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.
Anyone that has seen an interview or conversation with Pharrell Williams knows that he is a thoughtful artist.
“Don’t tell Mom.”
As a ten year-old, when your older brother walks into your room and utters those words, you not only take heed, you also immediately get excited. Younger siblings instinctively want to be included in whatever the older kids are doing, even if they rarely understand it. I was no different.
Some people are too talented to be confined to just one lane.
Vincent Edward “Bo” Jackson was the rare two-sport athlete. He could have been a Hall of Famer in both baseball and football.
Lauryn Hill was the rare two-discipline musical artist. She could have had the greatest career as both a rapper and a singer.
They also shared several other traits in common: reaching incredible heights; colleagues accusing them of being difficult; focusing on their families; and, above all, not being interested in living up to the outsized expectations created by their early acts of brilliance.
As both my personal and professional lives became not just busier, but also more complex, my writing output — and my readership and reach — has declined.
However, I do feel like almost everything I do publish these days is worthy of being clicked on and read. I couldn’t always honestly say that. Still, some things are better than others so I’ve collected the best things I wrote this year — a tradition that dates all the way back to 2015. It’s like my own personal literary version of Spotify Wrapped.
So please take a look below and, if something strikes you as interesting, please give it a click.
Cross another off the concert bucket list.
“N—as rhymes be aight but they need hooks”
— Jadakiss
Rappers and hip-hop artists of a certain type value lyricism (“bars”) over pretty much everything else.
As a purist, I appreciate that, but I think it ignores a vital yet rare skill that only some MCs possess, even those that can fill notebooks: the ability to write and deliver a great chorus.
MC’s that can craft an intricate hook hold a higher spot in my personal rankings and the LOX have some of the best rap choruses in hip-hop history.
The last half of the 1990s was a period of major transition in hip-hop.
The game’s two biggest stars were gunned down and the genre’s mightiest record label crumbled.
From the ashes rose the shiny suit era, but there was something else bubbling underground. A cadre of small, independent record labels began releasing all types of rap as an entire new class of young, hungry artists burst onto the scene.
One of those labels was Rawkus Records and its roster included one of those artists, Mos Def.
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.
The Passion of Christopher Pierznik 