At the risk of sounding like an old man, in my day, rap music meant something. I have to admit, I have shut it out for a long time, but when I do flip through the channels, rap videos seem to be about cash, cars, guns and scantily clad women. Apologists argue that negative images in rap are just a reflection of their reality; critics complain those messages offer no solutions.
But I’m old-school. Perhaps Run DMC and Grand Master Flash seem as innocent as Hall & Oates or Engelbert Humperdinck by today’s standards, but at least those rap pioneers had a message.
Grand Master Flash:
“Pay your toll, sell your soul
Pound for pound costs more than gold
The longer you stay, the more you pay
My white lines go a long way
Either up your nose or through your vein
With nothin’ to gain except killing your brain.”
John Clarke is a student of hip-hop, and he has a message too.
He received his B.A. in sociology and music from Columbia University. Then he earned his medical degree from The Mt. Sinai School of Medicine in New York City. He’s combined his two passions by producing hip-hop music about health.
“My passion, first, was music. It was 1979. … I was 8, and I was writing rap songs,” Clarke told me. “As I got older I continued to write, but my passion developed into medicine in high school. I pursued a career in medicine because it is more rewarding and more stable. It’s a good day job to have.”
His songs are about asthma, allergies, HIV and more. One of his songs is called “The Rules”:
“A diabetic that regretted the truth,
that he really wasn’t careful in the days of his youth.
Diagnosed at 18 he thought he was straight,
didn’t care about the weight or the junk that he ate.
Was in denial for a while; thought he felt great.
Got up at night five, six times to urinate.”
The rap isn’t just shtick. Clarke is serious about educating people about health, and he performs his music and lectures around the country. He notes that studies have shown the average teen listens to 40 hours of music per week and 10,500 hours of music between the 7th and 12th grades.
Rhythm and rhymes, key components in rap, help evoke memory. But he knows he can’t get too cutesy. He needs to be authentic or he’ll lose credibility.
“[The songs have a] story format and are based on real experiences with my patients,” he told me. “If they perceive you are trying to preach to them, it turns them off.”
It’s more than just rhyming. Clarke, who is a family physician in New York City, has studied the best ways to reach people. For example, when it comes to smoking, teens care more about superficial issues such as bad breath, while adults can grasp the concept of lung cancer.
“I’m a physician who raps, not a rapper who happens to be a physician,” Clarke said. “They’ll see athletes, rap artists as what society promotes as what you want to do. But I present myself as a doctor. I want to be a role model.”
I showed the video to rap star Common for his reaction.
“I don’t think he can make it on the Common album,” he said with a laugh. “Man, anybody can rap nowadays!”
Are you kidding? Clarke’s got skills. I’m no poet, but it’s a lot easier to rhyme with “cash” than with “sinusitis.”
He may never make the cover of VIBE, but Dr. Clarke is saving lives, and that’s more than we can say for anyone on top of the charts.
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lpotash@tribune.com
