Yeah, well, who wouldn’t give up his entire CD collection for a little time warp back to the dawn of the 1980s, for a sunset stroll through the South Bronx to happen upon Kool Herc and the gang, layin’ beats and bustin’ rhymes (and hell, even a move or two) like they weren’t forefathering a cultural phenomenon. It’s the ultimate hip-hop nostalgia — the elusive block party back-and-forth — even for those of us who only heard it through tall tales two decades later.
It’s no secret that rap has evolved from its original ’hood intimacy into a much more universal operation, inevitably picking up some money-grubbers and flashy fluff along the way. But this December, New York rapper Nas went so far to proclaim hip-hop officially dead on his eighth studio album, rousing clamor in both agreement and anger.
Nas’ voice is not easily memorable — it blends, slipping from grasp or peg, never flaring with signature — because it is the voice, the axel around which so many other raps revolve and are distinguished. If Nas thinks hip-hop is dead, it’s worth considering. The following is a review of said album, followed by an examination of five major hip-hop releases in recent months. So — dead or alive?
Nas – Hip-Hop is Dead
Like most of us, Nas is a sucker for the legends. His father, jazz pioneer Olu Dara, funked up “Life’s a Bitch” on Nas’ own 1994 classic Illmatic and co-starred in “Bridging the Gap,” the ambitious history-of-music single off 2004’s Street’s Disciple. The rapper has never failed to recognize his vast influences and predecessors.
And the good-old-days hero worshiping continues with Hip Hop Is Dead. In a 16-track eulogy for the genre he admits to have helped destroy, Nas namedrops the pillars of hip-hop past until his breath runs out and the curtain dismally falls. “Can’t forget about the old school, Bam, Cas, Melle Mel, Flash/ Rocksteady spinnin’ on they back/ Can’t forget when the first rap Grammy went to Jazzy, Fresh Prince/ Fat Boys broke up, rap hasn’t been the same since,” he reminisces on “Can’t Forget About You,” a Will.i.am production with stomp-clap rhythm and a wrenching Nat King Cole sample.
As everyone will always love to point out, this is not Illmatic. But Illmatic’s untouchable status is the product of not only tightly composed innovation — as most Nas records are — but the right time and place. It’s not possible to recreate the static excitement surrounding the East Coast scene in the early ’90s, nor should backtracking be desirable.
Hip Hop Is Dead is almost completely a great record in the classical sense — from the orchestral crash of the Jay-Z and Nas reunion track to the slow, tired-bones blaze of “Blunt Ashes.” But it also ironically embodies why (if at all) hip-hop could indeed have died: We’re too hung up on the past to concentrate on rocking the present.
Jay-Z – Kingdom Come
Jay-Z is one of the first rappers who our generation saw through an entire career, beginning with the opening smooth moves of “Can’t Knock the Hustle” in 1996 and ending (we thought) with the widely praised grandeur of The Black Album in 2003.
It’s not enough that he makes half the money in the business and cameos every smash Beyonce single that splatters the charts. The Hove just doesn’t know when to stop — his latest, a resurrection album whining the insecurities and humdrums of old age, drags with a softened, intro-heavy flow and familiar beats. He still pulls out puzzle-piece rhymes, he’s still got that certain puffy-lipped charisma — but, inescapedly, we’re bored. When you’re defending your beach sandals to a youngblood beefer over a Chris Martin (Coldplay) beat, there’s a good chance your time is up.
Young Jeezy – The Inspiration
The dirty South reportedly jumped to conclusions after hearing of Nas’ planned album title — Young Jeezy quickly assumed the New York traditionalist was pointing a finger at the Southern synth explosion of late. But even Nas can’t (and doesn’t) deny the power of location-based rep-rapping, a phenomenon that has instilled more hometown pride in America’s streets than any politician could ever hope for, and in oft-forgotton cultural havens like Atlanta and Oakland.
Clipse – Hell Hath No Fury
Brother MCs Malice and Pusha-T have been around since the early ’90s, but they’ve maintained such a mean focus and sharp-tongued low profile that Hell Hath No Fury ravaged even the most jaded music collectors, hip-hop-savvy or not. They’re avoiding tired topics like who’s wack and who’s not, distancing themselves from the endless state-of-hip-hop discussion — and in doing so, manage to rear rap’s head from its looping autopilot.
Ghostface Killah – More Fish
Ghostface doesn’t care if hip-hop is dead — Wu-Tang’s been declared a goner for much longer, and its most distinctive member still manages to silence naysaying tides with rhymes as immaculate as the day Enter the Wu-Tang dropped in 1993.
After letting fly his jam-packed return-to-grime Fishscale early last year, Ghostface surprised fans by slopping his leftovers on the plate before the main course had fully digested. Best part is, these second helpings are of no lesser caliber than the firsts.
Though we’re lucky the Killah is so willing to share, the untrumpeted arrival of More Fish does mark an advanced stage in the deglorification of releasing perfectly solid work. It’s as great as anything he’s ever done, and the beats still have that epic RZA feel — but after such quantities, what was once groundbreaking is now dulled down, and the whole thing seems a little less precious.
Mos Def – True Magic
Part of a collegiate niche that structures its work around telling off “wack rappers,” declaring itself the only “real hip-hop” and being both book- and street-smart, Mos Def’s new album is a dumbed-down summary of all his once-novel song raps. Even the usual politics, which were beginning to feel a little simple and ineffective anyway, are largely replaced by lazy backpacker soul hooks and good-time party stories.
Hip-hop isn’t dead, it’s just sort of stuck. We’ve perfected the flow in all its forms, the “don’t stop” crowd pumpers, the hands up in the air. The music can’t bring back the golden age, and some of the most fascinating experiments have been skipped over because they don’t fit our aged mold.
Now that rap isn’t needed to expose human injustices and bring the unheard word of the unseen up to the airwaves, there’s no telling where the genre will lead. But one thing’s for sure: The most exciting stuff out there doesn’t mimic the best of years past, because we’re here now, and the wave of time is looking to offer one hell of a ride.
