While it is not considered one of the four original elements, fashion has been an indelible part of hip-hop from the beginning.
How an artist looked was oftentimes just as important as how an artist sounded, something that has only intensified as hip-hop and high fashion have become intertwined.
In a half-century, hip-hop has evolved from the park jam to become a multi-billion dollar industry that sets trends and dictates a large portion of pop culture.
It is both powerful and ubiquitous.
But growth can be painful and, naturally, such an expansion for a lifestyle that is revered and protected by its longtime fans (and traditionalists) will lead to some disappointment and longing for the old days.
After nearly two-and-a-half centuries of (mostly) growth and prosperity, there is a segment of the American population that believe their nation’s success and power was inevitable.
Some historians have even fallen victim to this line of thinking, treating America’s founders as demigods that used their mystical powers to build an unsinkable republic that was rock solid from the start.
In reality, it was far from a fait accompli.
Anyone that has seen an interview or conversation with Pharrell Williams knows that he is a thoughtful artist.
Three is more than two.
That simple mathematical fact, which had been largely overlooked for decades, has completely changed the National Basketball Association. Today’s game is nothing but guys shooting from deep. There’s no more to it than that.
Right?
Maybe not.
In the opening moments of the iconic track, “N.Y. State of Mind,” Nas almost mumbles, “I don’t know how to start this shit.”
It’s appropriate, almost poetic, that this line kept running through my head as I thought about how to approach this review because Daniel Levin Becker’s What’s Good: Notes on Rap and Language is all about lines and lyrics – how they’re created, how deep they go, how they get stuck in our heads, and, awkwardly, what they mean within the larger societal context.
“I think anyone who’s not as good a writer as me is absolutely a hack, and I think anybody who’s a slightly better writer than me is brilliant.”
– Chuck Klosterman
I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that Chuck Klosterman influenced a generation of writers and unconsciously blazed a path for how online critique and analysis would be presented in the first two decades of the 21st Century.
He came to the realization that “people want to think critically about the art that informs their life,” and has created a successful, impactful career as a result.
To sports columnists and talking heads of a certain age, the word “analytics” has become a pejorative, a shorthand for nerds that are so engrossed in their algorithms that they can’t see the actual game being played on the court.
The truth, as always, is far more complex.
Yesterday, I posted my review of Dilla Time Dan Charnas.
Today, I thought I’d explain how I review books.
For the most part, whenever I heard a J Dilla (previously known as Jay Dee) beat, it sounded…off, wrong, maybe even sloppy. I couldn’t totally follow it. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t fully appreciate it. It made me feel a bit discombobulated.
Only much later did I realize that was the intention. Dilla was not only reinventing what was known, he was inventing what was previously unknown.
As Dan Charnas writes, “What Dilla created was a third path of rhythm, juxtaposing those two time-feels [straight time and swing time], even and uneven simultaneously, creating a new, pleasurable, disorienting rhythmic friction and a new time-feel: Dilla Time.”
The Passion of Christopher Pierznik 