap acts such as P.M. Dawn, Pop`s Cool Love and Basehead, these new artists have created a dazzling alternative to the brutal beats and rhymes of the West Coast gangster school.
Turntables, samples and tape loops are still part of the sound, but there`s much more going on: the Disposable Heroes bash out rhythms with chainsaws and sheet metal; Me Phi Me delivers his song poetry while strumming an acoustic guitar; Pop`s Cool Love rocks with guitar, bass and drums, while Basehead uses real instruments to achieve a sun-glazed, country feel; P.M. Dawn and Arrested Develoment both use multi-textured background vocals to bring out the melody lines in their smooth-flowing raps.
”Unleash and unwind, put pain behind/Climb out of the pit of darkness and start this new breed,” raps Me Phi Me on ”Sad New Day,” in what might serve as a rallying cry for this new wave of hip-hop.
In many cases, the optimism is hard-won. The 21-year-old Me Phi Me grew up one of seven children in a household rocked by the auto-industry recession in Flint, Mich. The Disposable Heroes` Michael Franti, the product of a mixed marriage, endured the anguish of being ostracized by blacks and whites.
”I felt just like Ice Cube during certain parts of my life, but I`ve always tried to look at the broader picture,” says Franti, 25, of Oakland.
”We went through a phase just dealing with the anger, especially through black militant types of messages,” says Speech, 23, of Arrested Development, from rural Georgia. ”But as a person who is striving to be more conscious and aware of issues, you want to change the negative things. Our album strives to be more positive than just blame, blame, blame. It`s about looking for solutions.”
On its debut album, ”Hypocrisy is the Greatest Luxury” (4th & Broadway), the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy emerge as the first great political rap group since Public Enemy, addressing issues such as racism, media stereotypes, multiculturalism and censorship with visionary insight.
Franti`s ”Language of Violence” is something of a landmark: perhaps the first hip-hop record to raise an angry voice against gay bashers. It describes how a student who is believed to be homosexual is mercilessly taunted and killed.
”The song is really about how language becomes a tool of degradation,”
Franti says, ”how we can whip people into a fury by degrading someone, turning them into an inanimate object.”
Franti says he himself went through a period where to ”establish myself as a man” he did some verbal gay bashing. ”But I`ve discovered that the issue is not who we love, but do we choose to love.”
”Love” is perhaps the most radical message of them all in the rap lexicon.
It permeates the soulful, searching music of Arrested Development, which draws on rural blues and big-band jazz as much as it does latter-day funk and hip-hop on its new album, ”3 Years, 5 Months and 2 Days in the Life of . . .” (Chrysalis).
But at the same, there`s nothing ”soft” about an Arrested Development song such as ”Everyday People,” in which Speech confronts a group of young black toughs.
”There`s a conflict going on in our community,” the rapper says,
”between Africans who try to live a life of consciousness, or at least attempt to do their very best, versus those who refer to themselves as niggers and live a life of a nigger, which I feel is a person who is oppressed and therefore ignorant.”
The epithet has become a symbol of pride among certain gangster rappers, including N.W.A.-Niggers With Attitude.
”I understand why a lot of black people will use that word, to turn it around, because when one has the power to define or to redefine something, that can be a good thing,” Speech says. ”But at the same time, too many of our ancestors have died because of that word, and too many of our ancestors have struggled and fought and died to get that word out of the vocabulary. I think it`s a disrespect now to try and empower that word as something you`d embrace somebody with.”
The Disposable Heroes` ”Famous and Dandy (Like Amos `n` Andy)” echoes those concerns: ”Uneducated underdeveloped/Undisciplined but mostly unaware/ We join the flavor of the month club/We swallow the flavor of the month . . . Being a thug was the flavor of the month . . . Bashing Jews was the flavor of the month.”
”The question is how far will each of us go-as artists and consumers-in perpetuating negative stereotypes to succeed?” Franti says. The
”Hiphoprisy” in his group`s name ”refers to the fact that I`m trying to be an artist of conscience in an industry with no conscience. `Famous and Dandy` is about the hypocrite in me, too.”
What makes the Disposable Heroes, Arrested Development and Me Phi Me so compelling is that they acknowledge they don`t have all the answers, even as they search for a better way.
There is no better example of this than Arrested Development`s fast-rising hit ”Tennessee,” a prayer for guidance that evokes the classic
”Strange Fruit.” In the song, Speech reflects on the deaths of his brother and grandmother as he returns to his rural home, ”where the ghost of childhood haunts me/(and I) Walk the roads my forefathers walked/Climb the trees my forefathers hung from . . .”
”We`re a minority within a minority,” says Speech, his dreadlocks cascading down the side of his face, his bright clothing evoking Africa more than it does the American inner-city. ”Being conscious of your culture, your past, is a minority lifestyle.”
Adds Aerle Taree, Speech`s cousin and fellow group member, ”People are baffled to see we`re talking about a consciousness struggle, a fight and a movement, but yet we`re not hostile. It`s like once you can appreciate just the fact that you wake up every morning, you start off real life with something positive. It`s a matter of, `Well, I have this. So how how can I use this to better myself?` That changes your whole personality.”
